My great uncle JB died this week. I went to my dad’s house Friday to ride with him to the wake. Before we left, my dad sat me down. The doctors think his cancer may have spread beyond what they removed in his last surgery. He may have to start chemotherapy. He segued from this to my car insurance policy, which he has paid for as long as I’ve been driving, telling about his life insurance policy that me and my brother are the beneficiaries of, and showing me where all his paperwork is… It slowly dawns on me that we’re having the death conversation. My dad is telling me how to handle things after he dies.
Life
It was 1983 working at the goddamn Post Office. It had its better qualities in some of the people I worked with. One of these was Carol Busby. She was a big boned, raven haired, freckled, flanel shirt, jeans wearing smart ass. Almost every night after we would get off of work, about 3 am, Carol and I would go out to get something to eat at White Castle, Jack in the Box or someplace that served latenight food.
Carol was a drinker, no……. a drunk. She would buy two half pints of Jack Daniels every day, drink one at lunch and the other after she got off of work. On January 13 we had gotten off work and decided to go to a barbecue place on South Broadway that was operated by the American Leigon and was open all night. Now when Carol drank, which was most of the time, I would drive. I would one night drive my car, and the next night drive her Toyota Celica, yellow. This night I was driving her car.
We were sitting in the car before we went to the Barbecue place and talking. “I want you to do me a favor” she asked.
“Yeah, sure, what?”
“When I die, I want you to ask Meg to sing “The Rose” at my funeral” Meg was a friend of hers who I had not met, but had heard about. Meg was a singer and what I assumed was a ‘more than friend’ of Carol’s. “The Rose” a lament of a song by Bette Midler, somewhat biographical about Janis Joplin. See the connection? Carol was a lot like Janis Joplin, hard drinking, hard living woman. Of course I made light of the request but promised after her pleading.
Altough I was married and even had Carol over for dinner with my family once, I think I had a giant crush on her. Oh yes, she was one of that stereo-type of the unatainable woman for me. She saw in me…….. I would hope a type of friend that was non-judgemental and supportive. I loved her.
We drove slowly and talked whenever we went out after work. I wanted the time to last as long as I could. Carol never drove, so she could drink. She felt it irresponsible for her to do so, especially since I didn’t drink at that time of a morning. This night was no different, I drove. We had driven to the Barbecue place and bought our pork steak sandwiches and were on our way back. We drove slowly north on Jefferson, a nice 8 lane wide boulevard. We were in the far right lane. As we crossed Miami, where there was a yellow flashing light. The last thing I remember was Carol yelling, “Watch out!”
I next woke up her car was on the oppisite side of Jefferson. Carol was laying there slumped against the passenger door. I shook her and called her name. No response. I must have passed out. The next thing I remember was trying to get out of the car. I pushed the door open and got out and stumbled around. Someone told me to sit down. My next memory was waking up on a litter in the hospital with a friend of mine, a policeman, who just happened to be at the scene, standing over me. I looked up at him and the first thing I said was “Where is Carol?” There was no response. I knew right away. “She is dead, isn’t” she?”
We had apparently been broadsided by a car driven at a high rate of speed by a drunk driver. Carol’s car was hit so hard that it was catapulted to the oppisite side of the very wide Jefferson Blvd. I keep remembering that she would never drive when she was drunk. There were even times she would have me drive her home in her car and pay for a cab to take me back to my car that was sitting at work.
last part of Life
I was admited to the hospital for a few days for observation. All I had wrong with me was a couple of chipped teeth and a bruised kidney. While I was at the hospital I got Meg’s phone number and called her. It was the hardest thing I think I ever had to do.
Carol’s funeral was a couple of days after she had died. She apparently died of internal bleeding when the car that hit her side of the car broke her ribs and plunged into her lung causing the fatal blow.
I had gotten out of the hospital on a pass just to go to her funeral. The funeral was at a Catholic church on the near north side of the city. I was glad that the priest at least knew her, and from his homily, knew her well. He mentioned her love of John Barleycorn and the way she lived her life and that we should ‘party’ instead of mourn. This made me smile. But then Meg did what Carol had asked me to ask her to do. I broke down as I am welling up a bit right now. I know you know what I mean.
I was there when this happened to you at Robin’s wake. I know how you feel. I know how you feel when the time comes for your Dad to leave. Don’t know what good this will do. Maybe it just brought up memories of mine when I read the post. Maybe I wanted one more person to know about Carol. Take it for what it is worth.
I know precisely what you mean about passing the torch. In my case it’s less about skills than what to do with them. I am now some six years older than my father was when I was born and have very little to show for it. I can’t stay focused and get myself a good job and pay the bills on time and save up for a rainy day. Instead I live for today and get drunk and make “art” and wonder where my next meal’s coming from.
Did I choose my path in life or did it choose me? While some aspects of my tenuous existance are the result of choice, I also feel in some ways that I am constitutionally incapable of conducting myself in the sensible and respectable manner that “normal” people – good, solid citizens who start a family, mow their lawn and pay their taxes – do. I guess a lot of it’s depression.
If I can stop beating up on myself for a moment, it does have to be acknowledged that Things Were Different When He Was Young. Most notably, the job market. My father managed to work for the same company from the time he was seventeen to his early (but profitable) retirement. Such a thing is unheard of today and it surely helped him to establish himself in a way I never could.
I know my father understands these things. My parents don’t look on me with obvious disappointment – at least they don’t anymore – but sometimes I feel like an abject failure when I look at their lives versus my own.
I feel you on the difference in the times, however, my dad started his own business at 17. He dreamed that me and my brother would take it over the way he took over from his father, but I’m an artist and my brother is a criminal and added to which, I can’t stand my brother.
my friend
I guess times like these there is little to comfort… but I bet he draws a lot of inspiration in knowing that you want to really “know” him and you obviously love him. Like most of us, parents talk alot of talk, but human needs are ultimately pretty simple.
Your father couldn’t be a pallbearer, you took his place. Your uncle can’t visit your aunt Doris, now you do it. That’s how it works I guess. Simple, non-glamerous steps towards adulthood. As “artistic types” we tend to look down on the everyday things as boring, non-inspirational and sheepish. We’re so full of shit – those are usually the very things that make us amazing, contributing people – your artistic talents are substantial and impressive, but at the end of the day, it’s the fact that you are definitavly your father’s son that you owe your accomplishments to.
All my best wishes and prayers,
Liana
BTW – picture = cute.
Re: my friend
Thank you.
Oh, gods, I know what you mean about your Dad being your compass! So is mine.
My Dad died of cancer four years ago. By the time it was diagnosed it was so far advanced that there was little to do about it. Very soon he had to be put on pain meds, and he ended up so spaced out on morphine that we couldn’t hold meaningful conversations…
You have the time and opportunity to do something that would please your dad very much. Ask him to teach you how to frame walls and fix sinks and all the things that he tried to teach you when you were a kid. Yes, he won’t be able to demonstrate how to lift a beam by lifting it himself. But he’ll be able to supervise and teach. I bet he’d feel great about the chance to be of real use to you, to help you learn things he thinks you really should know. And you’ll have an excuse to spend more time with him, time when you can talk about your feelings (while your head’s hidden under the sink and you’re fiddling with a wrench up in the dark behind the pipes).
Your Dad will always be with you. You are who you are because of him, and there is more of him in you than you know.
Thank you very much.
My sister died 6 years ago. G-d forbid your father should die, but if he does – it hurts like hell but you will go on.
Also, you’ve got warning. Make the most of this time. Believe me, you don’t want to spend the rest of your life dreaming at night about the things you didn’t say.
As a parent I say – Money and accomplishments are not as important as being a good person. I am sure your dad is proud of you.
Thank you very much.