by Paul Beckman
You’ve been sitting in the hospital next to your husband of forty-eight years who had a stroke followed by a massive heart attack. You call your children, Lucas, Joshua, Michaela and tell them you don’t know how much longer he has, and they all tell you to call when you find out. Your girlfriend comes to the IC and spells you so you can go to the adjacent room and shower. Your husband, Murray the CPA, tries to talk. You grab his hand and notice that only the left side of his face is moving — the right side is frozen. Murray tries his hardest to talk and slowly Gertrude gets it word by word and it’s an apology for an affair he had one time with your cleaning lady, Rosalie, some thirty-five years ago. Gert thinks that’s the most exciting and interesting thing he’s ever told her. Once Murray spills out the last part of his apology he stops talking. You lean over and whisper in his ear; “I’ve been fucking the Rabbi and your brother for years.” Soon Murray passes and you check your make-up, pop a Lifesaver, and call the kids as the hospital staff flits about.
Back at your house alone with hours to come before the children start arriving you field some condolence calls and call the Rabbi to set up the funeral. It’ll be in three days in the morning and he asks if you want a full week of Shiva and you tell him that Marty wanted to keep it to only a day or two. You order the deli from Costco and take the phone off the hook after receiving four condolence calls in a row and spend forty-five minutes gathering the important documents: a copy of their dual will, all of the check books, three years of income tax returns, and the box of gold he’s been collecting from his patients teeth when fixing old fillings. You put the phone back on the hook and call a few of your closest friends. You weep and sound heartbroken. The TV is on mute with closed captions in the background.
The kids arrive and stay at the Holiday Inn instead of in their old rooms. They go out for breakfast and show up after ten and you hustle them along because you must pick out a casket. You tell everyone you want the burled walnut, but Marty wanted a plain pine box. You send Michaela and Joshua home to write the obituary and tell them you?ll check it out to see if it needs any additions. You go with the Lucas to the cemetery and inspect the pre-paid grave site and then you go to the Temple to give the Rabbi some tidbits of Murry’s life and tell him you’ll send the others over. All agree that they shouldn’t miss lunch so the decide on the Crab Shack and have lobster rolls in honor of Murry’s favorite dish.
The kids all congregate at the house and the Brotherhood and Sisterhood send over Chinese food for a private family dinner. Since they know Murray and Gertrude so well they do the ordering so as not to bother the family. That night they feast on pork spareribs, chicken broccoli, shrimp three flavors, Moo Shoo chicken, Mongolian Beef, Pork and vegetable fried dumplings, a Poo Poo Platter, and fried rice all ways.
They open the bar and take out the Crown Royal and Cherry Heering. Gertrude asks for the Knob Creek Bourbon. They leave the mess for the maid to clean up in the morning and retire to the library where they sit around and talk. Gertrude okays the obit but adds a couple of items. They decide on the pall bearers and talk about which of the kids will do the eulogy. No one volunteers so they write names on sheets from a rainbow pad and toss them in Murray’s golf hat and draw a name. Michaela gets the honor. Gertrude gives the boys a list of relatives to call tonight and one neighbor who’ll spread the word and of course the Temple will email the congregation.
The next day family and out-of-town-friends begin arriving and food is delivered or dropped off by friends and organizations Murray and Gertrude belong to. While Joshua covers the mirrors, and takes the cushions off four chairs, the Rabbi pins on the mourning ribbons and slits them. Joshua reaches up and rips his sport coat pocket so its dangling. He’s the closest person to “observant” in this family group. Gertrude sits and directs her friends where to put the food and paper plates with the plastic utensils. Every once in a while she lets out a cry or a moan and a girlfriend rushes to her side and takes her hand and whispers platitudes to her.
In the morning the kids drive over to the house and their mother’s all dressed up in a new black dress (“I knew it was coming so I wanted to do Murray proud”). Joshua takes a pitcher of water and a soup tureen and places them on the front steps for the mourners who come back to the house to wash their hands off. He returns with the good paper napkins and a wastepaper basket.
It’s 8:30 p.m. and all but Gertrude and the children have gone. Michaela, filled with sorrow after thinking about her father, writing his eulogy, and then reading it while looking out at the filled pews in the Temple, sits alone in her father’s study at his desk unable to hold back the tears. She’s the only one in the family that was able to cry for the loss of Murray. All the others sit around the kitchen table picking at the food telling unflattering stories about Murray and don’t laugh or cry but shake their heads in unison with Gertrude.
Paul Beckman is a writer.
