The Vigil
September 11th 2007 00:31
The Vigil
Tess awoke with a jolt, sending her side of the blankets flying across the bed.
"I didn't hear the alarm," her husband mumbled. The weekend and he scored the morning shift. Still, it wasn't as bad as working morning shift in the weekday. And then the alarm did go off. Nice and loud. Martin grabbed the bed covers and threw them over his head. "Wake me in 10 minutes," he begged his wife Tess.
Tess didn't have to answer him. For the last 20 years it was always the same and always for the same weekend shift – "Wake me in 10 minutes," and as had been her practice, all those years ago, Tess awoke first, put on a strong coffee and began making his lunch. It would be 20 minutes before she'd wake him, mostly because for the last 20 years she'd made certain the clock was 10 minutes fast.
But this morning he didn't need to be called again. By the time the coffee was ready, he was dressed and by her side. Cupping her face with his hands he whispered, "Not sleeping isn't going to make it go away."
Tess felt the tears well in her eyes. "I know. I'll get some after I get you on your way."
Martin looked at her. Wiping a tear with his thumb, he kissed her on the forehead and grabbed his coffee.
When the familiar slam of their heavy front wooden door reached her ears, Tess returned to bed, hoping she'd fall into a deep dreamless sleep. But as soon as her head hit the pillow, Tess was deep in conversation with her father. His voice firm and uncompromising; hers emotionally wrought, unyielding. But just as she felt she was gaining a little ground in the point she was making, she was awakened by the loud shrill of the telephone by her bedside. A quick glance at the bedside table showed her she'd been asleep no more than an hour.
"He's alright now," her mother screeched down the phone.
Tess knew her father wasn't well. Lately he was in and out of hospital every few weeks with the last admission draining him so much Tess couldn't believe the frail drawn man curled in a fetal position on the hospital emergency room bed was her strong six foot four father.
Neither she nor her mother left his bedside until all the medical personnel reassured them the medication would help him sleep for hours and that he was in no pain.
"What do you mean now?" Tess asked, hysteria rising in her voice.
"The medication was too much and – "
Tess remembered her dream. She was arguing with him, blaming him for being ill and not taking care of himself and he was telling her it was destiny.
" – he almost died but they resuscitated him."
With tears falling unrestrained, Tess swallowed hard before quietly stating to her mother, "I'm coming now." She never heard her mother's response because she hung up the receiver and got dressed.
Within the hour she was in her father's hospital room, seated beside her mother.
"You should have got a few hours sleep first. Look at your eyes," her mother scolded her.
Tess didn't say anything, just pulled her legs under her in the old green hospital lounge chair and with her face resting on the palm of her hand, watched her father breathe.
Before long family members dropped in and out of the hospital room. More than one scolded her for not going home to sleep, but Tess was adamant she wasn't moving until her father came home.
Trays of food came and went untouched. More and more family drifted in and out. They were so loud, Tess thought to herself. And just when she was about to turn to her mother and comment about the rudeness of visitors being so loud, Tess found herself seated at her mother's kitchen table across from her father, again arguing the merits of proper health care.
Suddenly someone shoved her. Tess jolted awake. She never realized she dozed off. But now doctors and nurses were swarming around her father. Her mother cowered in a corner, tears falling, her hands wringing. Tess drew her legs up, wrapping her arms around them, watching everyone administer more and more medication.
"He'll be alright," a nurse said to her.
"You said he wasn't allergic to anything," a doctor angrily said to her mother.
"We wouldn't know," Tess spoke up, annoyed with this doctor's tone of voice. "He never went to a doctor." The doctor looked at Tess, unbelieving. "I'm telling you the truth. He never believed in doctors. He put his faith in a hot cup of chamomile tea."
One by one, the medical personnel left them; one by one they gave Tess and her mother a concerned glance.
"Go home and get some sleep," her mother softly said when they again began their vigil.
Tess shook her head and again made herself comfortable on the chair.
Staring at her father, she recalled the second dream, and again, the discussion they were both having. She wanted to have so many discussions with him and she would – when he came home. But now she found herself at the lobby lift pressing the button and going to the twelfth floor; her husband with her. Her father wasn't anywhere around. She looked around and all she saw were people milling around a speaker, listening to him. One elderly woman broke away from the crowd and approached her. "He's on the eighth"
"Oh, how silly of me," Tess exclaimed, "Of course and I've come to the twelfth."
"Yes," the old woman agreed. "at twelve."
"What a duffer," Tess said and went to the eighth floor where her father was sitting up in bed.
"What do you want from me?" her father asked her.
Tess knelt at his bedside, taking his hand in hers. "I don't want you to die."
"I'm tired. I can't keep going like this," he softly whispered to her, caressing her hair. "But you'll be alright. Believe me, you'll be alright."
Tess's elbow slipped off the armrest of the chair and Tess's face hit the armrest with a start. Her father lay in the hospital bed as before but Tess felt dread claw at her chest. "Ma, call the doctor," she stammered, getting off the chair.
Her mother looked at her for only a moment before she pressed the alarm.
The young doctor and nurse that attended her father didn't have to say anything, Tess already knew. Tess looked at her mother, trying not to tremble as the doctor told her, her husband had passed away.
That evening, in her mother's home, Tess sat in her old armchair. Everything had been arranged by the extended family for the 'mourning' ritual which began that evening and would end with the burial. After the burial there would be no 'wake' or feasting as in some cultures – just the burial and then everyone would just go home.
Chairs had been arranged meticulously in two rooms – one room for the men; one for the women, and of course, the old heavy front door would be kept open for anyone who wanted to pay their respects to the family.
Seated on her chair, the same chair that Tess had commandeered throughout her life in her father's house, Tess wrapped her legs beneath her and welcomed the anger that burned in her heart. He was so young. Now who would she turn to when she wanted a good old fashioned debate, she thought to herself.
People came and went; some she knew; some not. Most she didn't want to know.
It wasn't until hours had passed that she noticed she was being left alone. Whether it was because her chair was further away from the other lounge chairs or because she wouldn't speak to anyone, she didn't care.
Later that evening though, a familiar voice sounded beside her and a plump young woman sat on the armrest of her chair without invitation. Tess looked up to see her favourite cousin Connie look down at her. "Not a good time, is it, precious?" her cousin said.
Tess laughed, hugged her cousin and cried. "I dreamt I was talking to him, I think," Tess later confided in her cousin. "Three times and the third time I even forgot which floor he was on. How stupid. Even in my dream I stuffed that up."
"What was the dream?" Connie asked, genuinely intrigued.
"I was looking for him and a little old woman said he was on the eighth but at twelve or twelfth something like that, but I did get to talk to him and he said he was tired and he couldn't keep going on like that and that I'd be alright."
"Tess dear, today's the eight. What time did your father die?"
Tess shrugged her shoulders "I don't know."
"Twelve o'clock," her mother said.
Connie hugged Tess. "Darling, he said goodbye and the little old woman gave you the time and date of his passing."
"The little old woman was his departed mother, if you want to believe," her mother added.
At ten o'clock, when the last of the family left for their own homes, Tess joined her husband, slipping her hand into his as they walked the short walk to their own home.
That night, welcoming the warmth and cocoon of her blankets, Tess encouraged sleep, where in her dreams she may just be given the chance to continue her debate...
Tess awoke with a jolt, sending her side of the blankets flying across the bed.
"I didn't hear the alarm," her husband mumbled. The weekend and he scored the morning shift. Still, it wasn't as bad as working morning shift in the weekday. And then the alarm did go off. Nice and loud. Martin grabbed the bed covers and threw them over his head. "Wake me in 10 minutes," he begged his wife Tess.
Tess didn't have to answer him. For the last 20 years it was always the same and always for the same weekend shift – "Wake me in 10 minutes," and as had been her practice, all those years ago, Tess awoke first, put on a strong coffee and began making his lunch. It would be 20 minutes before she'd wake him, mostly because for the last 20 years she'd made certain the clock was 10 minutes fast.
But this morning he didn't need to be called again. By the time the coffee was ready, he was dressed and by her side. Cupping her face with his hands he whispered, "Not sleeping isn't going to make it go away."
Tess felt the tears well in her eyes. "I know. I'll get some after I get you on your way."
Martin looked at her. Wiping a tear with his thumb, he kissed her on the forehead and grabbed his coffee.
When the familiar slam of their heavy front wooden door reached her ears, Tess returned to bed, hoping she'd fall into a deep dreamless sleep. But as soon as her head hit the pillow, Tess was deep in conversation with her father. His voice firm and uncompromising; hers emotionally wrought, unyielding. But just as she felt she was gaining a little ground in the point she was making, she was awakened by the loud shrill of the telephone by her bedside. A quick glance at the bedside table showed her she'd been asleep no more than an hour.
"He's alright now," her mother screeched down the phone.
Tess knew her father wasn't well. Lately he was in and out of hospital every few weeks with the last admission draining him so much Tess couldn't believe the frail drawn man curled in a fetal position on the hospital emergency room bed was her strong six foot four father.
Neither she nor her mother left his bedside until all the medical personnel reassured them the medication would help him sleep for hours and that he was in no pain.
"What do you mean now?" Tess asked, hysteria rising in her voice.
"The medication was too much and – "
Tess remembered her dream. She was arguing with him, blaming him for being ill and not taking care of himself and he was telling her it was destiny.
" – he almost died but they resuscitated him."
With tears falling unrestrained, Tess swallowed hard before quietly stating to her mother, "I'm coming now." She never heard her mother's response because she hung up the receiver and got dressed.
Within the hour she was in her father's hospital room, seated beside her mother.
"You should have got a few hours sleep first. Look at your eyes," her mother scolded her.
Tess didn't say anything, just pulled her legs under her in the old green hospital lounge chair and with her face resting on the palm of her hand, watched her father breathe.
Before long family members dropped in and out of the hospital room. More than one scolded her for not going home to sleep, but Tess was adamant she wasn't moving until her father came home.
Trays of food came and went untouched. More and more family drifted in and out. They were so loud, Tess thought to herself. And just when she was about to turn to her mother and comment about the rudeness of visitors being so loud, Tess found herself seated at her mother's kitchen table across from her father, again arguing the merits of proper health care.
Suddenly someone shoved her. Tess jolted awake. She never realized she dozed off. But now doctors and nurses were swarming around her father. Her mother cowered in a corner, tears falling, her hands wringing. Tess drew her legs up, wrapping her arms around them, watching everyone administer more and more medication.
"He'll be alright," a nurse said to her.
"You said he wasn't allergic to anything," a doctor angrily said to her mother.
"We wouldn't know," Tess spoke up, annoyed with this doctor's tone of voice. "He never went to a doctor." The doctor looked at Tess, unbelieving. "I'm telling you the truth. He never believed in doctors. He put his faith in a hot cup of chamomile tea."
One by one, the medical personnel left them; one by one they gave Tess and her mother a concerned glance.
"Go home and get some sleep," her mother softly said when they again began their vigil.
Tess shook her head and again made herself comfortable on the chair.
Staring at her father, she recalled the second dream, and again, the discussion they were both having. She wanted to have so many discussions with him and she would – when he came home. But now she found herself at the lobby lift pressing the button and going to the twelfth floor; her husband with her. Her father wasn't anywhere around. She looked around and all she saw were people milling around a speaker, listening to him. One elderly woman broke away from the crowd and approached her. "He's on the eighth"
"Oh, how silly of me," Tess exclaimed, "Of course and I've come to the twelfth."
"Yes," the old woman agreed. "at twelve."
"What a duffer," Tess said and went to the eighth floor where her father was sitting up in bed.
"What do you want from me?" her father asked her.
Tess knelt at his bedside, taking his hand in hers. "I don't want you to die."
"I'm tired. I can't keep going like this," he softly whispered to her, caressing her hair. "But you'll be alright. Believe me, you'll be alright."
Tess's elbow slipped off the armrest of the chair and Tess's face hit the armrest with a start. Her father lay in the hospital bed as before but Tess felt dread claw at her chest. "Ma, call the doctor," she stammered, getting off the chair.
Her mother looked at her for only a moment before she pressed the alarm.
The young doctor and nurse that attended her father didn't have to say anything, Tess already knew. Tess looked at her mother, trying not to tremble as the doctor told her, her husband had passed away.
That evening, in her mother's home, Tess sat in her old armchair. Everything had been arranged by the extended family for the 'mourning' ritual which began that evening and would end with the burial. After the burial there would be no 'wake' or feasting as in some cultures – just the burial and then everyone would just go home.
Chairs had been arranged meticulously in two rooms – one room for the men; one for the women, and of course, the old heavy front door would be kept open for anyone who wanted to pay their respects to the family.
Seated on her chair, the same chair that Tess had commandeered throughout her life in her father's house, Tess wrapped her legs beneath her and welcomed the anger that burned in her heart. He was so young. Now who would she turn to when she wanted a good old fashioned debate, she thought to herself.
People came and went; some she knew; some not. Most she didn't want to know.
It wasn't until hours had passed that she noticed she was being left alone. Whether it was because her chair was further away from the other lounge chairs or because she wouldn't speak to anyone, she didn't care.
Later that evening though, a familiar voice sounded beside her and a plump young woman sat on the armrest of her chair without invitation. Tess looked up to see her favourite cousin Connie look down at her. "Not a good time, is it, precious?" her cousin said.
Tess laughed, hugged her cousin and cried. "I dreamt I was talking to him, I think," Tess later confided in her cousin. "Three times and the third time I even forgot which floor he was on. How stupid. Even in my dream I stuffed that up."
"What was the dream?" Connie asked, genuinely intrigued.
"I was looking for him and a little old woman said he was on the eighth but at twelve or twelfth something like that, but I did get to talk to him and he said he was tired and he couldn't keep going on like that and that I'd be alright."
"Tess dear, today's the eight. What time did your father die?"
Tess shrugged her shoulders "I don't know."
"Twelve o'clock," her mother said.
Connie hugged Tess. "Darling, he said goodbye and the little old woman gave you the time and date of his passing."
"The little old woman was his departed mother, if you want to believe," her mother added.
At ten o'clock, when the last of the family left for their own homes, Tess joined her husband, slipping her hand into his as they walked the short walk to their own home.
That night, welcoming the warmth and cocoon of her blankets, Tess encouraged sleep, where in her dreams she may just be given the chance to continue her debate...
[ Text and original characters copyright © 2007 by Teresa Strati ]
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