Florence
Day 685—It’s Time
It’s been two weeks since Mother’s funeral. Even though we’re Jewish, I would say we’re probably more culturally Jewish than religious. Shiva lasted only two days, instead of the customary seven. If you’re unfamiliar with the practice of sitting shiva, it’s a mourning period when the immediate family receives condolences at home, and when friends and family gather for prayers.
Part of the reason we cut it short is that I can’t leave Father alone for too long because of his condition, which, incidentally, has deteriorated since Mother died. If it didn’t fly in the face of logic, I would swear he knows exactly what happened.
Regardless, he is really in bad shape now. Bad enough that as much as I hated Joey for repeating over the last few months that he hoped Father would die, that’s how I feel now.
I am absolutely drained from all this. It’s not about me, and if it meant my rearranging everything to spend more time with Father, I gladly would. But I just can’t stand to see him in that condition, especially with no possibility of ever getting better. No, it’s time—time for Father to stop suffering, and time for what’s left of our family to move on.
I’m worried about Joey. I can’t remember the last instance we spent time together. My children hardly know him. Sometimes I wonder if I even know him.
He pretends he’s a man of the world, with his new business and all his girlfriends, but I think inside he’s a frightened child. After he saw Dr. Tremblay and found out about his having two copies of that ApoE4 gene, you would think he would have voiced some concern. But aside from when he came to see me to break the news, he hasn’t mentioned it again. And when I brought it up a few times, he just made light of it.
He has told me in the past that he is the way he is because of his upbringing. Maybe that’s true, maybe not. But all that doesn’t matter anymore. We are where we are in life, and it won’t do any good to place blame, if indeed there is any blame to place.
Joey
Day 690—The Letter
Yesterday, Florence, Bernie, and I went over to the house on Oakland. We decided that we might as well as go through Mom and Dad’s stuff, since no one will be living there anymore—at least no one from our family.
While going through Mom’s desk, I came across a copy of her and Dad’s wills, as well as their living mandates. Now, Dad isn’t gone yet, but, given his condition, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to read everything. Florence and Bernie agreed.
The bottom line is, Dad’s will leaves everything to Mom. Her will leaves everything to Dad. And there is a provision in both wills stating that Florence and I should share what’s left once they’re both gone. The living mandates give Florence and me power of attorney. Florence said we probably should sell the house. Sounds good to me. I could finally pay off my debts, including the thirty-plus grand I owe Bernie.
They asked me what I wanted besides my share of the house. I said I’d like the family photo that Mom kept by the side of her bed. And that’s all I really wanted—honest. I’m not saying if there was something of great value that I wouldn’t have asked for my part.
As we went through Mom’s desk, Florence came across two letters. The front of one envelope said, For Joey, to be opened after my death. The other one was for Florence. They were from Dad. I could tell by the shaky handwriting.
I stuffed my envelope inside my jacket. I certainly wasn’t going to open it in front of them, especially after Florence said maybe we should wait till Dad dies before reading them. She said the letters were different from a will. But I didn’t think I would be violating any trust, given Dad’s condition.
Anyway, I went to see him this morning. I took the letter with me. Somehow, I felt if I read it in front of him—I don’t know—maybe it would be more kosher. I guess it sounds stupid, but that’s how I felt.
When I went into the room, he was in his chair beside the bed, facing the window that looks down on the garden. His eyes were shut tight, almost as if he were squinting.
I yelled out, “Yo, Pops,” but got no response. Not that I was expecting any. I moved over to the bed and plopped myself down beside him. He didn’t budge.
I hesitated for a moment, then reached into my pocket and pulled out the envelope and took a long, deep breath. As I tore it open and pulled out the single page, I said, “Pops, this better be good, or else!”
I began to read the scribbled writing: Dear Joey, I never told you while I was alive how much I loved you and how proud I was …
My body sank and I began to shake. I didn’t know whether to be ecstatic or furious. He actually was proud of me. He even said he loved me. But why couldn’t he say it to my face when he could think, when he could speak? He had forty years to utter just those few words—words that would have changed both our lives.
I looked over at him, hunched in his chair. Suddenly, his eyes opened and seemed to focus on me. He mumbled something. The only word I could make out was son. And I wasn’t even 100 percent sure about that. What I was sure about was that his eyes were saying what his voice couldn’t. I reached over to hug him. Then I opened up his clenched hand and squeezed. I swear I could feel him press his palm against mine.
I don’t know how much longer he has, but I won’t miss a day from now on—not one!
Montreal Gazette
January 21, 2014
Reimer, Saul Nathaniel. Peacefully, in his seventy-seventh year, on Monday, January 20, 2014, at Manoir Laurier in Montreal. Beloved husband of the late Monique Proulx Reimer. Devoted father of Florence and Joey. Cherished brother of the late Miriam. Loving son of the late Lawrence and Hannah Reimer, and son-in-law of the late Sebastien and Carole Proulx. Caring father-in-law of Bernard Weiner. Adored grandfather of Howard and Daniel. He will be sadly missed by all his family and friends. We would like to express our sincere appreciation for the warmth and kindness shown him by the wonderful staff at Manoir Laurier. Funeral services will take place at Silverberg and Sons, Wednesday, January 22, at 2:00 p.m. Donations in his memory can be made to the Alzheimer’s Society of Canada.
Also by Eric Rill
Pinnacle of Deceit
The Innocent Traitor
About The Author
I was born in Montreal and graduated from Cornell University with a Bachelor of Arts, and from UCLA with an MBA. Having held several executive positions in the hospitality industry, including president of a global hotel group, I finally figured out that I was more the creative type than the corporate type. So I packed up and headed to the Caribbean, where I wrote my first novel, Pinnacle Of Deceit. That was followed by The Innocent Traitor.
My third novel was to be another thriller, but after I was more than halfway through, I put it aside and penned An Absent Mind—a novel I knew I had to write, having been through eight years with my father’s Alzheimer’s. My goal was not only to write good fiction, but also to provide readers with a true picture of this dreaded disease that afflicts more than 35 million people worldwide. I truly hope I was able to achieve that.
Acknowledgments
I would once again like to thank Jim Wade, my editor, for his work on this novel. His perception and acumen is truly appreciated. In addition, I would like to acknowledge Carol Edwards, my copy editor, and a special thanks to Sharon Nettles, proofreader, editor, and all-around helper for her diligent work in making sure this novel made it to press on time and in good shape.
Dr. Serge Gauthier, Director of the Alzheimer’s Research Unit at McGill University, is one of the most respected researchers in the field. Without him, this book would not have been possible. He spent an enormous amount of time making sure my medical facts were correct and encouraged me to continue when the going was tough. Thank you, Serge!
And of course, Christine Schaffer, who read draft, after draft, after draft. If there were a prize for patience and understanding, she would be the clear winner.
To Chris Dymond, Kia Bossom Wood, Andrée Laganière, and Jim Brodsky—I thank you for your support.
And finally, a posthumous thank you to Jim Phillips and Mel Leeb, who were there for me every step of the way. I am so sorry you aren’t here to see this book come to fruition. I miss you both.