Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
“I think you did the best you could, Dad,” I said finally. “And I admired you for
everything you did and tried to do. I'm a healthy, functioning adult, Robert is a healthy,
functioning adult, and you can take credit for that. I don't blame you for anything. But
you missed a lot. You had a lot on your plate, and you missed a lot.”
“I guess I understand that,” he said.
I think that's pretty close to what I said and what he said. It's a decent summary, any-
way. I went on: I can't believe you would think I would be untouched by all this. I grew
up in the house, remember. I was a witness. I saw my mother unable to do anything oth-
er mothers could do. I saw her walk first with a cane, then with an aluminum walker;
then when she couldn't walk at all, we posted wheelchairs upstairs and downstairs and
mounted a chair glide on the staircase so she could get from one to the other. I remember
when we had a ramp installed in front of the house so the wheelchair could get down the
stairs from the porch to the sidewalk. And it wasn't only her mobility; it was her mind
that contracted, too, until her connection with the world was tenuous, so tenuous. She
asked me once who Michael Jackson was. She spent hours of each day at a table in the
kitchenette taking pills, remember? Her pillbox had more pills in it than I've seen in one
place before or since. And for years there was a parade of strange women, some of them
young and good-looking, from England and Latin America and Maine, living in the tiny
guest room, cooking for us, doing the laundry, and making the beds; how weird do you
think that was for a kid going through the horniest years of adolescence?
My father was quiet for a while. He had an indignant expression on his face, but after
a few moments the indignation drained away and he just looked forlorn.
“Okay,” he said. “I get it. I haven't listened. I'm listening now.”
