Above All

By Val Schilber

Young woman graduates in the '70's, takes a vacation in Hawaii with her best friend, before starting her career, only to find that her career is staring her in the face in Hawaii. Where will her career take her in business and pleasure...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Val Schilber
• Release date: Nov 12, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311682345

Book preview

Chapter 1

Julie pushed open the door to the Psychology of Color classroom, walked down the hall and stepped outside to another cold, drizzly, February day in the great San Joaquin Valley of California. Oh, this is miserable, she thought as she crossed the parking lot to her grandpa’s little Ford Coupe. She opened the door, tossed her books on the seat, sat behind the steering wheel and closed the car door. I will be so glad to finish school. Eight years in grammar school, four years in high school and four more years of college is quite enough for me. At least I’ll have my BA in Interior Design in May. Then look out, world, here I come! I hope it works out that way.

She checked her watch: 4:45. Time to go see Grandpa. I hope he’s better, but he probably won’t be. In the two weeks he’s been at Evergreen Convalescent Hospital, he’s steadily declined.

She remembered being shocked to find him on the bathroom floor when she got home from school three weeks ago. At first, she thought he was dead. But he responded when she spoke his name and managed to get up with her help to his bed. He slowly laid down and pulled the covers up over his shoulders.

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and fell asleep.

He’d get up in the morning, eat breakfast and go back to bed. That pattern was repeated for the next three days. Friday morning she called Dr. Benson, who agreed to make a house call after work. He arrived about 6:30, walked into Grandpa’s room, and quietly checked his color - pale, his breathing - shallow, and his heartbeat - irregular.

Dr. Benson looked up and walked out of the room and into the kitchen. His words were, Julie, your grandpa is an old seventy-nine years. Many men are still active at his age, but he isn’t. I’m afraid he’s giving up. I think he’s had enough of this life and ready to go to the next one to join his wife. It’s time for him to go to a convalescent hospital where he can have twenty-four hour care. You need to finish school, and you don’t have time to give him the care he needs. She argued with him, insisting that she could take care of him, but he wouldn’t listen.

Early next morning, the ambulance from Evergreen pulled up to the front of the house. Two young men walked into his bedroom, gently placed him onto a gurney, wheeled him out the front door into the ambulance, and drove away.

She stood silently by the front door, tears running down her cheeks and finally walked back into an empty, quiet, lonely house.

* * *

Julie parked the car and walked slowly towards the front door of the building, even though the wind and rain at her back pushed her forward through the darkness. The double doors opened automatically as she approached. Thank God for the warmth inside, she thought. But there’s that smell, the unmistakable odor of a convalescent hospital. She looked at her watch…5:30. An LVN walked briskly towards her and escorted her down the endless hallway, past the innumerable rooms occupied by feeble patients waiting to die. I hate this place, thought Julie, but I couldn’t take care of him any longer. I sure wish I could have.

Julie kept her eyes on the back of the nurse’s heels until they reached her grandfather’s room. The nurse stepped aside as Julie approached his bed. He lay motionlessly. He had lost a lot of weight, down to a hundred pounds and looked lost in his bed.

The nurse informed her that he was slowly slipping away. Julie, he really needs to be put on some life support systems, if he is to survive.

No. No life support. She paused, and took a breath. What kind of life support? she inquired after a second thought.

Well, Dr. Harmon has recommended one of three procedures: a breathing tube, a tracheotomy, or at least additional oxygen to ease his breathing and make him more comfortable.

No! No breathing tube or tracheotomy!

Doctor also recommends a feeding tube or intravenous feeding, since your grandfather is refusing to eat.

No! No tubes or IV’s.

And the Doctor also asks that you consider a pacemaker to stabilize your grandfather’s ailing heart.

No! No! No! He doesn’t want any of those things.

Julie, don’t you want your grandfather to live? asked the startled nurse.

No! Not like this I don’t. And he doesn’t want to either. If he can’t take care of himself and his garden, I know that he’d rather die. He told me adamantly, ‘No tubes and no machines!’

Well, then you had better go to the office and sign the No Code form. And I guarantee that it will be his death sentence. He probably won’t last another 24 hours without help.

Julie fought tears as she looked at the nurse. Please go away and let me talk to my Grandpa.

Julie, he can’t talk to you.

He can, too. I know he can. Go away and let me talk to him.

The nurse frowned at her. I’ll be at the nurses’ station if you need me.

I won’t need you. I can take care of this.

The nurse shook her head and walked out of the room.

Close the door! Julie commanded.

The nurse quietly closed the door behind her.

Julie looked closely at her grandfather. His wispy gray hair was carefully parted and combed to one side. The skin on his face was pale ivory and lay on his facial bones with no cushion of flesh underneath. His eyes were sunken into dark gray hollows and his lips were thin and colorless. The white hospital gown covered his chest but revealed his arms and hands. Thick blue veins barely pulsed under his almost transparent skin. He looks older than seventy-nine, thought Julie, or maybe I don’t know what seventy-nine is supposed to look like.

Grandpa, can you hear me? Do you know I’m here?

No response.

Grandpa, please talk to me. I need to have you talk to me. Do you want to live some more? Do you want all those machines? I need to know.

No response.

She took his left hand in hers. It was cool. Grandpa, please talk to me. If you don’t want to live any longer, if you are ready to go see Grandma, I’ll sign that ‘No Code’ form. Please tell me what to do. She felt a gentle pressure on her hand. She looked again at his face. Was that a smile? The corners of his mouth turned slightly upward. Grandpa, are you talking to me? Did you hear me?

Another gentle squeeze.

Oh, Grandpa, I’ll miss you, but if you’ve had enough ---.

Tears appeared at the corners of his eyes and ran onto his temples and into his hair.

Oh Grandpa, if you’re ready to go; it’s okay, you’ve told me everything I need to know. I mean about the house, and the insurance policy and the checking account. I know I can handle all of that. But, I really don’t want you to go yet.

Another gentle squeeze.

Grandpa, I promise I’ll remember everything you told me about my mother, and getting a job and taking care of myself. I couldn’t have made it without you. Did I ever say thank you? Thank you for raising me, and giving me a home, and a college education and teaching me to be self-sufficient. Grandpa, can you hang on awhile longer?

More tears welled up in his eyes. His mouth opened slightly. -rip.

Grandpa, did you say something?

-rip.

Rip? I don’t know what you mean.

-rip, he repeated softly.

She looked at his weathered face. What could he be saying? Rip? Rip what? Oh, my God, is he saying trip? Trip, Grandpa? Are you saying trip?

He nodded his head affirmatively.

Oh, I can’t take that trip now. I want to stay here with you.

His head moved slowly from side to side.

But, I need to be here with you.

Again, his head moved slowly from side to side.

Grandpa. Grandpa…I can’t leave you now, you need me.

He moved his head negatively.

Grandpa, -

Again, he slowly shook his head from side to side.

She felt her heart sink. She looked carefully at his face. Okay, Grandpa, if you’re ready to let go, I will be too, but I’m not quite ready.

Another gentle squeeze to her hand.

Oh, Grandpa, Grandpa, I really do love you. Did I ever say that? She wiped her tears away with the back of her had. I’ll always remember you and everything you taught me. I’ll be strong and independent and I’ll work and take care of myself, and I won’t let anyone take advantage of me.

The nurse entered the room just as Julie started sobbing. She promptly stood up and wiped away her tears. I’ll go to the office and sign that form now. She leaned over her Grandpa and gently kissed his forehead. Good bye, Grandpa, good bye, she whispered softly.

Shall we call you if his condition worsens?

No, that won’t be necessary.

Julie!

No, I said! My Grandpa and I are square, Julie stated firmly.

Square?

Yes, square. She turned her back to the nurse. Good bye, Grandpa. With tears in her eyes, she walked out of the room, back down the hall, past the innumerable rooms, to the front desk. She requested the No Code forms. She signed and dated them: Julie Mathews, February 10, 1970, and walked out into the damp night air.

The cool rain washed her red, tear-stained face. She fumbled for the key and then remembered that she hadn’t locked the car. The little green Ford once again sputtered to life.

It didn’t take long to get home. Oakville wasn’t very big. Maybe twenty-five hundred people, Julie thought bitterly. Twenty-two hundred and forty-eight of them snug in their beds in their three bedroom, two bathroom houses, content with the valley heat, valley cold, valley fog and each other. Oh, stop it, she thought. You’re mad at everyone now and already missing your Grandpa.

And why couldn’t Michelle be here now? What are best friends for? Aren’t they supposed to be here for you when everything is awful? And why did Michelle and her family have to go to that ridiculous Baptist Church retreat? She is religious enough without it.

Oh, damn it! Here come the tears again. She tried unsuccessfully to stop them. Grandpa said to be strong, be smart, be independent, take care of yourself. I’m trying, Grandpa, I’m trying, she whispered to no one.

She turned left on Sycamore Street and turned left again into the driveway. The garage door was open. She pulled in, stopped the car, turned off the lights and ignition, noticing that the For Sale sign in the front yard now had a Sold sign attached to it. She felt hot tears forming again. I’ve got to get into the house. I must get into the house, her voice had a strange sound in the darkened silence.

She opened the unlocked door, entered the laundry room, turned left into the kitchen and turned on the overhead light. The phone was ringing. She barely managed to say hello.

Julie, this is Janet calling from the Century 21 office. I hate to confirm this with you now. I just need to review the final offer one last time, because the buyers are eager to close the sale. It’s a cash deal with no contingencies. An older couple who wants to scale down. They’re giving you 60 days’ notice before you have to move. Oh, by the way, how is your grandfather?

Julie sighed softly, I don’t think he’ll make it through the night, he seems to be slipping rapidly away.

Oh, sorry. Well, if I can be of some help, let me know. Bye.

Yeah. Thanks, bye. Julie exhaled loudly as she sank into a dinette chair. I knew this was coming, she thought, but this sure as hell is not the best time. But when would be the best time? She looked at the clock. 8:00pm. Did I have lunch today? I must have. But my stomach feels empty and my bladder feels full.

She left her purse on the table, trudged into the bathroom and turned on the florescent light over the basin. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror as she headed for the toilet. Oh, my God, she thought as she relieved herself, could that have been me? After flushing, she went back to the mirror. She was appalled at her brown stringy wet hair, blood shot eyes over dark circles, white cheeks and pale lips. I look the same age as Grandpa and I’m only twenty-two. Oh, I am so tired. I need a warm shower and a hot dinner, Grandpa’s split pea soup would be good, and a cold drink. But I’m too tired. She stumbled into the bedroom to undress. Maybe I’ll just lie down on my bed for a few minutes.

She was awakened by the incessant ringing of the telephone. Her heart lurched in her chest as she sat up and reached for the phone. She glanced at the clock, it said 3:40. Somehow she managed to say hello. It was the nurse from Evergreen Rehab. Grandpa had died quietly in his sleep about twenty minutes earlier. She slumped over the side of the bed overwhelmed by a sense of loss and loneliness. Grandpa, Grandpa, what am I going to do without you? she fell back on her pillow and let the tears come. When there were no tears left, she slept.

She didn’t know how much time had passed when she awakened. She opened her eyes as the sadness enveloped her again. Grandpa is gone. She lay quietly trying to absorb that thought. He’s gone forever from this earth. I’ll never be able to talk to him or listen to him or watch him garden or prepare a meal for us. What time I’ve had with him is all there will ever be. She sighed. I wish I had a sister. Michelle is as close as I’ll ever get to that. I wish my mother hadn’t died. But, I guess she was no good to anyone. I know she certainly hurt Grandma and Grandpa. I wish I knew who my father was. But, I guess Mother didn’t know either. It could have been any one of many, according to Grandma. I wonder why she chose to live that way. I’ve been told she was a pretty girl, and smart, too. Grandpa said she had great potential, but she loved to party. Really loved to party. She liked booze and boys in high school and then she liked booze and men after high school. At least that’s what Grandpa said. Grandma couldn’t talk about her without crying. She sighed again. But somehow I’ve got to keep my life together. Let me see, there’s some money in the checking account, about $700.

Grandpa has already paid Meyers Chapel for his funeral and burial expenses. Luckily I’ll have my Bachelor’s degree in Interior Design. I should be able to find a job somewhere and I should be getting some money from the sale of the house; hopefully quite a bit. The car is old but it gets me back and forth to school. I can stay in this house for 60 more days, time enough to finish school. And then I’m off to Hawaii, a trip after all my hard work and, of course, Grandpa’s generosity. Michelle and I will have a great time, just like Grandpa intended.

She sat up on the edge of the bed and felt light-headed. She put her head down on her hands and waited for the fog to clear. She looked at the clock. It was 7:40. Grandpa has been dead for three hours and twenty minutes. Tears fell from her eyes onto the floor. Damn it! Damn it! I’ve got to pull myself out of this. She stood up and let the tears run. She walked into the bathroom and turned the tub faucets on and staggered into the kitchen. She prepared a pot of coffee and found the orange juice in the fridge. She drank one glass and then another. I’ll fix some oatmeal after I’ve had a bath; a warm bubble bath. She undressed and sank into the warm water. Oh, that feels heavenly. I’ve always wanted a shower in this house until right now, she thought. She pushed the bubbles right and then left, letting them swirl around her body. Oh, that feels so good. Maybe I’ll just stay her forever. I’ll let someone else plan the funeral. I’ll let someone else move everything out of the house. What am I going to do with all this stuff? I really don’t want it. Someday I want to have my own things: a new sofa, new chairs and new tables, lamps, a new dining room set, new beds. Oh, I’m sorry, Grandpa, this is your stuff, isn’t it? But it’s all old and worn out. I like Grandma’s good dishes and silver. Maybe I’ll keep those but in the meantime, I’ll shampoo, get dressed, have breakfast and call Meyer’s Chapel.

She put on her grey wool pants and sweater and went back to the bathroom. She applied her makeup, eye shadow and red lipstick. She brushed her brown hair to the left and then looked in the mirror. That’s better, she thought, I could use some mascara but that will have to wait until tomorrow.

Mr. Meyers had a list of instructions from Grandpa as well as a prepared program. He had already called Pastor Peterson and the organist and set the date for the service: Friday, March 13th. Oh, that’s swell, she thought. It’ll probably be raining buckets.

Chapter 2

And it was. Buckets of water, as from a fire hose, drenching everyone as they scurried into the chapel.

Mr. Meyers escorted her into the family room. There was no one else there. Michelle, I wish you were here. She peeked into the main room. Grandpa’s casket was closed, as he had requested. The crowd was small: a few old friends, mostly widows, and a few old buddies from the lumber yard where he had worked. No young people. He hadn’t had many friends as a young man and there were fewer now.

Thankfully, thought Julie, the pastor had known Grandpa for forty years and could speak in personal terms about his life.

The organist began to play In the Garden to start the service.

He stepped behind the podium and began. Carl Mathews was born January 4th, 1891, in Manistee, Michigan, came to Oakville in nineteen hundred with his parents and brother and died February 11th, 1970. He married Christine Sprague in 1925 and had one daughter. Both his wife and daughter, Marie Louise preceded him in death. He is survived by one granddaughter, Julie Mathews. He started working at Oakville Lumber Company when he was sixteen years old and was assistant manager when he retired. He was a kind and responsible man. His granddaughter and friends will miss him dearly. Would anyone like to share any experiences that they had with Carl?

Silence.

Our Father who Art in Heaven, filled the chapel.

One bouquet of flowers from the funeral home on top of the casket. I should have ordered a bouquet, too, Julie thought sadly.

You may donate to your favorite charity in his name. This concludes the service. Refreshments will be served in the Social Hall after burial were the pastor’s final words.

Julie sat in stunned silence. Is that all there is? No mention of his sacrifices to care for a depressed wife, care for an alcoholic daughter and raise a parentless granddaughter? What about all that? Is that nothing in the eyes of the church or the community? Julie walked from the chapel to the adjoining graveyard in a quiet rage.

Why didn’t I stand up and say something? Why didn’t I tell them that he took care of me, fed me, clothed me; listened to my teenage stories of loss and abandonment? Why? Why didn’t I tell all of them what a wonderful and kind man he was? I should have said something and I didn’t. Oh, Grandpa, I hope you can forgive me for my silence.

She stood silently by the casket as the pastor recited the 23rd Psalm. When it was over, she touched the casket, quietly said good-by and walked away in tears. As she approached the Social Hall, she paused. Why do I have to go in there? They don’t seem to know what Grandpa did and I don’t think they even care…Son-of-a-bitch! They’re just here for a free meal. I’m not going in there! I’m going home!

It had started to rain again. I hate this! Michelle, where are you? When are you coming home? I hate this.

She drove home through tears, steamy windows and a relentless rain storm. She parked the car, ran into the house and found Grandpa’s brandy in the pot and pan cupboard. With trembling hands, she poured some into a glass, tipped her head back and let it run down her throat. She swallowed, coughed, poured another half glassful and let that run down her throat. It was warm and sweet and strong. She poured again, swallowed again and coughed again. How long will it take to feel better? How long before it eases the pain? How much longer can I do this? Maybe it just isn’t worth it. Maybe my mother had the right idea. Find some way to end it. She started to cry. Am I weak like my mother or strong like my Grandpa? she said aloud. Maybe I’ll end up depressed and alcoholic, too. Oh, no, I can’t do that to Grandpa. He’d be so terribly disappointed in me. Well, maybe one more drink. She poured, swallowed and coughed again as the phone rang.

She picked up the receiver and heard Michelle say, Julie, it’s me, Michelle. I just called the convalescent hospital and found out about your grandfather. I’m so sorry. I said a prayer for him while on retreat. Maybe this is the way God is answering my prayer. Julie, are you there?

Yes, I’m here.

Well, stay there. I’ll pick up a few groceries and be right over.

Okay, I’ll stay right here. Bye.

She decided to stay put because she realized she couldn’t walk. The brandy must be kicking in already ‘cause my head is starting to spin and I don’t think I can move. I think I’ll have another drink. She poured some more brandy in the glass and slugged it down. Wow. That was a dandy. A couple more of those and I’ll be in great shape. She poured more into the glass and stumbled toward the living room. Think I’ll watch a li’l TV. Disneyland, maybe because they always have happy endings. Snow white, but I’m too old to be Snow White. I’d like a Prince Charming though but what would I do with seven Dwarves? She chuckled.

She heard quick steps up the front walk and then the doorbell chimed.

Julie, it’s me, Michelle. Are you in there?

Cert’nly, I’m here. Where else would I be?

Open the door, Julie, its cold out here.

I know its cold out there. And wet, too, and lonely, too.

Julie, open this door, okay? I want to come in. I’ve got something for you.

Okay, okay. I’m coming. She stepped toward the front door and fell against it. She tried to focus on the lock, but it was a blur.

Julie, open this door!

I’m trying. I’m trying. But she couldn’t manage to release the dead bolt and push down on the handle at the same time. Crap! Michelle, the door’s stuck.

Never mind. I’ll come in the back door.

Good, ‘cause this door’s stuck. Um, she thought, I might need some coffee or another drink. If I can just get to the kitchen. She let go of the door and staggered back into the door. Um, this might be tougher than I thought.

Michelle walked into the kitchen, arms loaded with grocery bags. Her blonde hair was damp and curly. She was wearing a blue rain coat which almost exactly matched the color of her eyes and it hid her petite body even though it was belted. She glanced at her friend wobbling from side to side. Julie, what is wrong? Are you sick?

No, I’m fine, perfec’ly fine, she staggered one step.

Julie, don’t fall. Let me help you. Michelle placed the bags on the counter next to the almost empty brandy bottle and looked again at her friend. Julie, are you drunk? Are you drunk?

I think I might be. I don’t feel the pain anymore. Do you know what pain I mean?

No, Julie, I don’t. Let me help you to the table. She reached for Julie’s arm.

No, I don’t need any help. I’m perfec’ly able to get to the table by myself. Did you hear that? Perfec’ly able to get the table? And you think I’m drunk. If I can just manage two more steps. She shuffled to a chair and flopped down. Whew, made it.

Julie, have you had a meal today?

Um, no.

When did you eat last?

Um, I had orange juice and coffee a couple days ago, or maybe yesterday ago.

"Oh, Julie, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here for you when your grandfather died, but I’m here now and I’m going to take care of you. First, let’s get you out of