Love is the Winner

DADDY, CAN YOU HEAR ME?   Marissa stared out the window, unable to focus or shut off the chatter in her head. Endless chatter. Like a parakeet out of control. It had been five days since her father’s death. And five very long nights. She still could not piece together the turn he’d taken that ended his life. It was a routine surgery, one that doctors performed by the thousands every day. He never really came out of it, never took one inch toward recovery. Instead, he was gone. Peacefully, much like his life, without fanfare, but gone. Marissa knew she had to get a grip, take care of the legal business of her father’s life. He hadn’t exactly planned on never going home, so there was no will and no formality to anything. She’d been sitting in her car in front of his apartment for over an hour, her long legs getting numb, realizing she could no longer postpone going inside. She couldn’t stop crying.  The key had already cut grooves in her hands. From her view, she could see his car parked in the car port and that upset her even more. One foot in front of the other. One step at a time. Just do it. Get it over with. She opened the door to his apartment and smelled cigarettes even though he had stopped smoking years earlier. The drapes were partially open. She opened them all the way, then the windows. Air. Fresh air. Breathe it in. She walked around the living room, touching his things, sensing his presence, and could not fight the tears. The sadness was overpowering and she was angry. “God, if you really are there, how could you take him from us? He had so much to live for. He just wanted to live in good health and without pain. Why was it his time to go?” Marissa knew there was no answer, at least not one she wanted to hear. She was angry, especially at God. Where to start? Probably with his legal papers, if any, and figuring out where things stood as far as bills and money.  She sat at his desk and remembered it from when she was a child. It was mahogany, kidney shaped. She used to play under it when she was a little girl. Sometimes her father would sit at the desk and pretend to not know she was under it. Even his six foot tall presence did not crowd her. He’d call to her and giggle, knowing she was right beneath his feet. He was organized and everything he did was clearly marked. Each bill that had to do with his life was in neat order – cable, car p*****t, car insurance, electric, medical, etc. In his check book, Marissa noted a balance of several thousand dollars. She found a savings passbook as well; the balance was over ten thousand dollars. She had no idea what she was supposed to do about this money. There was an envelope addressed to Marissa in her dad’s handwriting. Her hands shook as she opened it. “Marissa, if you are reading this, then I didn’t make it through the surgery. I’m sorry, honey. I love you and thank you for being the kind of daughter you’ve been. You’ve made my life so good and I am grateful. Be good to yourself. Continue on the path you’re on with your life. You are beautiful and smart. Do what is best for you, not others.” The note continued: “Please give each of your sisters $2,000 and keep the rest for yourself.  Please give my car to your nephew, Devon. I made the last p*****t just the other day and all you have to do is transfer title to Devon. Do as you wish with any of my other things. I love you, Daddy” His letter gave her comfort and made her feel strong. She appreciated direction from him and went through the papers, packing up what to take with her. The refrigerator was almost empty and she threw out what was left. All the small appliances were unplugged. Typical of her dad, she thought. She walked into the bedroom, again noting the order of it all. The bed was made. That made her laugh. He would never leave the house without making the bed, former Navy man that he was. On the nightstand was the book he’d been reading, Gibran, one of his favorites. His wallet was there, too. She sat on the edge of the bed and opened it, the smell of used leather wafting to her nostrils. A lottery ticket fell to the floor. She picked it up and laughed. It was dated the day before he went into the hospital a week ago. She started to put the ticket back in his wallet, then changed her mind and stuffed it in the pocket of her jeans. She would check it later from home. Her dad had been buying lottery tickets for years, at least twenty years that she could recall. He teased Marissa and her sisters that some day they would be rich from a winning ticket. His system was simple, play their birthdays. And they teased him that maybe it was time to pick another system since he wasn’t winning, so stop with the birthdays already. He had even done his laundry. Not one dirty towel or pair of underwear was in the hamper. Everything was put away. He died as neatly as he lived. Damn, then Marissa began to cry again. Can’t stay here, need to get finished and leave. She didn’t have to do this today. His rent was paid for the entire month, so a little bit at a time would be okay. She just didn’t want to risk anyone trying to break into the apartment and taking anything, knowing the landlady would want to start renting it the next month. Maybe she would ask the landlady to hold off for another week or so, until they could get his things out. She checked the closet and dresser for any other important papers, noting that when all is said and done, life comes down to a small box of papers ... and a small box of ashes. That was all that was left. She stared out the living room window for a moment, recalling the memorial service. An amazing process:  cremation, then scattering his ashes in the Pacific Ocean. Dad had many friends and there were almost 100 people in the church’s courtyard. The readings were simple, poignant to his life and early passing, respectful to the man who was such a kind person, whose heart and soul were never questioned by anyone. In addition to many friends, Marissa noticed two of the nurses who were with him when he died. In a short time, he had given love to so many. Scattering his ashes at sea was easy, but bringing the remaining ashes home in a container was not. Marissa thought that choosing a container for ashes was as ghoulish as picking out a casket. Her dad always said it was about money – funerals and burials. Some people want a pine box or pine urn; others wanted something elaborate and costly, in the tens of thousands of dollars. Marissa knew her dad would never want anything elaborate and expensive. He didn’t live his life that way, so why would he want that in death? Marissa checked the answering machine and noted two messages, which she played. They were both from the hospital regarding pre-admission. She quickly hit delete, then decided to turn off the answering machine. Enough messages for a dead person. She’d call and have the phone disconnected. Get it together, girlfriend; get out of here. She was starting to feel smothered, didn’t want to smell his smell any more or see his things. It was easier to think in the abstract, not being so close to him. But she wasn’t ready to go home just yet and drove over to the coast. It was spring; a beautiful May day without a cloud in the sky, 80 degrees, and Marissa had a craving for an ice cream cone. She drove to a Baskin-Robbins and ordered her dad’s favorite - butter pecan, one scoop in a sugar cone. She reached in her pocket for money and out came the lottery ticket. She paid for her ice cream and walked out to the patio, finding a chair in the shade to savor her treat. Then she looked at the lottery ticket and laughed again. “Okay, Dad, this must have been the last ticket you bought before you went to the hospital. I guess I’ll have to check it out and see what my inheritance might be.” She stuffed the ticket back into her jeans. There would be plenty of time later to look at yet another wish that would not come true. When Marissa arrived home, she cleared a space in the corner of her living room for her father’s papers. There had been enough emotions and business for one day. She turned on the news while whipping up an omelet for dinner, but couldn’t wrap her brain around anything the broadcaster was saying so turned it off. All of the emotions were beginning to catch up with her and she was tired. Maybe tonight was the night she would finally sleep. Her cell phone rang but she didn’t answer it, could see that it was a friend from work. She was not in the mood to answer a lot of questions, especially about how she was feeling or when she’d be back to work. A quick look in the mirror made her realize that her normally lustrous, long, auburn hair was suffering from neglect and the dark circles under her eyes told a sad story. She was exhausted and got into bed rather than lying down on the couch. The clock said 9:00 p.m., but her body said three days without sleep. She turned her phones off. No one was going to get through to her tonight. The dishes were left in the sink; her legs could no longer keep her standing.