Death in the Delta: Uncovering a Mississippi Family Secret

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: Dad’s Final Days

164 Dad’sFinalDays Mid-August 2000, Uncle Tom called to tell me that Dad was in the De Funiak Springs hospital in Florida. “What’s wrong?” I asked—as if I didn’t already know that too much alcohol for too many years was high on the list. “He has congestive heart failure and a massive aortic aneurism . I had a real hard time getting him to go to the hospital because he didn’t want to give up his cigarettes. Finally, when we got there, I asked Dr. Stewart to put a nicotine patch on him and give him whatever it would take to keep him from having the d.t.’s. Things have settled down now. But you might want to come down here and see about him.” I hung up and called Jay immediately. We decided to meet in Charlotte and fly down. I prepared for the trip with tug-of-war emotions. Yes, I wanted to see my dad again. No, I didn’t. Before noon the following day, Jay and I arrived at Uncle Tom’s apartment, right next door to Dad’s. He was happy to see us. Tom was thin as a post, swarthy from working in the sun on a golf course for years, and full of dry, down-to-earth humor. “By all rights your Dad ought to be dead already. He’s been drinkin’ so long his insides are pickled.” ��� I was first to enter the sterile, stark-white and pale-green hospital room. Dad was sitting up in bed when I knocked and then poked my head around the bed screen. chapter sixteen dad’s final days 165 “Hello, Parge,” he said. That was one of several nicknames he had for me, including Mol, Pol, and Pod Wadis. “I didn’t know you were coming . . . Jay, how are you, son?” The first thing I noticed about him was his sallow skin, the bulging and bloodshot eyes framed in long black lashes; this was a different man from the one I’d seen in a photo taken six months earlier. He was standing on the deck of Aunt Sis’s house with Uncle Bill, Uncle Tom, and Aunt Sis. He looked dapper in his double-breasted navy blazer, the pinstripe Brooks Brothers shirt that I sent him for Christmas that year, and a rep tie. He was sunburned and robust and I could tell that being enfolded in his family suited him well after years of isolation and poverty in Bristol. “Dad, you feelin’ bad?” I asked. “No, not really. I went to the VA hospital in Pensacola for a checkup and the doctor put me in here. I’ll be going home soon. Gosh, it’s good to see you kids.” He lifted himself up, sliding his legs over the side of the bed. I blushed when his loosely tied hospital gown rode up. Tom spoke. “Well, young Jay, s’pose we go over to the club and hit a round of golf. We can come back later and pick up Molly for some supper at Gino’s.” “Sounds good to me.” Why didn’t I anticipate this? Of course Jay was going to go off in the only car we had with Uncle Tom and leave me here, alone with Dad. “Molly, do you want us to drop you off at the inn?” Surprise, surprise. It took me a minute to consider my options. I knew that it would be hard to stay, but this might be my only chance to be with Dad alone. “You go ahead. I’ll stay here.” After Jay and Tom left I tried unsuccessfully to engage Dad in conversation. I ran through my list: my girls, my teaching, my divorce. We went on like this for half an hour when his one-word answers became grunts and nods. I could see that he was agitated dad’s final days 166 and I wondered about d.t.’s. Then he asked me, “Molly, could you get me a cigarette?” “Dad, you’re in the hospital. They won’t let you smoke in here.” He lay back and became quiet. It was clear he was struggling and the tension in the room began to mount. I felt so awkward. What do I talk about with this man who is my father but seems like a stranger? I wish I had known...