Remember The Moon Read online

  “Damn him! Damn him!” my mother yelled behind them, held back by Estelle. “I told him not to go!” She bordered on hysteria. Estelle tried to steer her away, but my mom wiggled loose and kneeled on the dock just behind the paramedics, crying.

  “Help him for godssakes!”

  I wanted to go and comfort my mom, but I couldn’t move, rooted to the spot. Maya had her head tucked into Marcus’s chest and his arms were around her, comforting her. Later, after they took my dad away in the ambulance, after I sat with my mom in the sterile, submarine green hospital waiting room, after the doctor appeared, his jaw clenched, after I held my father’s grey cold hand, his gold wedding band the only color, after the long, silent drive back to the cabin, I sat on the end of the dock, amongst the debris left by the paramedics – a syringe, torn plastic wrappings, a latex glove. The moon disappeared as the horizon turned a muted salmon-pink. I kicked my legs gently in the water, their undulating form below the surface tinged a pasty grey-green. I willed my dad to swim up, grab my feet, and laugh hysterically at his hoax. Peering down, attempting to see farther than humanly possible, I saw a flash of something move in the depths. I kicked violently, marring the image, lashing out at the sinister lake. A crow, perched high in a pine tree, cawed loudly at me. Still dressed in my damp Levis and t-shirt, I slid into the water, my eyes open, my heart pounding loudly, its weight crushing, yet oddly comforting, I urged the darkness to deliver me to my dad. Limply, I floated to the surface and took a breath of air despite myself. The crow cawed again and flew away.

  My mother and I never went back to the Willis’s cottage after that day and I only saw Maya once afterward, at a game. I didn’t wave and she pretended not to notice me.

  The floor blackened and I was back in the intake room, the fountain burbling ferociously. Alice sat demurely, waiting.

  “That was rough. I had forgotten some of those details. I blamed myself for not being able to save him. I also hated Marcus for being there.”

  “Yes. And you were angry. ”

  “Very, yes.”

  “Do you think your father’s death was in any way related to your own?”

  “What? No! Why would you suggest that?”

  “Sometimes as humans we subconsciously create our actions. You realize that before you became Jay Cavor, you chose the elements of your lifetime as him? You chose who your parents were. You chose a life where you were unable to save your father from drowning.”

  “What?! That’s insane! Why would I choose something like that?”

  “In order to grow, Jay. You also chose to die the way you did, at the moment you did.”

  “Why would I choose to die in such a stupid way? Why would I choose to leave my wife and son alone?”

  “Part of what you went to the Earth realm to experience was compassion and a sense of self-worth.”

  “How has dying helped me learn that?”

  “Think about it, Jay. How have your feelings towards Maya changed since you died?”

  The floor trick had me back in Toronto on our wedding day at Casa Loma, where I now found myself dancing with Maya in the courtyard. Her auburn hair fell in loose curls around her shoulders, which were bare and soft. She appeared ethereal in her wedding dress, made of heavy satin with many tiny silken buttons that began between her shoulder blades, and created a sensual line across her bottom. I wanted more than anything to run my hand over them, over her. She whispered the words of the Nina Simone song in my ear. My baby don’t care for shows, my baby don’t care for clothes, my baby just cares... for... me...

  Our cheeks ached from smiling so much that day, and now as we danced alone in the courtyard, the wet stones of the old gothic stone mansion smelled fresh and damp, and the pollen from the canopied trees created a dusty yellow carpet under our feet. Faint strains of music came through the French doors, making our dance much more romantic now that we were not in the middle of the large dance floor in front of two hundred guests.

  Reuniting in Pompeii after Maya's fortuitous breakup with Marcus, Maya and I traveled together for a few weeks before I returned to Toronto. She finished her program at the monastery and Marc seemed to disappear from her life. We spoke little of him. We married a year later and then waited a few years before deciding to have a child. When she told me she was pregnant, I was stoked, but sitting at work the next day I realized I couldn’t just quit my job anymore if I didn’t like it. My job and paycheck took on new importance. I needed to loosen my tie, stand up, and walk outside. I bought life insurance the next day. My father taught me that. I knew better than to leave Maya and a baby with nothing if I died a stupid, untimely death. A few months after my dad died, my mom was forced to sell the house, and we moved into a small rental cottage in the Beaches. Her work as a nurse at Toronto General was steady, but I worked as a bartender in the evenings to put myself through University.

  I loved being a dad, though I wasn’t great with the baby thing: incessant crying, poopy diapers, cranky wife. But I cherished those moments when Calder's tiny sausage-like body with its sour milk smell melded into mine and he fell asleep on my chest. And those belly laughs. I couldn’t get enough of those.

  I imagined what felt like tears form in my eyes as I remembered cradling his curled newborn body against my chest one more time, a tiny baby hand outstretched across my shoulder. In another memory I held his naked body in the bathroom mirror, a look of wide-eyed awe on his face, and I held his tiny hand as he learned to walk naked in the grass. I hid with him in the hollowed base of a giant shrub as Maya pretended to look for us, his giggles giving away our hiding place.

  Once Calder started walking and talking, I found him a bit more fun. He laughed those great baby laughs when I threw him high into the air, a look of both terror and pure joy on his face that always made me catch him and clutch him into a big bear hug. Yet I’m ashamed to admit I was jealous of the bond Maya had with Calder, his begging to be pulled into her arms, something he rarely did with me. One chilly afternoon as I tried to put Calder's coat on, he pulled away and yanked the coat out of my hands, demanding ‘Mama do it!’ in that way kids do. I saw red.

  “Are you teaching him to hate me?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “He’s such a mama’s boy! Christ, he won’t even let me put on his goddamned coat!”

  “Jay, he’s three.”

  “You’re coddling him.”

  “I’m not. This is what babies do, Jay. They cling to their mamas.” Calder stared at me across Maya's shoulder, as if to mock me. I stuck my tongue out at him and he began to cry.

  “Oh great. Now he’s crying. Maybe if you got home in time to put him to bed once in a while, or didn’t spend the entire weekend doing your home projects or tuning out in front of the TV, you would have a better relationship with your son!” Her anger surprised me.

  I sunk further into Alice’s white couch.

  “I took so much for granted. After that little spat, I did my best to make it home earlier, and Maya, to her credit, worked harder to find times for Calder and I to be alone together. God, what an idiot I was! Of course, she never took my shit, one of the many things I loved about her. Things improved when Calder turned four and he suddenly became Daddy’s boy. We took trips to Home Depot where he rode the lumber cart, dove his hands into boxes of screws, and I taught him the names of all the tools. I guess that fight with Maya was a good lesson for me. Nothing ever stays the same for long. Shit. I guess I never fully appreciated how much I loved her. I took her for granted.”

  “Good, Jay. What about Calder?”

  “I took him for granted too. Now Calder has a full life ahead of him and will have to live it with the difficulties of being a boy without a father. I hate knowing what kind of life he has in store. It sucks.”

  “It’s a life Calder chose, Jay. From this world, before he was born. His spirit needed to learn through the difficulties of not having a father,
in order to advance his own growth. He too has lessons to learn, lessons he will learn through your death.”

  “That’s messed up.”

  “Not really. It will soon make more sense for you. Can you see how your death might have also helped Maya in her path?”

  “No. She seems pretty miserable. I find it hard to get close to her, like she has a shield around her.”

  “Yes, that’s common among newly grieving people. She will be closed off for a while. But you can give her signs that you’re around, watching over her.”

  “Signs?”

  “You know: smells, lights turning on or off, music that comes on the radio that is meaningful to you both, dreams, that sort of thing.”

  “Huh. OK. How do I do that?”

  “Like everything in this realm, Jay. With the power of thought. People who are experiencing the strong emotions that grief cause are often very open to these signs.”

  “She might not want to hear from me. I think she’s angry with me for dying. Plus, I wasn’t always the best husband.”

  “Why is that?”

  “For a bunch of reasons...”

  I wouldn’t have admitted it in life, but our sex life suffered after Calder was born. We both seemed to lose interest. We were busy. Her pregnant body turned me off. It freaked me out that I might hurt the baby if we had sex. Then when Calder was born, Maya’s focus was all on him. There was never a good time. Maya nursed Calder for a year and wore this hideous nursing nightgown, with slits cut lengthwise down the front, exposing her breasts with their wide brown nipples. I think after a while she just gave up trying to get laid, and I didn’t push the matter, or try to seduce her in any way.

  “That’s perfectly normal, Jay.” Alice’s comment startled me, since I hadn’t spoken my thoughts out loud. I kept forgetting about the mind reading. I really had no intention of telling Alice about our sex life.

  “Childbirth is an intense emotional experience,” Alice continued. “I’m sure Calder's birth reminded you of your own father and his loss in your life.”

  “Maybe. I never really linked my dad’s death with Calder's birth before.” I saw a brief image of Calder’s tiny body, wrapped in a soft blue blanket and nestled into my arms as I lay on the couch. It was a moment I was overcome with emotion. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I looked into his tiny sleeping face. I couldn’t have explained then what the tears were about, but my confusing emotions in that moment now made sense.

  “Birth is a powerful reminder of the cycle of life and death. Witnessing the birth of your own child can elicit some pretty intense emotions that may have interfered with your sex life.”

  “I can’t say I ever thought about grief much. After my dad died, I just threw myself into school and later, work. I worked harder than most people, maybe to prove to myself that I was better than my dad or something, as if I could make myself too good or too important to die.”

  “Working hard is also a good escape from the emotions of grief. You don’t have to think about your loss.”

  “Yeah, that makes sense.”

  “Which is perhaps why the birth of your son caused you such anxiety. You no longer had control of your life.”

  “That’s for sure.”

  “Perhaps in your mind, sex equated to a loss of control, potentially spurring messy emotions.”

  I cringed at her words. I hated all this psycho-babble. I had no desire to talk about sex with my afterlife therapist. “Maybe...”

  “You can still let her know how much you loved her. It’s never too late.”

  “How do I do that?”

  “Like I said before. With the signs. And in dreams. Let her know you’re around.”

  “OK, I’ll try.”

  Alice smiled. “There are endless possibilities, Jay. I think it could teach you both a little about yourselves.”

  “Teach us what?”

  “Jay, I can’t answer that. It will come from your experiences. You may also use the same techniques to connect with Calder. He needs your guidance. Don’t you remember your grief after your father died?”

  “Not really. I blocked it out. Is that why I’m in therapy for the dead?”

  “Transitional Intake is a common path toward accepting your death. Most people experience some form of it.”

  “What do you have to do in your life to avoid it?”

  Alice smiled.

  “Oh, I get it. When I know the answer to that question, I won’t need the therapy, right?”

  “Something like that, yes.”

  “So what do I do now?”

  “You look for opportunities to connect with your family in your new incarnation. Children are more easily accessible to us. They have not yet developed belief systems that block them from seeing what is right in front of them.”

  “Ha. You make it sound easy. Like I’m just going to hover over Calder's world and have little chats with him. Tell him what to do. Isn’t that like trying to control his fate? I thought someone else had that job.”

  “Your job will be to direct your family toward opportunities that will enrich their lives.”

  “How will I know what those opportunities will be?”

  “When it’s time for you to know, you will know.”

  “That’s vague. Can’t I get something a little more concrete?”

  Alice smiled again. “Well, Jay, that’s it for today.”

  Chapter Six

  MAY 12TH, 2006

  Jay,

  What to say to you exactly? I sit here in our too big bed, your imprint still visible in the ten-year-old mattress despite the four months you’ve been gone. I type my thoughts, my lap warmed by the heat of aluminum circuitry, thinking that you might hear in bits and bytes, a secret language of the dead. Your bathrobe still smells of your shaving cream and a sweetish smell like candy apples that was uniquely yours. Perversely, it is still flung over the green velvet chair in the corner where you left it that morning. I can’t bear to move it. I run my fingers over it, or sometimes hold it to my nose, trying to infuse myself with your scent, as if that might bring you back to life.

  I can’t decide between my bouts of pillow-muffled sobs if I am mad at you for dying or if this boiling emotion is grief. A surprising anger spreads across my being, a stain that refuses to be rubbed away. I hate you for dying on me, on us. I almost wonder if you did it on purpose, to be the martyr of our unresolved fight that morning, passing your guilt to me to bear for a lifetime. I know you didn’t want to visit my sister for the weekend, but selfishly, I wanted you there. I thought your presence would prove your devotion to your family, to me. I am not blameless. Did you drive spitefully, anger driving you right off that cliff? Damn you. So selfish to leave me with this guilt. Or perhaps I am irrational in grief, my anger and guilt unwarranted.

  The insurance agency called asking if Jay had been depressed, had been seeing a therapist, if he’d seemed different in the weeks before he died. It took me a few minutes before I fully understood why they were asking me such questions.

  “Do you think my husband committed suicide?”

  “No, no ma’am. Nothing like that. These are just routine questions...”

  “Bullshit! I think I’m done talking with you. There is no way my husband drove himself off that cliff and I’m disgusted that your company would insinuate such a thing!”

  I got off the phone and burst into tears. Could Jay have killed himself? Was he so unhappy in his life with me? Or was this just a big company trying to avoid a large payout? I chose to believe that Jay fell asleep at the wheel and didn’t take his own life out of spite to get back at me. The thought had me laughing and then crying. Was Jay’s life with me miserable? A momentary scene flashed in my mind. Jay, leaning over a steaming bowl of beef stew I had made, simmering it over the stove for an entire Sunday afternoon a few weeks before he died. He took large spoonfuls and tore into the
rustic loaf of bread I bought to go with it, using it to wipe clean his bowl. When he was done, he sat back, reached over and grabbed my hand, to show his pleasure.

  “That was amazing, Lenie. God. I am so lucky to have you!” I remembered the sensation of what I had felt at that moment, the warmth, the happiness, the contentedness. As we stood side by side by the sink cleaning up afterwards, I draped Jay’s big arm around my shoulder like a heavy fox stole, warm and protective. I felt safe in his embrace. Surely that was not a man who would kill himself out of spite?

  He was too devoted to Calder to kill himself. As proof, I thought of the image of a baby Calder that Jay had installed as his computer wallpaper - the way he held Calder’s chubby thighs as he thrust him up in the air, his two-year-old body rigid as he looked down at his dad, giggling; and Jay’s pride at being there when Calder swallowed his first loose tooth with chewing on a bagel, Jay soothing his tears when Calder thought the tooth fairy wouldn’t come. I can still see those crinkles in the corner of his eyes when he smiled that pleasure-smile, content with a life that always seemed to amaze him, one I knew deep down Jay never felt he deserved.

  Jay was never the same after his father’s death. It’s strange that I was with him that day, a day indelibly burned into my childhood. It was the first death I had ever witnessed, the first funeral I had ever been to. It chiseled away my smug sense of security. I knew Jay had a crush on me then, but my 16 to his 14 was impossible math for a teenager and I saw Jay as something like a little brother. Still I was flattered he liked me, even though I had Marcus. Marcus was older and dangerous and perhaps toxic. I liked him, but he thought I was too young, or innocent, or something that made me not attractive to him.

  Until the night of Jay’s dad’s death.

  I tried to console Jay when he came home from the hospital that night, but it was like he didn’t even see me. He pushed me away and walked down to the dock and I understood, but was hurt that I couldn’t comfort him. I needed to be held and found my way to Marcus’s bunk house, where we fell into each other in a strange, desperate way. I lost my virginity that night with Marcus, our lovemaking furtive and hungry and sweaty, and a little frightening.