THE DAWN PATROL

CHAPTER VII; PART 3

The traffic picks up as we make our way out to the hospital. I’m a patient driver — I’ve always been a patient driver — so I sit in the back seat and enjoy the taste of the cigar. The windows are open, Supertramp’s pounding through the speakers, and Uncle Jack is laughing at Russell’s frustration with the traffic. He can’t stand the stop and go crawl of cars cutting in and out in front of us — or the traffic lights taking forever to change from green to red just so he can make a left turn.

“Maybe we can talk Mom into coming out and having dinner with us?” I suggest. Uncle Jack leans forward and turns down the volume, and I repeat myself.

“And if he dies when we’re gone?” Uncle Jack says simply.

“What?” I ask.

“She’s not going to leave your Dad’s side until he’s gone, and you know that. That’s how it works when you love someone as much as she loves him. We’ll get something to eat, and bring it up to her in a doggie-bag, but don’t expect her to come with us,” he says.

“I thought she might like to get away from there for a while,” I say in explanation.

“There’ll be plenty of time for that after,” Uncle Jack smiles. “And if you boys were married like you should be, you’d understand that.”

“You never married — ” Russell starts to say, but Uncle Jack stops him.

“I was,” he says gently. “But it was before you were even born. I stayed with her right to the bitter end, too.”

“I’m sorry. I forgot,” Russell says.

“It was a lifetime ago,” Uncle Jack says absently, looking as the river shimmers in the sunset.

I follow his gaze. I can see a tug making its way up the river, and see the train bridge opening to let the barge it’s towing behind, pass through. The Patullo Bridge arches across the river above it and I look at where the Brownsville mill used to be. I think of that bee-hive burner from when I was a kid and we used to visit Gramma and Grandpa. Even with the area around them growing up and falling into disrepair, they never left.

The more things change, the more they stay the same, I tell myself. It might sound old, and cliché, but it’s so true, isn’t it? The old Cannery is gone; the pen is gone; the whole waterfront in New West is changing. The old piers and wharves are falling into neglect because the port it used to be — the Gateway into the province it once was — has all been replaced by the super ports in Vancouver, and Seattle. New Westminster is a ghost town compared to what it was when I was a kid. Brownsville is forgotten.

“We’re here,” Russell says, and we all look up at the hospital standing in front of us.

“God, I hate hospitals,” Uncle Jack says.

“You say you don’t like to talk about it — the wife you said who died in the war?” Russell says quickly. “But I think we have a right to know,” he adds, as he holds the front seat for me.

Uncle Jack steps out of the car. “I’ve been thinking a lot about her lately; I don’t know why. I haven’t thought about the war in years. But what’s this shit about you thinking you have a right to know? If I decide to tell you anything about my life, it’s because I choose to tell you, not because you think it’s your right.”

“He didn’t mean it to sound like that,” I say. “We just want to know a little bit about you. We hardly know you.”

“Have you tried to get to know me?” he asks.

I look at Russell and shake my head slowly. I know he wants to say something — Russell I mean — but I’m afraid no matter what either of us says right now, it’s the wrong thing. We follow Uncle Jack into the hospital and ride up the elevator in silence.

When the door opens, Ronnie’s in the hallway with Caroline and Mom, and she runs to me, throwing her arms around me and hugging me. I’m surprised to see her and Caroline, but it’s a pleasant surprise.

“I thought I’d bring Mom something to eat,” Caroline explains, as she kisses Uncle Jack on the cheek, then Russell, and finally me.

“Did you have to bring Ronnie with you?” I ask.

She looks up at me strangely and shakes her head slowly. “Didn’t you want me to bring her?”

“No,” I say, and force a smile.

“But he’s her grandfather, and besides, Mom’s happy to see her. I think she’s something of a distraction for her.”

“I just didn’t want to subject her to all of this,” I say with a shrug.

“People die all the time, Dan. I don’t want her to be afraid of it. It’s a natural progression, as natural as being born,” she adds.

“And would you bring her into the delivery room with you if you were having another kid?”

“Of course I would. I don’t see why not,” she replies. “My sister did. Remember? Jessica was sort of an accident, so she had all three of her boys come in and watch as she gave birth. It was beautiful, she said. They all cried. I think it’s good for a child to experience life like that.”

“I had a hard enough time going in when Ronnie was born. I wouldn’t want to see that if I was a kid.”

“But you cried when Ronnie was born. In fact, you made all the nurses cry.”

“This isn’t the same thing, is it? I mean, it’s Dad; it’s quite the opposite.”

“Do you want her to be afraid of death? Wouldn’t you rather she understands it while she’s young, so she can figure out what it’s all about? Because even if you don’t want her to, I do.”

“Well, I guess there’s nothing I can say to that, is there?”

“No,” she says with a quick toss of her hair, turning away from me and approaching Uncle Jack.

I want to say more, but since everything I say is coming out all wrong, I decide it’s best not to make a scene. I want to say that experiencing death doesn’t mean she’ll understand it. I don’t. Ronnie might learn to accept what’s happening — and that it happens to all of us — but that won’t answer the questions she might have later. I remember all the dreams and nightmares I had after Grandpa died. I kept seeing him laying in his bed with all sorts of tubes and hoses pumping stuff into his one arm. I don’t want Ronnie to have the same dreams.

“What’s the matter?” Russell asks.

“I asked her why she brought Ronnie with her.”

“Dude?” Russell laughs. “Why do we do half the stuff we do, and then say the rest out loud? Now, why would you do a bone-headed thing like that?”

“What d’ya mean?”

“We can’t remember half the shit we did when we were kids,” he says. “We forget the little things.”

“Little things? Like her Grandpa dying? C’mon Russell, I remember. Mom made us go in and kiss Grandpa’s cheek every night — every goddamn night. He lingered for ten days before he died — ”

“Two and a half weeks,” Russell corrects me.

“Whatever. The point is he wasted away right in front of us. How many more strokes did he have before he died? Three? So why’d she do that?” I ask him, looking at Mom and Uncle Jack crying in each other’s arms.

“For Dad,” he says.

“For Dad?” I laugh. “I don’t remember Dad thanking me for the moral support we gave him.”

“It was for the family then, our family,” he says.

“Did you want to watch him die?”

“Of course not. I could’ve been home watching BATMAN, or THE GREEN HORNET, even ZORRO would’ve been better than that. But I was older and thought I understood why we were there.”

“You did?” I guess there’s a note of scepticism in my voice, because he turns to look at me.

“I don’t know if I can say that now,” he smiles.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know if I understand how anything works anymore.”

“I’m wondering if we’re ever supposed to,” I say, a slow smile coming to my lips.

That’s when the elevator door opens up and Uncle Ray steps out with Auntie Win.

“Bev!”