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“Exactly!” Aunt Janice beams. Her eyes turn bright as she talks about her more successful son, the one that she denies but obviously favors between the two.
Walter lifts his wine glass. “Sorry, Mama. We can’t have it all. A house in the ‘burbs, a high six-figure job—”
She gasps and turns to my mom. “I almost forgot! Hector sent me a video of Hailey the other day. She’s walking!” She reaches into her purse and extracts her phone. She swipes through it as she squints and brings it further away from her line of vision for focus.
“A picture-perfect family, a 401(k) and health benefits…” Walter continues, ignoring Aunt Janice’s sudden shift of her attention. When he doesn’t stop, Aunt Janice covers his mouth with her hand, turning up the volume on her phone and handing it to my mom as Walter’s voice becomes muffled behind his mom’s hand.
My mom takes the phone and smiles warmly. “Oh, she is so sweet!” she says affectionately.
Aunt Janice finally removes her hand off Walter’s face and peers at the screen to watch along, even though I’m sure she’s seen it a dozen times. I can hear the happy squeals that only young children can make and the words of encouragement from Hector’s familiar voice. She brings a napkin to the corner of her eye, sniffling as her eyes mist over. My eyes meet Walter’s as he rolls his eyes at me. I stifle a smirk as both my mom and Aunt Janice look at us, their eyes narrowed and lips drawn together in a firm line of disapproval.
“You know, missing my only grandbaby just means that I actually have a heart and I’m notdeadinside,” Aunt Janice says.
I’m not meant to see it, not meant to notice the small movement of my mom’s hand lightly tapping Aunt Janice’s forearm, but I do. And when it happens, Aunt Janice realizing her poor word choices, everyone stills. The awkwardness settles around us, replacing the warm scent of alfredo and garlic bread.
The words had left her lips before she even had a chance to think about them.
But there it is. Dead. Death. Dying.
Taboo words in this house. It’s the fluffy pink elephant in the room taking up space and filling every corner, barging into our lives in the most unwelcome way possible.
Up until ten years ago, we said those words callously and tossed them around like you would the wordsorangeorbutter. But that was before. Before death was such a common presence in our house.
I pretend not to notice. Instead, I swirl pieces of thick pasta around my fork, cooked al dente and wrapped in the creamy sauce my mom makes from scratch. I eye the glass of wine sitting in the two o’clock position of my plate that’s almost empty and waiting to be finished. I drop my fork to pinch the stem, rolling it between my fingers before tilting it back and emptying the contents.
“Anyone want more wine?” I say clearly, void of any emotion.
Walter raises his hand. “I’ll take some.”
My feet slowly trudge to the kitchen, reaching for a new bottle to uncork. The tension follows me, breaking the silence as I hear my mom and Aunt Janice shuffle in their chairs.
“I’m so sorry,” I hear Aunt Janice whisper sharply.
I don’t hear anything from my mom, but I know she’s shaking her head, dismissing her sister’s apology in a way that it wasn’t necessary in the first place. It was an accident, just like so many things in this house. My dad’s death. My attempt to end my life.
But the simple matter of the fact was, accident or not, death happened. It surrounded our lives and became a stale, lingering presence that we tried our best to ignore.
And when the sudden presence of death entered our lives as intrusively as possible, we managed through it as we mourned. We were warned about the stages of grief, all five of them when my dad died. Denial hit the moment we got the call from the hospital.
“Hello?” I hear my mom answer a call from the kitchen. The TV is blaring so loud that my mom whispers at me to lower it while her hand covers the mouthpiece. She stands over the steam rising above the stove, her hand still on a ladle sticking out the top of a large pot. And then I hear her go silent, listening carefully to the voice on the other end.
“Oh my God.”
My attention piques. I turn from the couch to look at her just as her phone drops to the floor with a clatter.
“Ellie, we have to go.”
She doesn’t say anything to me. Just whizzes through traffic, desperately urging people to move out of her way. I don’t even know where we’re going. Not until we pull up in front of a building with large red lit up words that read EMERGENCY do I realize where we are.
Still no answers from my mom, but I follow willingly, moving quietly as my gaze focuses on the urgent steps of our feet.
“I’m looking for my husband. His name is Dan Salerno.” Her voice is breathless, hitching when she says our last name, the one commonality that the three of us share.
And then everything just happens. Neither I nor my mom have control over it. We move wherever we’re ushered to. Bodies and hands lead us through hallways, from the receptionist to the nurse, until we’re at a doorway. And we finally see him.
It’s then I hear it. The shrill, guttural sound erupting from my mom’s small, fragile frame. I don’t wince. I don’t even move. My feet are planted into the linoleum floor. I register the mangled face that used to belong to my dad, now wrapped in white gauze with stains of red seeping through it. My eyes trail the wires that come running out of his body like a maze, connecting to beeping machines next to his bedside.
“Mrs. Salerno…”
