Twelve Months (14 page)

I laughed enough to hurt my aching body.

As we strolled through the ranch for the last time, I told Bella, “I can see why Louise left everything to come live here.” And then I pictured Madison and Pudge. I missed them badly. I patted Molly and Bailey and headed for the shuttle bus.

On the ride back to the airport, Bella said, “I loved the people, the food, the horses – everything.” She turned to me. “What was your favorite part?”

“Besides sharing it all with you, probably the breakfast with Al on the cattle drive.” As much as the trip was a dream come true, I felt real magic by being there for someone who needed me.

The answer surprised her but she didn't question it. “I'll never forget it,” she said, her eyes drifting back to our recent past.

“Me, either,” I said, hoping that my memories were going to last more than a lifetime.

As we boarded the plane for home, I thought about crossing another dream off of my honey do list and felt torn.
Only three to go
, and therein lay the bittersweet dilemma –
the more I get done, the less I have to do,
I realized. It was the doing
–
not the already been done – that was becoming much more precious to me.

After all of the travel, it had been a tough couple of weeks. I was feeling more fatigued than ever and the pain medication wasn't working nearly as well. I called Dr. Rice and got an appointment for that afternoon. Along with a detailed description of my symptoms, I filled her in on Bella and my recent adventures.

“Wow, it all sounds so exciting! What's been your favorite so far?”

I didn't even have to think. “Meeting new people and being able to lend a hand whenever I can; finding forgiveness and taking risks I would have never taken…” Her grin stopped me in mid-sentence. “What?” I asked.

“That's great,” she said, still wearing her grin. “But I was referring to the places you've visited.”

I chuckled. “Oh…right!” I thought for a second and shrugged. “Truth is…it doesn't really matter where you go. It's about the memories you make while you're there.”

After increasing my pain medication dosage, she explained, “Your recent tests show that your red blood cell count is very low,” so she also prescribed an iron supplement for anemia. “How's your family?” she asked.

“They're great,” I told her. “I have a trip to the zoo planned with my grandchildren tomorrow afternoon.” I shrugged. “But I promise to take it easy.”

“Mr. DiMarco, you take it any way you can get it.”

The zoo was only three towns over, but we'd planned the trip for weeks. Reputed to be one of the finest small zoos in the United States, the ninety-two acres were surrounded by paths and ball fields, monuments and memorials.

From the moment we arrived, I felt like sliding into a coma from the pain and nausea. Even with the increased dosage, I knew the entire day was going to be a test of endurance. I gritted my teeth and grabbed both Madison and Pudge's hands. “Let's go have some fun,” I told them.

We walked through the gift store where overpriced stuffed animals nearly twisted Pudge's neck off his shoulders from gawking. After passing the Wildlife Center and Café, we came to our first exhibit. It was an enormous underwater tank where two river otters swam and played. They were mischievous and fun to watch, so we stood and watched for what seemed like forever. The beaver and harbor seal exhibits were next. The beavers looked to be in the same ill mood as me. The seals did nothing but swim in circles. “This stinks,” Pudge complained.

We marched on.

The black bears had a wonderful habitat with a waterfall, pool, trees and lots of rocks. I told Pudge, “Look up!” One of the bears was in a tree, looking down at us. Just then, another came right up to the glass and stood on his hind legs, trying to sniff through the corners. Madison was thrilled and squealed in delight. I smiled, but didn't have the energy to drum up the enthusiasm I knew she was looking for. We stood a while longer, watching a third bear pace in front of a heavy steel door. “Looks like he's waiting to be fed,” I told the kids.

At the north end of the zoo, two female Asian elephants promised to amaze us with their tricks. Both broke their promise. One stood under a wooden platform, using it as shade and to occasionally scratch her enormous back. The other faced a concrete wall, as if she'd been put in time out, and refused to turn around. Even with all the toys lying around their yard, they were definitely not in the mood to play. I didn't blame them.

“Why won't they do tricks?” Pudge asked.

“Probably because they've been doing tricks their whole lives and are tired now,” I answered.

Both kids looked up at me, but didn't question the explanation. I was glad.

The Environment Center was advertised as the zoo's crowning jewel. There were ten exhibits in all; mountain stream, kettle hole pond, a vernal pool, tidal salt marsh and barrier beach – all teeming with wildlife. The concept was intended to teach children about the important role that clean water plays in the eco-system, but it smelled like sulfur and stunk bad enough for me to step outside and wait by the shorebird exhibit.

The bald eagle and coyote exhibits sat side-by-side creating the chance to view the New England forest. Though we tried for a long time, we couldn't find the eagle. Madison finally concluded, “He's not there.” The coyote, however, was lying out in plain sight, snoozing the day away in his rock den.

Both the cougar and bobcat, two species of feline predators, paced like inmates serving out a life sentence. I was thinking,
The bobcat is surprisingly small
when Pudge said, “It looks like she's smiling at me, Poppa.”

“That's because she's hungry,” I said and thought that Madison might wet herself from laughing so hard.

As the autumn sun beat down and punished me, we crossed a red covered bridge onto a traditional New England farm. With its barn, barnyard and two pastures, this was where the real fun began. They had three horses, a few milking cows, two goats, a sow and her young – all of it designed to be interactive. As the kids petted their new friends, I fed change into an old crank vending machine for two handfuls of feeding pellets.

The pony rides were short but sweet –
thank God
– while the Choo Choo was a nice break from the walking. It was no more than a tractor dressed like a train. For two bucks a ride, I talked the kids into going twice, and would have paid for rides all afternoon if they'd let me.

The brook walk looped around the waterfowl pond where hundreds of ducks and noisy trumpeter swans begged for food. There were park benches on both sides to take a rest and admire the scenery. I didn't want the kids to know how nauseous and fatigued I felt from the increase in medication, so we spent as much time as we could there. It was a good thing Madison reminded me to bring bread. We fed the squawking birds for a half hour.

The red fox and raccoon exhibits were a chance to visit our nocturnal neighbors up close and personal. “A lot of these guys hide right in the neighborhood and come out at night to eat our trash,” I told them.

“I wish I was a raccoon,” Pudge said.

“I bet you do,” I said and ruffled his hair.

Madison laughed again.

The North American bison and white-tailed deer finished off the death march. For a breed of animals known for roaming and grazing, even romping, every one of them was at a standstill.

“You guys ready to call it quits?” I finally asked.

“Okay,” they agreed. I'd never heard a sweeter word in my life.

While we waited for Riley to pick them up, we worked on the puzzle. I was completely drained and my head was banging, but I still told stories in hopes it would take my mind off the agony. “I once made a puzzle of King Tut's chair. Once the chair was finished, the rest of the puzzle was all purple. Other mind-bogglers were those that had all their pieces cut the same. On one, I'd gotten all the way to the last piece when I discovered that it wouldn't fit. I had to take it apart in sections until I found my mistake.”

“Yikes,” said Madison.

“And then there was the
Lucky Lady.
With a white background filled with clover and ladybugs, it was almost impossible to make any headway on it. I finally turned it over and did it from the back.” My head felt like it was going to explode.

Once they left for the night, I took two big, white pills and eased into bed.

As I nodded off, for whatever reason I remembered my grandfather used to tell the scariest bedtime stories. “When I was just a boy,” he'd say, “I went to a dance out in the woods of Maine where we lived. A man, strange to our parts, walked in and approached Claire Nemo, my next-door neighbor, and asked her to dance. She accepted. Halfway through their waltz, he noticed a crucifix hanging around her neck. He let out a terrible scream, yanked it from her and ran out of the hall. On his way out, he placed his hand on the wall. The imprint of his hand is still imbedded in that plaster today. From that day on, everyone swore that pretty Claire Nemo had danced with the devil.”

Compared to his tales about being buried alive, this story added nothing to my nightmares. “In the old days,” he'd say, “some of the corpses that had been exhumed were discovered to have fingernail marks clawed into the coffin's interior lid. Asleep in their deep temporary comas, these poor souls weren't dead at all when they were committed to the ground.”

I remembered being terrified by his pre-wake stories; the barbaric days when medicine was primitive, embalming fluid was yet to be concocted and families held wakes in their parlors. I recalled being scared to death over the tales and that I also enjoyed listening to each spooky word. For years, I imagined the same horrid fate for myself. The chills of it always woke me, panting and covered in sweat.

This time was different, though. When I opened my eyes, it was so pitch black I had to question whether I was alive or dead. And if it was death I now experienced, that sick sense of being alone left no mistake:
I'm in hell.
The sadistic silence, unforgiving and eager to punish, forced my breathing to quicken, while terror struck my racing heart.
I'm still alive!

Fragmented memories raced back, but the puzzle was too complex. Fear had brutally awakened the senses and the fight or flight push of adrenaline rushed through my veins. I was too restricted, too confined to move an inch. Amid the thousand spiraling thoughts, I made a mental note to run through the checklist. My extremities tingled from the lack of circulation, and as if it had been placed under a rock, my head throbbed. My throat was parched like a cracked desert. I screamed at the top of my lungs, but heard only a demented whisper return. Tears began to well, old stinging tears. I was suffocating in a bank of stale air that was emptying fast, while six feet of earth covered me. The weight of the world was literally resting upon my constricted chest. As if that weren't horrid enough, reality hit – I was sharing the burden with those who had long decomposed. My childhood nightmare had come true.
I've been buried alive!

Those few on Earth above me; those who might have even cared enough to unearth me weren't ever going to search. They had already mourned the loss of my life, experienced closure with my soul and were now longing to move on from the memory of my face. Left alone to panic in the bowels of the earth, I quickly reached the realization,
No matter how loud I scream, there's no way someone will ever hear me. And even if they do, there'll never be enough time to dig me out.

It was cold, very cold, and the dampness seeped into my bones. Small parasites would soon feed on my flesh. Breathing had become more difficult, reality too unbearable. I prayed hard, but the despair was so consuming that I doubted my words would be heard. There wasn't any response.

I often wondered what I would do if I only had minutes left to live.
Will I feel sorry for myself that it's over? Will I embrace the opportunity to pass over? Or will I simply rejoice in the miracle of life I'd been given to e
x
perience? What's the last thing I'll feel?

In the tight quarters, I felt nothing but the cold and shivered. “Make it quick,” I muttered through the sniffles.

“Make what quick?” answered a mysterious voice.

My body convulsed, but the casket's lid stopped me from completely jumping out of my skin. I was surprised my heart hadn't given out yet. “Please God…NO!” I screamed.

The disembodied voice returned. “Open your eyes,” it demanded. This time, the tone was more firm.

I dreaded the sight of the demon and clenched my eyelids tight.

“Come on, Don,” the voice said, more gently. “It's time to wake up.”

My mind took off at a sprint. It sounded like Bella, or more precisely, someone who was trying to sound like her. I held my breath.

When I breathed again, I smelled the scent of Ivory soap and dryer sheets. And then someone kissed me. Gently and with love, someone kissed my forehead. I took another deep breath, drummed up all the courage left in my body and forced open my eyes.
It's Bella!
As reality registered, I shook my head. “I just dreamed that I'd been buried alive.”

Bella grabbed my face, stared into my eyes and kissed me again. “Not on my watch,” she whispered.

While the sweat dried, I thought about my grandfather – and wanted to be remembered, but not in the same way.
He'd certainly made a lasting impression, though
.

Two days went by before the kids came over again. This time, I had more strength. I took the wooden treasure box out of the closet and showed it to them again. I needed to know they wouldn't forget it. “Every man finds a treasure in his life,” I reminded them, “and you two are mine.”

Since they were old enough to understand, I'd explained that my most valuable possession in the whole world was kept inside the secret box and that they could have it once I was gone. As a result, a trust had been forged between us – them, for not opening the treasure box with the secret inside; me, for protecting it until the day it was theirs.

We puttered around all day until the newspaper was delivered.

After fantasizing about seeing my own name in print, I realized that every once in a while, a simple story had the power to move people's hearts. I felt blessed for such a rare opportunity and shared it with my attentive grandchildren.