Richard Basile

I started as a pear tree. I don’t care for pears; should I trip over the roots, would not recognize a pear tree except for the fruit hanging from the branches. I could feel my arms outstretched as the limbs of the tree, my feet taking root in the fertile ground. Do pear trees have gray bark? I had gray bark, thin and brittle. There I was, a pear tree, tall and strong like an oak tree.

An oak tree? Was I changing? I was growing in size and strength. I was no longer a tree, but experiencing a shift in my essence.

I grew into a building, tall as the city skyline, my body made of steel and concrete, glass and marble. I could see far across the cityscape to the south. To the east was a winding river. Far below, pedestrians and automobiles scurried as ants.

I was no longer a building, but myself standing in a room on the top floor. A stranger who does not belong here. The room had red carpeting. Slat blinds extended from floor to ceiling, pulled slightly apart to reveal the same city scape. Security escorts me off the floor and accompanies me down the elevator.

There was a party in the lobby, and my friends were waiting for me. They smiled as I stepped off from the elevator. My friends greeted me with warmth and enthusiasm. Lively instrumental music filled the room. I would prefer stringed instruments, but the brass jazz band set the mood for fun. A decorated table in the center of the room offered the guests assorted fruits. Grapes. Strawberries. Sliced pears.

Do I not have the greatest wife? Ever?!

We were discussing what we each wanted for Christmas. In addition to the annual Snoopy and Tiki calendars, she only has interest in two gifts: a sewing machine or a table saw.

Her preference is for the table saw.

She totally rocks.

Totally.

Of course, what I’m sure she meant by table saw was you best get your skinny butt to a jewelry store and buy me some bling like you did when we were dating!

Maybe not. She would never say bling.

My bride and I recently made the trip from Columbus, Ohio to Canton, Michigan for the singular but significant purpose of shopping at Ikea. Specifically, we (she) were (was) shopping for new dressers for the master bedroom.

We did not travel 196 miles only to buy storage for our underwear. Absolutely not! We dedicated an entire Saturday to a pilgrimage of epic lengths, to the promised land of Scandinavian home fashion. We were hypnotized by the hope of some assembly required.

It was an excuse to leave Columbus for a day and avoid mowing the lawn.

When we married in the spring of oh-six, the greatest challenge before us was to arrange the existing closet space and dresser drawers. We failed this challenge. Dr. Phil, can you help us?

Two nights back, the bride and I watched a show on HGTV called Small Space Big Style. A young couple managed to fit their entire wardrobe into a single hallway coat closet.

We are not that couple.

We have two standard closets in the master bedroom. His and her closets - yes, clever. Before marriage, they were hers and her closets. In what is now her closet are three cabinets for additional storage. I’m not clear on what she keeps in these cabinets. In my closet is the laundry basket. We keep dirty laundry in the laundry basket. Prior to our Ikea excursion, we also had a single dresser in our bedroom, plus a closet and a chest of drawers in the guest bedroom.

We purchased three units that day and moved the existing dresser into the guest bedroom. For those keeping score, that is now one closet, one chest of drawers, and one dresser in the guest bedroom. The new units in the master bedroom roughly double the amount of storage by which we were previously limited.

My bride generously and graciously allowed me a full third of the new storage. I’m so giddy.

In the guest bedroom, I presently keep a pair of swim wear (Speedos) and all of the shorts which I am unable to wear in the winter. All of these items will neatly fit into half a drawer. Pick a drawer. Any drawer. For fairness, I should point out that one or two drawers are further occupied by extra blankets. This leaves half a chest of drawers, a closet, and an entire dresser in the guest bedroom for overflow storage of women’s clothing.

Excuse me. I’m going shoe shopping.

My Summer seems an odd title, as this has very little to do with me and everything to do with my dad.

My dad quit smoking two years ago. Since last fall, my dad had been walking up to five miles a day. He was losing weight and lowering his cholesterol. He regularly took his prescribed medications. He was sixty-five years old and taking great care of himself. When he started experiencing pain in his hip after his walks, he thought little of it except to take a pain killer and a nap.

On Thursday, May 31st, I learned that my dad had been diagnosed with lung, liver and bone cancer. This was the diagnosis of the ER attending, not the oncologist. However, this diagnosis was confirmed a few days later.

We were told that his cancer could not be cured but progression could be delayed. He was given two months without treatment, up to two years with treatment. My dad was determined to put up a fight and began treatment right away.

However, treatment seemed to be worse than the disease. My dad was confused, hallucinating, in greater pain and often sleeping from the medications. We all agreed that quality of life was more important than prolonging life. Treatment was stopped.

We then learned that my dad also had cancer in his spine. Two of three doctors concluded he would only live a few more weeks.

My birthday was July 13th, and my dad was not expected to see my birthday. Laurie’s birthday was July 20th, and my dad was not expected to see her birthday. My parents’ 40th anniversary was July 31st, and my dad was not expected to see their anniversary.

My dad saw my birthday, Laurie’s birthday, and his 40th wedding anniversary. He was in hospice by the time of his anniversary, and the staff prepared the most wonderful anniversary dinner for my mom and dad.

My dad seemed to be doing so well by this point that he was sent home two days later. We all wondered if the doctors were wrong about his prognosis. Laurie and I had been spending all of our weekends, since the diagnosis, with my parents and even had taken time off from work. The weekend of August 3rd, Laurie and I considered we would take the following weekend off from visiting in order to spend some time with each other. We were tired, both physically and emotionally. On the afternoon of Sunday, August 5th, we left Akron to return to Columbus. My dad stepped to the front door to wave goodbye as we pulled out of the driveway, and we waved back.

The next evening, my dad was re-admitted to hospice for the last time. Laurie and I called off from work Tuesday morning, packed our clothes, and returned to Akron. I would have no more conversations with my dad as he had slipped into a coma. My only prayer was that he would not pass on the 11th, my youngest son’s birthday.

My dad passed at 9:48pm on Friday, August 10th.

Throughout that final week, and every day since his passing, I continue to remember him standing at the door and waving goodbye. A month later, this still does not seem real. I still think about how my dad might answer when I call.

In the time since the memorial service, Laurie and I have caught up on house work and with each other. We also spent Labor Day weekend in the Smoky Mountains.

My mom is doing as well as might be expected. She is getting out of the house, taking time to see friends and family. She has also started walking for exercise and is up to two miles a day.