Always
by Alan M. Weber
I
He wasn’t one to cry, except, of course, at movies in darkened theaters. But he could hardly help himself when he saw her. The greenishness of her appearance in no way detracted from the beauty and wonder of the moment. After all, meconium is easily washed off, and it was already clear that Melissa was healthy. No longer able to see through the video camera lens anyway, he placed it down and hugged the love of his life, the crying woman who would now and forever be known as “mommy.” Shaking slightly, he cut the cord, with Melissa now lying contentedly on her mother’s breast. This was the family’s happiest moment.
His joy over the presence of this heart-melting little newcomer to the family, however, soon began to be overshadowed by his growing concern for her mother. What appeared to come naturally at first seemed increasingly a chore, and, soon, he began to notice a decrease in the frequency of her nursing, and, then, a subtle accompanying decline in the nurturing that had accompanied it. He found himself taking on more and more of the mothering, not that he minded. He loved the intimacy of the bottle feeding and, to his surprise, even the diaper changing, and he handled the sleep deprivation demands with grace. But, with each worsening day, he felt the weight of responsibility starting to tear him apart. He tried what he knew how to comfort and unburden her, but soon it was undeniable to both of them that help was needed.
Before the couples counseling date had even rolled around, she had descended into a deeper depression. So he took it upon himself to place an urgent call to the local hospital’s psych department, and was told to bring her right in. She resisted briefly, but, as she absorbed Melissa’s crying, she consented. While she got dressed, he bundled up their daughter and secured her in the car seat. After a brief wait, they were seen by a compassionate doctor, who carefully explained the signs and dangers of postpartum depression and, along with some practical suggestions, wrote out a prescription for an anti-depressant, Pamelor, which was filled at the hospital pharmacy. The ride home carried a little more hope than had the anxious drive there.
A few days passed, and though they were aware that the drug would take at least a week, likely more, to begin working, there was light at the end of this tunnel of despair. She tried to motivate herself to care for Melissa, and sometimes it almost felt real. But he remained the predominant caregiver, relieved by the anticipation of the shared parenting that he, ironically, had once promised her. She needed breaks now, times for self-healing, so every day he would take Melissa out, either to get her some fresh air and worldly stimulation, or just to drive her around until she would fall asleep for her nap. On one such day, Melissa was acting particularly fussy, and required several laps around the block before succumbing to sleep. Carrying her up the stairs to their apartment, he put her down gently in her crib and tip-toed his way to the bedroom so as not to disturb Melissa’s mommy, likely also napping. Opening the door, he found his wife lying motionless on the floor, the bottle of Pamelors lying next to her, open and empty.
The funeral was a blur. Somehow, though, he managed to hold it together, with Melissa in his arms, during the ceremony. At least that’s what he was told by those in attendance. At the family gathering afterwards, he was relieved of Melissa’s care by his mother and then his sister and brother-in-law, to allow him some moments to indulge his grief were he yet capable. Later, when he was a little more able to process, they assured him that they had already agreed to share babysitting responsibilities, allowing him at least to work. But here he was, a twenty-eight-year-old sound engineer and part-time musician, feeling very alone to face a future of incomprehensible responsibilities. “One day at a time,” as his brother-in-law put it, was about a thousand times out of reach. One minute was more like it. He took Melissa back and held her tight. She was all that anchored him to hope.
As the ceremony ended, his wife’s favorite song, “Landslide” by Fleetwood Mac, playing in the background, his sister took the blanket in which his daughter was tightly wrapped and returned it to her stroller. She then reached for Melissa, but he laid her down gently and covered her himself. In a somewhat distracted whisper, he turned down his sister’s offer to continue staying at their house, deciding it was time to return to the empty, ghost-ridden apartment that had been a home. Understandably concerned, his sister and brother-in-law insisted on at least accompanying him back, and he nodded his consent. They saw him inside, lingered as long as they felt they could, gave a sleeping Melissa tearful kisses, and, hugging him anxiously, left him to the silence. For a time he just stood there, looking around the apartment, his eyes eventually fixing on the spot where he had found his wife, then quickly turning away. He walked softly to the stroller and, cradling Melissa in his arms, carried her to her crib. After turning on the mobile, he remained at her side just looking down at her. Between his sobs he promised that he would always be there to watch over her.
II
Melissa flourished in kindergarten. She made friends easily, and was already revealing musical talents passed down from her father and his mother before him. Thanks to the efforts of her aunt and grandmother, she showed no discernible deficit in female nurturing, undoubtedly a contributing factor in the trusting and affectionate relationship she was able to build with her teacher. But paramount was the unbreakable bond she had with her father.
With the help he had been promised and an abundance of daddy magic, he was able to be there with her through every struggle and milestone. Juggling three side hustles, as an audio technician, a freelance music producer and a session keyboardist, he was able to eke out enough to spare Melissa from any feelings of deprivation, including that of his presence. He never missed a parent-teacher conference or school event, and took his regular turns as one of the classroom moms. He was there to tuck Melissa in every night, and read her chosen bedtime story, most often twice or more. Some of them led to questions about her mother, and he never shied away from answering them in the most honest yet protective way possible, always ending it with the reassurance of how much her mommy loved and would have been so proud of her.
However stoically, though, keeping up the kind of schedule he was began really wearing on him. More and more often, he would nod off in the middle of reading, and Melissa would dutifully tuck him in and fall asleep next to him. His family could see the signs of strain on him despite his efforts to hide them, and tried to relieve him of as much responsibility as he would let go of. They helped with the laundry, the dishes and such, and sometimes the bills, but when it came to the times directly devoted to Melissa, there was no compromising. Finally, a job opportunity arose that would allow him some financial and livable relief. The only problem was that it was halfway cross-country. He would have to leave his support system and uproot Melissa from her school and friends, not to mention the home that held memories of her mother. The family was wary, but it was Melissa who offered him the assurance that as long as they were together it would be okay. Whether or not that proviso contained even a flicker of doubt, he was quick to repeat his nightly promise that they would, indeed, always be together, prompting Melissa to ask if she could get a new, pink suitcase for the adventure.
The transition to the big city wasn’t as traumatic as he had feared. He was careful to set up Melissa’s new bedroom in a manner as close to that of her old room as possible. With the help of the raggedy stuffed dog, Woofles, that had been with her from birth, and her mother’s adjusted bracelet that, when not around her wrist, was always close at hand on her bedstand, it only took Melissa a few days to brave the move from the safety of her daddy’s bed to that of her own. Meanwhile, the new job, which encompassed the roles of both Event Promoter and Assistant Musical Producer, was working out pretty well. This was due in large part to the quality afterschool program offered by his daughter’s new school, which compassionately allowed Woofles his own name tag and seat at the snack table. The relatives flew in regularly, and for her birthday Melissa got her very own phone so she could talk to them as frequently as the long-distance bill would allow. In second grade, she received a “good citizenship” award, and her third-grade standardized exams showed a proficiency in reading and writing. And even though she was quite capable of handling, with only a little help, the illustrated fables that now lined her old bookshelf, every night he would still read to her, always ending with the familiar reminder that, no matter the changes, he would always be there for her.
In a short eighteen months, he had been promoted to the company’s lead Music Producer, and had developed an impressive client list. More importantly, with the new position came a benefits package that included, among other perks, a Cadillac health care plan. This paid off almost immediately, when Melissa started manifesting early symptoms of Lyme disease, so prone to misdiagnosis without access to the kind of neurological specialist afforded to them. Her health quickly returned, as had her father’s, who no longer suffered the stress of multiple jobs and the demands of superiors. When it came time for his annual physical, he was happy to tell his family doctor that he had never felt better in his life, and that he had even been losing weight, which he attributed to the leisure time for exercising he now enjoyed. He was a bit surprised when the doctor recommended some precautionary tests, considering it typical insurance bilking by these country club doctors. He had no indication at the time that the tests would reveal pancreatic cancer, which had already spread to his liver and lymph nodes.
All of the trials he had struggled through combined paled in comparison to this: keeping a brave face for his daughter until such time as he might have to tell her he was dying. He picked Melissa up from aftercare at the usual time, and popped in a cassette, absent-mindedly choosing Fleetwood Mac, to cover the unusual silence during the drive home. Fortunately, Melissa was preoccupied with her Harry Potter book and, despite her intuitive nature, didn’t appear to notice anything different. After he had prepared her dinner and, putting her to bed, managed his way through the next chapter of The Sorcerer’s Stone, he went downstairs and called his sister and his mother with the news. He didn’t know how much time he might have left, but if and when his condition would become evident, the family would be together to tell Melissa. He began his first chemotherapy treatment, secretly, the next day, and explained away the resulting fatigue by blaming work and probably some bug. It wasn’t long before he had to confide in his employer and clients, but because he didn’t suffer much hair loss through the first couple of months of treatment, through sheer force of will he was able to manage without confronting Melissa with the sad truth. By the third month, the vomiting had started, but, not sure whether it was from the chemo or the cancer, he held out hope… until the labored breathing began and answered that question. His sister arrived first, followed the next morning by his mother. With her daddy home and the surprising presence of her family, it was evident to Melissa, who had been harboring worries for weeks, that something was going on. But when she asked, all he said was that they’ll be talking about it a little later. That’s not something a nine-year-old wants to hear. Once the adults had finished pretending they could come up with ways to cushion the impact of the bomb they were about to drop, “a little later” finally came.
From when she had been sat down in the living room and had her world shattered to when her father was lying on his death bed, Melissa’s fear and grief competed with anger and guilt. She had been promised that her father would always be there, and though she knew that this wasn’t his fault, she struggled to stop herself from taking out her feelings of betrayal on him. He understood, and when her heretofore childless aunt and uncle, who would be taking her back to live with them when the time came, began to admonish her, he told them to let her let it out. And Melissa repaid the understanding by sitting at his bedside reading The Sorcerer’s Stone to him, even when he seemed unaware of her presence. They held a simple ceremony, just for the four of them and a few of his closest friends and co-workers, after which the family returned home and tried to help Melissa, between her fitful sobs, drift off for at least moments of unsettled sleep. The following day, Melissa packed up her things herself, lastly taking Woofles back from her father’s bed. By the afternoon, they were on the way to the airport for the trip to her new home.
III
There weren’t a lot of children’s counseling services in or near the small home town they had brought Melissa to, but her aunt and uncle had been able to find a good grief therapist among them. Melissa was making slow progress, and, after a year of in-home schooling coordinated with weekly counseling, all felt her ready to attend the local Middle School. Her homeroom teacher was very aware of her circumstances, and helped her make new friends and display her gifted literary skills. But it was music class that best helped draw her out of her depression. The old piano at her new house had mostly been relegated to a dusty coffee table until Melissa’s arrival, but it was there that she had taught herself to play, and when she discovered the small pipe organ that the school had inherited when the neighboring church moved, her desire to join the school orchestra was met with excitement by her teachers. Her aunt’s enthusiasm was tempered only by its bittersweet reminder of her brother. Melissa’s therapist was very much on board as well, but there was something else that she had been contemplating for a while. From her very first session until this day, Melissa had never failed to show up carrying an increasingly ragged Woofles. Perhaps, the therapist thought, it might be time for Melissa to have a real dog, assuming her adoptive parents would go for it. When she broached the subject, the aunt was a little hesitant, given her obsession with tidiness, but as she listened to the benefits that a live companion might offer her child, and with the help of the uncle, who had secretly wanted a dog for years, she consented.
By chance, there was a highly reputable animal shelter only a few towns over, and though they themselves had never visited, a family they were friendly with had adopted a healthy and precious Yorkie there who had become somewhat of a community mascot. In fact, her husband had been finding so many excuses to drop by their home to get in his licks that Melissa’s aunt had begun suspecting that he was having an affair with the wife. Hopefully, they’d encounter the same luck and find the perfect puppy for Melissa. They decided to surprise her with a mystery trip that Saturday, hoping that despite the girl’s understandable trepidation when it came to surprises, the payoff for this one would be more than worth it. As they led Melissa, clinging tightly to Woofles, into the shelter, they sensed her apprehension melting away. As she excitedly ran from kennel to kennel, a carefree child they had almost forgotten began to reemerge. And when they told her that they were there to pick one out to bring home, she broke down in tears, the most welcome tears they had ever seen from her.
The shelter was now awash with rattles and yips, as dogs of all sizes and colors sought the attention of this new presence. Melissa, now slowed by the weight of this decision, moved from kennel to kennel, alternating squealing about how “cute” they all were with searching for some sign of rapport. She was particularly taken with two: a tricolor beagle, who nuzzled up to the cage bars as she kneeled before her, and a black border collie, who began barking in a language that seemed to convey his readiness to share this new adventure. She stood for a while, looking back and forth between them, when she spotted a small Blenheim spaniel. He just sat staring at her with those human-like eyes that distinguish the breed, a gaze not sad or curious, but one that she couldn’t avoid, that all but pierced her defenses. She walked closer, and the pup crawled toward her accordingly. She turned toward her uncle and nodded, and he asked her if she was sure. Within a half hour or so, Woofles II was sitting in Melissa’s lap in the back of the family car.
As everyone had hoped, the bond between Melissa and Woofles II helped fill a place in her heart that had been abandoned. It wasn’t clear how old Woofles II was, since the shelter had no records for him, but the vet’s best guess was somewhere between one and a half and two. Sometimes he was playful as a puppy, drawing giggles from Melissa that seemed echoes of her untroubled early childhood. He was at his friskiest when Melissa played piano, wagging his tail like a metronome and on occasion even howling along. But he seemed most happy just lying on a pillow above Melissa’s head watching her with those soulful brown eyes. Though spaniels are not known as particularly good guard dogs, he was fiercely protective of Melissa, and quite comforting when she felt hurt or lonely. Every night she would cuddle him and promise that they would always be together. Her uncle called it “a match made in heaven,” and so it seemed to be.
High school presented a whole new world for Melissa. For one thing, it required a rather long bus ride, clear to the other side of the county. Traveling on her own was kind of scary for her at first, but Woofles II dutifully saw her off at the stop each morning and was there to greet her when she returned. And then there were boys. She craved this new kind of attention she was getting, either directly from some of the bolder ones or through whispered secrets from one of her friends about who “liked” and who “like liked” her. Sharing a cafeteria table with one such suitor and accepting the gift of a bisected brownie was both thrilling and confusing. Her aunt was firm in her belief that Melissa was too young and vulnerable to begin dating, and her uncle, having inherited the mantle of male guardian, felt obliged to agree. But after some time, and some unintentional guilting by Melissa, they consented, under the condition that they meet the boy and know the precise details of the date. But when the young men arrived to pick her up, it was Woofles II who was first to sniff them out, and, embarrassingly to Melissa, growl at them forbiddingly if he didn’t approve. Then, as always, he’d wait by the window until she got home safe.
IV
Little girls grow up, whether we’re prepared for it or not. And when it was time for her to go off to college, Woofles II would have to be left behind. She tried as best she could to explain to him that the dorm she’d be staying in didn’t allow pets, though doubting that he really understood. But as she was packing, he went to find the stuffed toy that he had been named after, the one that had brought so much comfort to the girl whom he had to say goodbye to for now, and carried it in his teeth to her suitcase. As she got ready to leave, she hugged her aunt and uncle tightly, thanking them for everything they had given her, and promising to call regularly and come home whenever she could. Then she looked down at Woofles II, curled up by her feet. With tears in her eyes, she knelt down and cradled him, as she had been cradled when she was put to bed after the bedtime story was over. He whimpered a little, as those who one day have to let go, trusting the person they helped raise would be all right, are wont to do. But he was eight years old now, or so it was estimated, and he was okay, because now he could rest and just be a dog. She looked once more into those soulful, human-like eyes, and she knew. As she picked up her suitcase and headed out the door, the last thing she could see was the waving of his furry tail. “I’ll never really leave you either, Dad,” she said as she closed the door.