Summary

In 2014, the author experienced the profound loss of both parents within a span of two months, an event that marked the year as both the worst and best in their life.

Abstract

The author recounts the emotional journey of losing both parents in quick succession in 2014. The narrative begins with a light-hearted moment of presenting an unspecified achievement to their parents, only to be met with their mother's sardonic approval and their father's silent support. The story quickly turns somber as the father's health declines, leading to frequent hospital visits and the realization that his years of heart disease had taken a toll. The mother's own health crisis follows shortly after, resulting in a fatal blood clot. Despite the family's attempts to celebrate Father's Day in the hospital, the author's mother passes away, leaving the family in grief. The father, suffering from memory loss, joins his wife in passing a few weeks later. The author reflects on the emptiness that follows, finding solace in memories and mementos, and ultimately acknowledges the enduring presence of their parents in their life.

Opinions

The author views the year 2014 as both a personal hell due to the loss of their parents and a significant year due to the profound impact of these events.
There is a sense of acceptance and peace, as the author acknowledges the finality of death with phrases like "And that is that," suggesting a philosophical outlook on the loss.
The author cherishes the memories and the legacy of their parents, indicated by the ceremonial scattering of their ashes at the marina, a place significant to their father.
The act of raising glasses and toasting to their parents signifies a celebration of their lives and the impact they had on the family.
The author emphasizes the importance of holding loved ones close, as life's unpredictability can lead to their sudden absence, leaving only memories behind.

What It’s Like to Lose Both Your Parents in Two Months

2014 was my year from hell, but also my best.

On an early day in 2014, I presented it to them with a smile on my face.

My mother looked at me and said, “It’s about damn time.”

“Well, mother. I am a procrastinator.”

My father sat there with his nose in a book, and he smiled, too. I got my love of reading from him.

In the next few months, preparations were underway. In May, I took my father to have his haircut.

It was a stumble and a fall. He looked up at me. “Well, shit.”

That was the old sailor in him. Those years in the boats carrying cargo back and forth between Vancouver and Seattle made him rough around the edges. It was also those years of heart disease, finally catching up with him, too.

In May, he began to get sick. It was back and forth to the hospital like a broken record. He would get better and then sick again. It was not looking good. I tried to cheer up my mother. Homecare was in the cards now.

One night in June, just before Father’s Day, we made her a nice dinner. We got her medications and put her to bed. I finally got her to use that wretched walker. I left it by the bed, and I went home. She needed that rest.

In the morning I went to see her. The scene was like the worst horror movie. It was in the bathroom all over the floor.

That damn blood.

We rushed her to the hospital. It was only a bump on the head. She was going to be fine.

We celebrated Father’s Day together in that hospital room. We had red velvet cupcakes together as a family. Little did we know it was our last family meal.

A few days later, we got that call. That dreaded call you never want to hear. The one where your heart races.

We rushed to the hospital and saw her there in that lonely room. It was a blood clot from the brain into the bowel. It would be a mere few hours, and then she was gone. As we sat there in silence, the tears reigned.

My father looked at us and wheeled himself out of the room. “And that is that,” he said.

That night the liquor reigned, too. With my niece joining us on the chat, the tears flowed once more. Our glasses were raised, and toasts made. On the way back home in the taxi cab, I stared out into the silence, into the black night — a hand in mine my only solace. As I stumbled into bed, it was the sleep that reigned.

June led into July. On a warm July day, we took my father around the hospital for a spin in his wheelchair. He didn’t know who he was or where he was, but it didn’t matter now. I wanted to take him to the marina.

A few days later, he passed. Again, the tears reigned. Life still moves on, and it did.

As the summer gave way to the cool breezes of fall, I sat there in an empty condo — my companions, a couch, a mattress, and a liquor cabinet. I poured the glass. I had one last toast. Goodbye.

In the morning, it was a shirt and tie. After the ceremony, we held pictures up of our parents at their own weddings. My wife with hers and me with mine. We wanted them to be together with us. They were. That night, we drank, we ate, laughed, danced, and loved.

And, that is that.

We took some of the ashes down to the marina and sprinkled them so they could be together. My father back on the boats with his first mate forever. Perhaps they can hear those horns. In fact, I’m sure of it.

That’s what it’s like to lose your parents in two months. Life goes on, and I continue down that highway in this thing we call life. Hold those that you love close to you as you never know when they’ll be taken. When they go, only the memory remains.

I remember all of those memories.

And that is, that.

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