I know I’ve been writing about my parents a lot lately.  I miss them, especially in the summer. Well I miss their pool too.  But mostly them.  Yesterday I blogged about Janet, but it was pretty much fabricated as I noted.  Today is Allen’s day, and though you’ll likely doubt the truthfulness of this story, it’s 100% accurate.

Allen had Alzheimer’s or as we called it – Al’s Heimer.  I went up to visit him on a Saturday and it was just the two of us sitting outside.  He was pretty lucid that day yet I didn’t expect what came out of his mouth, even though the freak show that is my childhood prepared me for just about anything.

Allen:  Jeffrey, when I die I want you to be the only person to see my dead body.  Nobody else.

Me:  Okay Dad, if that’s what you want.  I didn’t think you wanted a wake or funeral anyway.

Allen:  No way.  But I mean nobody sees me dead.  Just you.

Me:  Got it.

Allen:  Now as soon as I go, I want you to soak me in gasoline and light a match.  

Me:  Ummm … okay.  (I knew he was referring to cremation.)

Allen:  Once I’m gone, wait a day and then you can tell people I’m gone.

Me:  But what about Mom.

Allen:  Especially her.

So those were the instructions.  He passed on a Monday morning and I got the call from the hospital while I was walking to catch a train to work. I threw myself into reverse, walked home and drove up to Connecticut. He died in Danbury Hospital.  Upon arrival, they said I had to identify his body before they could call the crematorium to pick him up.  So I took the elevator down to the morgue and someone told me which room he was in. What they failed to tell me was that he was naked.  

WTF!  So I’m looking at his junk and call for someone from “wardrobe” to bring a sheet.  They said they didn’t bother cuz he was leaving soon.  I mean just a sheet.  Didn’t have to have a high thread count.  I tell the nurse that yes in fact the body is Allen Abraham Namian … all of him.  I darted out of there like a bank robber. Allen’s other mandate was to clean out his room and toss everything in a dumpster. He wanted no evidence of his life left behind.  

I drove to the crematorium to fill out the paperwork.  The owner asked if I wanted to post something and I rattled off a few things about him being a vet and a college graduate and then it dawned on me.  HIS COLLEGE RING.  He never took it off.  He was the first of an immigrant family to graduate college and he was very proud of it.  If they took it off, I had to get it back.  I rushed to the hospital and asked if he’d been moved yet.  (He hadn’t been moved nor dressed.)

The ring was still on his finger.  I kind of winced a bit but I had to start tugging and twisting to get it over his knuckle without hurting him.  I mean he was dead and all, but still.  Well the ring refused to budge.  Between the crotch shot and the immediacy I vowed to keep while destroying all evidence of his life, I gave it a major yank and it came flying off.  Let’s just say it wasn’t alone.  

I got the ring and never looked back, rushed to his room and filled Glad Bags with his stuff.  I kept a couple of things.  I almost had a stroke when I realized I wasn’t alone in the room. There was a guy in another bed that may or may not have expelled his final breath.  I had no time to attend to that.  Grabbed my garbage bags, found a dumpster, cursed my father, popped a valium and drove home.

The next day I drove back to tell my mother that her husband had passed.  

• Yes it happened yesterday.  
• Well why didn’t you tell me yesterday?
• I didn’t tell you because he said not to.  
• Why did he say that?  
• Well I don’t know why and there’s no way of finding out his logic now.  
• I was gonna visit him today but I don’t feel so well myself.
• Well he’s not himself today either.

Two days later I get a UPS delivery.  I open the door and accept a package the size of a shoe box and exclaim DADDY’S HOME!

The UPS guy (who was black) turned completely pale and split faster than an olympic sprinter.