The Ten Best Days of My Life (28 page)

TEN YEARS LATER

My dad died today, which is so weird. I honestly thought he was immortal.

I got a call in the middle of the night from Deborah, my guardian angel. That's the way these things go down. We're not psychic up here. It's not like we automatically know when someone dies. Plus, there's no grand plan, no great scheme. When your number is up, it's up, which is not actually as much a number as it is your time.

Today was just my dad's time.

Dad was eighty-eight years old, and he died peacefully in his sleep from natural causes. He had actually been ailing for a while now, so it wasn't a huge surprise to anyone. People might be sad, but they know it's okay. Dad led a long and fulfilling life.

I'm standing here with my grandparents and uncle Morris in a waiting room in Building Blissful. We've been here about an hour. The lines must be long today. Grandmom parked the lemon-colored Cadillac Coupe deVille right in front so we could get in and out as fast as we could.

“He always gets hungry after a big trip,” Grandmom said when she parked.

Adam is back at our Len Jacobs house conjuring up the finishing touches for our welcome celebration. We've got lox and bagels and whitefish salad, all Dad's brunch favorites, waiting for him when we get back. He'll be living right next to Adam and me in Adam's old house, only Adam's Hamptons-style house has been remodeled into a house that looks exactly like the one I grew up in. The only thing that looks strange about our old house is that all of Dad's suits are gone. Instead, his closet is full of Bermuda shorts and Ralph Lauren Polo golf shirts in an array of colors. His home office has been converted into a game room complete with a pool table, darts, and a pin-ball machine. I was surprised myself when I saw it. I thought he'd want to work through eternity. Who knew?

Even my old canopy bed and the dolls from around the world are there. I guess our old house was my dad's dream home. My old bedroom is not for me, though, it's for my eight-year-old daughter, Ruth; Adam's and mine. We adopted her when she came up to heaven five years ago. I've told Ruth about all the special times I spent with my grandparents, and she can't wait to be with her grandfather.

“Will Grandpop Bill play bridge and watch old movies with me like I do at Great-Grandmom and Great-Grandpop's house?” she asks me.

“I'm sure he'll want to do anything you want,” I tell her. “I'm sure he'll spend hours and hours playing all the games you want.” Actually, I'm not positively sure of this since he never really did these things with me. Something tells me, though, he'll be a little different when he gets here. Maybe it's because there ars no suits in his closet anymore.

Ruth's bedroom is just beyond my converted bedroom closet, though these days that room is used to store all of Ruth's toys and games. The closet, which used to be lined with everything from Marc Jacobs to Oscar de la Renta, is now filled with tutus and feather boas and mermaid outfits, and one section of the closet is specifically for tiaras and costume jewelry and play makeup for her gaggle of girlfriends to play with. Adam says I spoil her, but I always tell him, “Every little girl should be spoiled.” There's enough time to be otherwise.

My new converted bedroom closet, with all the latest fashions and shoes that don't pinch, is just on the other side of the bedroom that Adam and I share. What can I say? It's seventh heaven. You get what you want.

“He's just arrived through the gates,” Deborah informs us as we continue to wait. “It should just be a few more minutes,” she says, shutting the door to our waiting room.

There are so many things I want to show Dad. He's going to be thrilled at his eighteen-hole golf course and tennis courts. Adam has been practicing up so they can play together. Adam made sure the course is just like the one at Pebble Beach. The fourth hole always pisses off Dad, but, as heaven goes, I'm sure he'll sink each putt with ease, like his idol Jack Nicklaus.

He'll be so relieved to find that there's a Palm Restaurant just around the corner from us. I'm sure we'll go tonight for Dad's favorite T-bone steak and Gigi salad. They've already put his caricature on the wall, which he'll definitely get a kick out of.

“We're going to bring him through now,” Deborah tells us from the door.

Grandmom and Grandpop and uncle Morris and I get up to walk toward the door. My dad is just beyond it and suddenly all I want is to swing those doors open myself.

I see the door slowly open. Dad has no idea that we're here. How could he know? He must think he's in this by himself.

He's a little grayer than he was the last time I saw him. He's a bit thinner. But when he looks up and our eyes meet, he's suddenly back to the way I always remember him: tall, full of vitality, strong, no one can ever get in his way.

“Alex!” he shouts, with a huge smile on his face, his arms straight out to me.

“Hi, Dad!” I scream back, and I run toward him.

We hug and hug and hug. He smells just like I remember him, clean from Ivory soap, a little dab of aftershave on each of his cheeks.

He takes his hands and cradles my face as he looks me straight in the eyes.

“I always knew I'd see you again,” he cries. “I told Mom I was going up to be with you. She sends you all her love. I just hope she's all right down there.”

“We'll look in on her,” I cry as we hug again. “We'll let her know that everything's okay.”

“Good,” he whispers. “You'll teach me how to do that later.”

“What? I don't get a hug here?” Grandmom demands as Dad buries himself in her arms.

“You're still the same old battle-ax,” he laughs.

“Someone has to keep this family in order,” she laughs back.

Dad gives hugs to Grandpop and uncle Morris.

“He's got lots of time for all this,” Grandmom shouts as she breaks up the reunion. “Come on, Bill, we've got all your favorites at Alex's house. I know you must be hungry. I've got the car waiting in front,” she tells him, interlocking her arm in his as we head through the doors.

“The old Cadillac?” he pronounces when he sees it. “Jesus, Evelyn, with all the goddamned gripe you gave me, I knew you loved this car.”

“It's still got a few good miles on it,” she shrugs. “I've been waiting for you to pick me out a new one, and this time, please, nothing too fancy. Maybe something like Alex's car.”

“I have a Porsche, Dad,” I grimace as we chuckle together.

As we pull up to the house, Adam and Ruth are waiting in front. Peaches is jumping up and down, barking with excitement. Ruth made a poster board sign that says, “Welcome Home Grandpop” in crayon. We all go into the house arm in arm.

We're sitting in my dining room surrounded by our family in heaven. I watch Dad as he observes the commotion around him. Grandmom and uncle Morris are giving each other the latest gossip. Adam and Grandpop are discussing last night's Phillies games. Ruth is holding up pieces of lox for Peaches to jump up and grab. I'm just watching Dad as he takes it all in.

“So this really is heaven,” Dad says to me. He takes his last bite of bagel and lox sandwich as he looks around at all of us and Ruth climbs into his lap.

“Yeah, Pop,” I smile to him, putting my hand in his. “This really is heaven.”