"build a new house
down by the sea
get to the place
we were meant to be
when the rainbow comes
we'll be living on all sides
when the rainbow comes..."
"when the rainbow comes", world party, from the album goodbye jumbo
i always did the grocery shopping, it's just the way our own peculiar division of household labor worked. made sense, since i did all of the cooking. hard for me to cook now, more than three months in to our life without her; yes, i cooked for the kids and i cooked for family and friends, sometimes, but most of all, i cooked for her.
i can still remember the last meal i ever cooked for her; a chicken curry, on saturday, october 20th, 2007. we decided i wouldn't cook that weekend, the last one we ever had together, as it turned out; on the following tuesday she'd enter into a local hospital for the embolization of her brain tumor, a benign tumor, ironically enough...on the following friday she'd have the surgery to have the tumor removed.
so, no cooking, we thought; we'd order in and use disposable plates, something we never did, the throwaway plates, i mean. we figured we wanted everything as clutter-free as possible. they told us she'd be in the hospital for a week, maybe ten days, and that she'd be pretty tired for quite awhile; they said it would take her two to three months to feel "back to normal."
we had it all worked out. she'd have the surgery and by the end of the year she'd wind up back on her feet, we'd get through the birthdays of two of our three young children, get through the holidays, and then we'd click the pause button off and press play and start back up with the rest of our lives. we had the kids to raise and a house to buy and a bunch of dreams to live out, we had years laid out in front of us, we were young and strong and still madly in love, still thrilled to have and to hold on to each other.
yeah, we knew the surgery posed risks; there's a reason people use the term "it's not brain surgery," after all. but they told us she had an excellent chance at a full, or very close to full, recovery; yes, she'd lose what little hearing remained in her left ear, she might have a slightly asymmetrical smile, her facial muscle on that side might be weak for awhile, she might lose her sense of balance for awhile, but these were the outliers. death, well, that seemed one of those "we gotta mention it for legal purposes, anything can happen in surgery" types of risks.
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she came home with a brand new kitchen island that friday. we needed one, well, ok, i wanted one, chef's perogative. we didn't have a lot of counter space and i sometimes found making more complicated dishes cumbersome due to the lack of room. i need my space when i cook, i need to spread out. i sometimes make a mess when i cook, i use a lot of pots and pans and dishes. it's just how i work.
true to lauren's form, she looked all over for the right kitchen island. it had to fit my needs, it had to not cost a fortune, and it had to look nice. she had looked around for awhile, almost pulled the trigger a few times, but she held her fire until that last friday. she found it at some out of the way place. it was perfect. some sort of red wood, with lots of room for pots, pans, colanders, dishtowels, measuring cups, and so on, all topped off with a nice big granite top. just what i needed. she stopped by my office, on the way to picking up bailey from school, to show it to me. we stood out in the street out in front of my office, she lifted the back door to the van, and i looked it over. she had a big smile on her face, she knew she had done a little something to make me happy, and lord knows we loved making each other happy.
she shut the door and we kissed each other goodbye. i watched her drive away, i thought of the impending surgery, i thought of how lucky i was to have her, and i thought, my god, i can't imagine my life without her in it.
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the next day, in the late afternoon hours, my brother came downstairs and helped me lug the thing out of the van and into the kitchen. we got it all set up. it looked wonderful. my brother said, lauren, hold on a minute, wait here. he ran upstairs and came back down with a bottle of wine, a red he knew she loved. here, he said. we got you this for tonight. enjoy. it's a bottle in honor of your tumor, he said, laughing, in the way that brothers and sisters sometimes laugh at sick jokes in ways outsiders would find appalling, and yes, he regarded her as a sister. the three of us laughed, and they hugged, and then lauren looked at the kitchen island, a goddamn $200 piece of mere furniture, she looked at it and smiled and danced a little jig around it.
i'd had a couple of beers myself. i looked at the island, watched my wife arrange it, fill it up with my cookware. lauren, i said. what, she said. i just gotta cook ya something tonight. what, she asked. i dunno, i answered. well, dear, i don't want to see you have to clean up a big mess, i thought you weren't cooking, why don't we just order. we can order anytime, i said. i just gotta cook ya something. well, what? she asked. i dunno. i'm going to go to the store and let the spirit move me.
we looked at each other and i knew she knew she couldn't stop me.
well, ok, but if you're going to go, go now, i'm a bit tired and i wanted to get to bed early tonight she said, with a gleam in her eye...
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bailey, our nine year old, came in as i donned my shoes. where ya goin', dad?
to the store.
can i come?
sure.
we headed out to the driveway, and i opened the doors to the van.
can i sit in the front, dad?
i never let him sit in the front. he's big for his age, well, ok, he's huge for his age, he comes from a six four papa and a five nine mama, after all. but i never let him sit in the front, the air bag and all...but i thought, what the hell, we're only going a few blocks.
alright, just this once.
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i ended up taking a little detour, up the hill out of town, out in to the country a bit, the farm land...we drove around and i blasted some pogues. he grew up listening to music, from his earliest days, and i feel some satisfaction as i watch him bobbing his head to the notes of "rum, sodomy, and the lash." we drive a bit and i look at the clock...better get to the store...we head back into town...and just as we're about to hit the crest of the hill, as we're at the highest point, i look to the left, toward the hudson, and i see it:
a rainbow.
look! i shout. look at the rainbow!
he sees it, and he yells out, wow, it's huge.
in just a few days his mother, my wife, the center of my universe, the best thing that ever happened to me, will undergo brain surgery, but i take the rainbow as a sign. everything's gonna be alright, i tell myself. everything's gonna be alright.
we drive to the store. wander through the vegetable section. i spy some cilantro and think, that's it curry. i get some carrots, the cilantro, some fresh ginger, some chicken, some basmati rice just in case we're out, i know we got cinnamon sticks, cardamom pods, peppercorns, cloves, cumin, coriander, and a bunch of other spices. some more beers. we pay and i head home.
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i was scared, no doubt. it was brain surgery, on my wife. i heated the oil and dropped in a cinnamon stick, a few cardamom pods, a couple of cloves, and some peppercorns. waited for them to snap, crackle, and pop in the heat. added the onions, some spices, stirred it up. kept stirring, waiting for that smell, the smell that comes when you know the spices have started cooking through. added the chicken, some more spices, stirred again. added in some chopped carrots. then some chick peas. then some diced fresh tomatoes, some heavy cream, the chopped cilantro.
scared as hell, but then, i felt better when i thought of that rainbow.
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bailey came into the kitchen. i had a good buzz on by now. the curry smelled ridiculously good, i thought. we had already put the two babies to bed and i had the rice going. i cracked open another beer. that smells funny, dad, he said.
i thought of the rainbow again. lauren came in. tell mom about the rainbow, i said to him. and he did. smiled as he did. his excitement manifest as he told her, she smiled, too. me and her looked at each other. smiled. i thought of telling him something about rainbows, well, something about a song that mentions rainbows, the song quoted above. i thought about telling him about that song, about how his mom and dad once laid in each other's arms, fourteen and a half years earlier, listening to that song, new to each other, and how they realized even then that their thoughts had already raced ahead to nights like this, to nights at home together with years together under their collective belts, with children in tow; i thought of telling my son about how his mother and father once listened to this song while lying together and realized they wanted nothing more than to be married.
ah, he's too young, he'd wonder what the hell i'm talking about, must be all those beers talking, i thought.
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i asked him if he wanted to try the curry, but he said no.
i snuck a few spoonfuls in as it cooked, and i thought, well, no sense in false humility, this is fucking sublime. i couldn't wait for it to finish, couldn't wait for lauren to taste it.
finally, she did. we sat down on the couch, next to each other, and i put my dish down on the ottoman. taste it, i said. what do you think?
she dippped her fork into her dish and raised it to her mouth. i felt giddy. she closed her eyes and smiled slightly. ohmygod dear. what did you do this time? she took another bite. ohmygod dear, you've really outdone yourself this time.
i knew she was right.
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six days later it all went wrong. her brain swelled during the surgery, and then there were blood clots on the brain and mrsa in the sputum and pulmonary embolism in a leg and a tracheostomy gone way wrong. on the 20th of october we shared the wonder of a well-cooked meal, expecting, or maybe just desperately hoping, to share the various wonders of life for years to come, and on the 20th of november i sat and held her hand as she died.
today i went back to that same supermarket, today i went back to the same kitchen, used that same island, to cook once again, for just the second time since october 20th, 2007; i cooked for myself, for our children, and for my parents. i did my best, i made a pot roast with roasted potatoes, i tried, and i guess it turned ok, but i didn't feel any joy while i cooked. they say i will someday, and i try to believe that, but it doesn't feel possible right now, and all i can tell you is this, if the rainbow still shines upon you and yours, savor it, drink it in, and hold on tonight, because you never know what place you're meant to be next, do you?