Seamus texted Reva throughout Thursday, but Reva hadn’t relayed all the information to her daughters. While drifting in and out of consciousness, Jules waited on an emergency opening with a neurosurgeon. The surgery would be done to stop the intracranial hemorrhage caused by the fall. A brain bleed.
Becca’s worst fears about Jules’ brain came true. Becca arrived at the hospital Friday afternoon. Seamus looked like he hadn’t slept in days. He apologized as soon as he saw Becca. The guilt ate him up. Becca gave him a hug and said nothing. What had happened had happened. There was no use in blame now.
Becca sat down next to her grandfather and held his cool hand. The nurse explained that Jules had slipped into a coma 30 minutes earlier. Becca realized she’d been on the beach staring out at the ocean 30 minutes earlier. Becca sat with Jules for an hour. Seeing him in the coma, he looked almost peaceful, as if he were sleeping, but without the snoring. Eventually, it was too much to stay in silence. Becca convinced Seamus to go home and get some rest.
In a daze, Becca stumbled outside into the late-afternoon sunlight. She called Reva. “Coma,” was the only word she could get out. Then “Love you.” She couldn’t stay on the line. It was enough to take it in herself. She’d come back with Reva on Saturday. The brain surgery was scheduled for Saturday mid-afternoon.
Before dawn on Saturday morning, Reva arrived at the Philly airport. She had plenty of time before the flight, but once she ordered her coffee and Danish, she received a notification that her flight was delayed an hour. She ended up running all over Dallas-Fort Worth, just making it to the gate in time for her connection. Finally, the plane landed on the tarmac in Santa Barbara. Becca was there to meet her outside the baggage claim. Becca was pale and her eyes were swollen. They held each other for a moment before Becca sank into her mother’s arms.
The surgery successfully stopped the bleeding. That meant there was a chance Jules would wake up and have minimal brain damage caused by the hemorrhaging, though there was still the concussion to consider.
Neve and James flew in from Tucson the next day.
Reva rented two hotel rooms for the four of them. They stayed in the hotel for the next week, taking turns sitting beside Jules. The ventilator covered most of his face, pumping the flow of oxygen into his lungs. The IV-drip gave him vitamins, nutrients and electrolytes. His frail body was there, reclined in the bed next to Reva, then Becca, then Neve and James. Then Seamus. Then Ako. Then Ruby. They formed a rotation of loving family and friends. Jules was unresponsive. The few times he’d twitched or coughed, from under the ventilator, Reva and Becca leaned in close, to see if he would stir and awaken. Nothing. It was common, these tiny adjustments, explained the night nurse.
Jules had instructed Reva not to be kept alive on these machines for longer than two weeks. Before he’d moved into Brookhaven, Reva had gone through the agonizing list of medical questions that all entrants were required to answer. When asked about life support, in the event of a coma, Jules said, “Two weeks. That’s it. Two weeks on the machines. Why would I keep everyone in agony?”
There were six days left. In a cruel twist, Thanksgiving was only a week away.
Reva rented a small house, only a mile from Jules’ own in the Foothill neighborhood. The old house was occupied for the last several months by a Japanese couple whose daughter had just given birth. Reva, Becca and Neve stayed in the rental house. James reluctantly returned to Tucson for his new job at a non-profit rehabilitation center. Every day, they returned to the hospital. They took turns holding Jules’ hand and hoping to see his eyes open again.
On the final night before the two weeks had elapsed, Reva broke down. She drank a bottle of wine and sat with photos of her childhood. Jules holding her. Jules tossing her in the air. Jules reading with her. Jules standing next to her while she sat happily atop a sleepy horse. Becca comforted her mom, pulling Reva in to rest on her chest.
And that was it. Two weeks had passed. The brain had stopped functioning. There were no more memories left to lose. No people to forget or to remember and then ache for. The end of life was in fact merciful.
Seamus and Ako and Ruby had said their goodbyes the night before. Reva gave Jules one final kiss on his unshaven cheek and then held his hand for a moment, considering how much of her father’s life and love and values had morphed into her own.
Into his ear, Reva whispered, “Thank you.” Becca and Neve took turns kissing his cheek. Then they stepped back. With an arm over each of her daughters, Reva held them both fiercely. The doctor turned off the ventilator. Jules was pronounced dead four minutes later.
Reva knew how to carry on and take care of the details, to give order and clarity, as the moment needed. She’d been organizing the funeral details for the last week. A funeral to honor and celebrate her father. Phone calls were made. Conversations with cousins, nieces and nephews. Reva emailed his entire contact list with a short summary of what happened, and then included the funeral invitation. Friends of Jules whom Reva hadn’t seen in ages sent heartfelt responses, each sympathetic reply bringing a sense of the ripple effects of mortality and distant connections.
The funeral would be simple. A somber kind of celebration of life, as Jules would’ve wanted it. Reva would deal with the will later.