Three ghosts meet a fool in a bar

What was a hospital visit is now a vigil here in Nyack. So much has happened this week in Rockland County. So little good.

Dad is dying in Nyack Hospital and I need a drink. It’s after visiting hours and the hotel bar is closed. I make a deal w/ God (please, no DWIs tonight). God turns Her head and I grab my car keys.

I open Maps Google to find a nearby bar, the right bar. O’Donoghue’s finds me first.

I need to think. Just stare into the bar mirror and find some answers between the bottles. Mourn in public. And every bar stool is taken. Every last one. A Tuesday at midnight and every neighborhood soul is sitting at this bar.

I order at the bar, take the booth by the front door, turn my back to the bar, and stare at empty space.

The Knob Creek bites back. I love that bite. The porter is delicious.

A mile away, Pop is dying and holding on…and dying. I want him to fall into the abyss and just go. I can’t fix this. But also, I don’t want to let go of him. I am torn and I am a coward.

Pop and I have warred, two stubborn alphas under the same roof. His roof. Sniping, angry. Neither of us able to express love for each other in a simple or normal way. He’s watched me fail but hasn’t let me fall.

Sitting at my booth, I just start crying. Quiet bawling. Tears down my face, blurred vision and so much snot in my head. I ask God for help. For Christ’s sake, help me understand.

I lift my head and there they are. The three people who could help me most, sitting in my booth

Granpa sits straight across from me, his shock of white hair standing straight up and over. His loopy grin is beaming. “My boy. How are you.” I was named for Granpa and my dad. But he always called me Boy. The Boy.

Next to him was Granma. She seems shorter and hunched over. Her eyes disappear as she smiles. “Let me look at you. Let me look at you.”

And right next to me on my bench is Mom. In all her glory. The Queen of Hearts. It’s been 35 years since I held her hand while she died in that same hospital.

And now I am loud sobbing and I am stress hallucinating. Can the people at the bar hear us? I don’t care. Our time is short.

“Mom, Dad’s dying and I don’t want to let him go. Lisa’s been working so hard to keep him well and I don’t want to let him go.”

Mom squeezes my shoulder and says, “He’s been gone for a while now. Find peace. He’s in pain. Let him go.”

Well.

Well. Well. My mind is shattered, me head a snotty mess, I turned back to Granpa. “You’re a good boy.” He holds both my hands and looked directly in my eyes. His ae clear. He is present. “Tommy, you’re a good man.”

I slide him the rest of my bourbon. He smiles and eyes my porter.

I look to Granpa: “I don’t want to let go.” She says, “I love your children so much. Let go. You’re going to be alright. He’s going to be alright.”

I am desperate now. Panicking. I turn to Mom: “I can’t let go.”

She stroke my cheek and kissed me. “He’ll be with us.”

And now they are gone. I am alone again in a booth big enough for four souls.

I am frightened and I am angry and I am alone and I don’t want to be wrong and I don’t want to be a coward.

But I know now Dad won’t be alone. Just me.

I grind my heels into the floor, inhale slowly and deeply and…

And I let him go.

I am dizzy and I am relieved and just wiped out and feel so much better and am so, so sad.

Soon, Pop will be at a booth in a different bar, with Mom and her parents. There’s so much comfort in that idea. I will still be alone, here, for now.

I put a twenty on the table and reach for the bourbon. It’s empty, as is the porter.

God help us. God helps us all. Thanks, God, for O’Donoghue’s.

– Tom Sakell