A Widow’s Story: A Memoir. Joyce Carol Oates

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СКАЧАТЬ was thinking of you, and your wonderful lost husband . . . It was something similar—though not a “wrongful death” I’m sure—Ray had been hospitalized for pneumonia—an e-coli infection which is one of the worst—and was definitely “improving” day by day—due to be released to rehab soon—then suddenly, I had a call at 12:30 A.M. to come quickly to the hospital—where he had just been pronounced dead. A secondary infection had caused cardiopulmonary arrest, and he was gone.

      It is just utterly unbelievable. I feel so completely alone.

      Though surrounded by the most wonderful friends.

      Thank you for writing. Much love,

      Joyce

      February 19, 2008.

      To Gary Mailman

      I have here the document “Last Will & Testament” of Raymond Smith . . . What does one do with the will, as a document? Do I present it somewhere? I’ve been told that I have to take “death certificates” to something called a surrogate court (?) in Trenton soon. Jeanne Halpern has offered to accompany me which is astonishingly wonderful of her.

      How grateful we are that you came through your hospital siege. . . . I truly did think that Ray was, too. Even after death he looked not ill at all, quite handsome, his face unlined and peaceful. In the hospital room, all the staff had left, and he was alone in the bed without the IV fluids and the oxygen mask, and the beautiful vase of flowers that you and Emily had sent was on a table just beside him. It is the most haunting memory I will ever have.

      Any [legal] advice you can give will be so much appreciated,

      Joyce

      February 19, 2008.

      To Gloria Vanderbilt

      [Ray] passed away at 1 A.M. of February 18—just yesterday!

      It is so hard to comprehend.

      I will write to you later. I would love to see you. I am inundated with tasks to be done—like a zombie plodding through the interminable day—yesterday was a nightmare that went on—and on—and on. There does not seem to be much purpose to my life now except these meaningless but necessary tasks (like speaking with a funeral director, buying a cemetery plot, looking for the Last Will & Testament.)

      But you are a solace just by existing, vividly in my thoughts if not here before me.

      Much love,

      Joyce

      February 19, 2008.

      To Eleanor Bergstein

      Eleanor, I am not good on the phone right now. I am overwhelmed and stunned and trying to keep sane by doing a multiplicity—an infinity—of small necessary tasks. Ray died only yesterday morning—so much has happened since then, it seems unbelievable.

      I know that you lost your mother and father long ago. What a raw terrible wound that must have been. Losing a spouse of 47 years is like losing a part of yourself—the most valuable part. What is left behind seems so depleted, broken.

      Thank you so much for your love and your friendship.

      Joyce

      February 20, 2008.

      To Dan Halpern

      There are bouts of utter loneliness and a sense of purposelessness. But I had a lovely evening with Ron and Susan, though it was strange that Ray wasn’t there, and Jeanne called this morning, and tomorrow I will be at your house with Emily & Gary & (evidently) Gloria.

      Jeanne and Gary are giving me helpful advice re. a lawyer and the “probate” about which I know nothing.

      This house is so lonely! It’s almost unbearable. But I will bear it . . .

      I am so grateful for your and Jeanne’s friendship and for other friends who have been so supportive.

      Much love,

      Joyce

      February 19, 2008.

      To Jeanne Halpern

      I like and need your presence when I am with people, I feel so easily breakable and I think that you can gauge these matters. I am so devastated, I’d just been listening to old messages—“old” meaning today and yesterday—since I rarely pick up the phone—there must have been fifteen calls and the last message (which was the earliest recorded, on Sunday afternoon) was from Ray, when I’d been en route to the hospital. I was stunned to hear his voice . . . now it is on the tape, the last I will ever hear of his voice. It is so utterly shattering. He sounded so good on the phone and was looking forward to seeing me. It is unbelievable that about 8 hours later he was dead.

      Much love,

      Joyce

       Chapter 19 Last Words

      It is astonishing to discover, amid a number of telephone messages from the previous two days, these words of Ray’s which are the last words of his I will hear.

      This call made early Sunday morning when I was en route to the hospital, which I hadn’t known he had made.

      Ray hadn’t mentioned the call to me—it was of so little consequence, or seemed so—and so what a shock to hear this so-familiar voice on the tape, intimate as if he were in the room with me.

      Honey? This is your honey calling . . . If you want to talk can you call? Lots of love to my honey and kitties.

       Chapter 20 “You’ve Said Good-bye”

      Many times on our walks in Pennington—a small “historic” town about two miles from our house—Ray and I took note of the Blackwell Memorial Home at 21 North Main Street—a white Colonial with blue shutters built close to the sidewalk.

      The Blackwell Memorial Home has the comforting look of a watercolor by a gifted amateur—the kind celebrating small-town America of another era.

      More frequently, we walked in the Pennington Cemetery in which, in the oldest section, nearest Main Street, and beside the Pennington Presbyterian Church, there are grave markers from the late 1700s—so aged and weatherworn their inscriptions are no longer readable.

      The local legend is, Hessian soldiers exercised their horses by jumping over the stone wall that separates the old section of the cemetery from the street.

      Always I will see us walking in Pennington, holding hands: Ray and Joyce of another era.

      “If Ray saw us here in Pennington—at this time—he’d be curious what we’re doing. He’d say, ‘Let’s have lunch. I could do with a drink.’ ”

      Why I am inspired to say this, I have no idea. Lately I have heard myself say bizarre unscripted remarks. Ray might have been consumed with curiosity to know what Jeanne, Jane, and I are doing in Pennington in Jeanne’s car as she parks in front of СКАЧАТЬ