Happy birthday, Dave

This is dedicated to Dave Parthemore, whom I don't know.

Apparently, he went to Mahopac High School and has mutual friends with me.

Apparently, he was somehow Facebook friends with my mother.

And, as the picture above indicates, she wished him a happy birthday.

*****

I was catching up with my sister last night and we were trying to remember something related to my mom.

"I have access to her Facebook page," I said. "Let me look."

I couldn't find what we were looking for as I moved through her activity log. But I stumbled onto her birthday wish to Dave Parthemore.

She sent the simple greeting: "Happy birthday Dave. Here's to many more."

The timestamp says she posted it at 4:19 a.m. on Sep 4, 2020.

It was the last thing she sent from her account.

She died sometime after.

I'll forever be haunted by the Sep 3-4, 2020. Always.

I last saw her on the evening of the 3rd after a day of going to doctors appointments. Then I saw her in her chair later that evening before she texted me about a bottle of apple juice that she got at one of the appointments. I told her it was in the refrigerator and that was the last time I heard from her.

Then came the events of the 4th. I got up and did my interview with Tony Savino. I had breakfast and got ready to take her to dialysis. Then it all happened.

Finding her in her chair. Calling 911. Doing what I could to save her life, knowing her life was already gone. Waiting for the paramedics. Making phone calls to loved ones. Talking to the police.

I've lived with all of this for almost four months. I see the pictures and can feel the ghosts every night.

I finally brought myself to visit her grave the day after Christmas, knowing we have to get her name engraved on it. The sadness that I should have felt there was wasted on the earth above her grave being almost ghoulishly sunken in as if it was clearly freshly dug just days earlier.

The famous tiles that my nieces placed on the grave after my father passed have dwindled from three to one with another disappearing since September. A small rabbit that my mother placed on his headstone was stuck in the frozen turf above where she's now entombed.

The ground was just soft enough that I was able to get that out.

I've been OK. Mostly. Still sad but unable to truly grieve and, at this point, I doubt I ever will. Yet the unexpected discovery of a birthday message at 4:19 a.m. on Sep 4 has rattled me. She liked a few other things on Facebook in those pre-dawn hours but the message to Dave was the last thing.

Did she know she was dying? Did she just fall asleep and have a heart attack? Was she concerned and didn't want to bother me? Was she in pain? Discomfort? She had often said she wouldn't go back to the emergency room after the last experience from January. Did she just accept her fate?

These questions will stay with me, though she awakened me several other times for various reasons, it just feels like, by the morning of Sep 4, she was done. She had achieved her goals: Sean's graduation. Meaghan and Eric's wedding.

She had just been told the day before that her heart was failing and the cardiologist didn't think there was much time left.

But not even 24 hours?

I'll admit something and this is not for attention (it's sad I even have to add this disclaimer). Following her funeral, as we each approached her casket, I leaned down and said something that I only told Susan later on.

"I'm sorry I couldn't save you."

I tried. With my sister and niece, we guided her to dialysis appointments and hours of sitting in the nursing home and to the doctor. We dealt with every last piece of it.

It wasn't easy. There were moments where it was tense and snippy, though that's what I prefer to not remember.

But "Happy birthday Dave" brought it all back up.

Then, today, as I tried to use an old cell phone of hers to connect it to my radio equipment to take phone calls for "Doubleheader," I mistakenly opened the voice memo app. 

There were three voice memos. Each one was marked "Baskin-Robbins" with a number attached. Each one was dated Dec 19, 2018. Each one contained the same message in her voice.

"White bread. Rye bread. Milk. Coffee."

Check this out on Chirbit

I had no idea they existed.

For whatever it's worth (those who like these kinds of things will appreciate it). I woke up right around 4:19 this morning.

The guilt will live with me.

But, so will the memories or random birthday messages and grocery lists and whatever it had to do with Baskin-Robbins.

Happy birthday, Dave.