Okinawa
Part Seven
September-October 1966
The Event, Interrupted
Right after the Johnny Carson interview with Hubert Humphrey, the Democrat candidate for President, I must’ve fallen asleep in the big overstuffed chair, despite waiting anxiously for Claudia Cardinale’s turn on Johnny’s couch. I heard a voice coming from faraway calling my name—softly at first, then louder and with more insistence.
“Mr. DeLeón!! Sir, could I talk to you, please?”
I opened my eyes and the vague memory of where I was and why I was here just wouldn’t come to the forefront of my memory.
“Sir!!” This time the voice was much closer, and I forced myself to focus.
“Ye…yes?” I managed to mumble.
“Sir, could I have a word with you?”
Taking a deep breath and blinking my eyes rapidly, a man’s face—slightly in need of a shave—came into view. He was wearing rimless spectacles and had a funny looking white cap on his head. I pulled myself into a more upright position, and the man moved away from my face.
“Yes, sure. Sorry, I must’ve fallen asleep.”
“No problem. Hi. I’m Doctor Rogers, and I’m tending to your wife. It looks like I have a bit of bad news for you.”
“Oh? What’s wrong? Is my wife OK?”
“Well…yes, for the most part she’s fine. It’s the baby that’s being stubborn.”
“Stubborn?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so.” He turned his body slightly and sat down on the large left arm of the chair. “It seems that the birth is not going to happen…at least not tonight.”
“Oh?”
“So, I came out to tell you that maybe you should go home. We’ll call you if something changes.”
I sat straight up, almost knocking the man off the arm of the chair. “Uh, so she’s not ready to have it yet?”
“Well, everything seemed right on schedule, then her labor pains subsided quite a bit, so it seems we’re into a sort of ‘wait-and-see’ mode.”
“And, I should go home then?”
“Well, you’re certainly welcome to stay here, but I can’t tell you when she’s going to resume her labor. We’ll try to induce, but there’s no guarantee that she’ll start right back up. I just thought you’d be more comfortable at home, rather than trying to sleep here.”
I looked around and found that the large room was empty and the TV was off. I tried to find the clock on the wall to see what time it was. “What time is it?”
“Oh, it’s about twelve-thirty right now. Do you have a long drive to get home?” he asked.
I stretched and continued to gather my bearings. “No, it’s not that far.” I yawned, large.
“Well, then! I suggest you go on home. If anything changes, we’ll be sure to call you. It’s my understanding that this…um…birth is not particularly welcome.”
“Not as far as I’m concerned. I really don’t have anything to do with it.”
“So then, it’s best that you wait at home. OK?”
“Sure.” He moved off the arm and stood up. I noticed he was wearing something that looked like a big white apron, tied off at the front—and funny shoes that looked like white ballet slippers. I got up and stretched and yawned again—this time a little noisily. “OK, so I’ll get a call…when?”
“If anything changes in her condition.”
“OK, thanks.”
The doctor stuck his hand out to shake mine. “Good luck. I know this isn’t the best situation for either of you.”
“No…but, that’s OK.” And I walked out of the “Expectant Fathers Waiting Room”, and headed for the elevator.
The temperature had fallen quite a bit since we’d arrived and I was shivering a bit by the time I got into the front seat. After all the miles I’d put on this car in the past few days, it almost felt like an old friend. The drive back to Sharon’s house seemed a little shorter than when we’d taken off for the hospital, and before I knew it, I was turning left into her driveway.
I saw another car there, a green older model Ford, and remembered that Sharon had mentioned calling Brenda. I assumed this was her car. I opened the door, expecting to see her—as all the lights were on—but I stepped into an empty front room.
Suddenly, Sharon’s bedroom door opened and Brenda stepped out. She was not the same girl that I’d last seen so long ago in Winnemucca. Dressed in black bell-bottomed jeans, and a white western-cut long-sleeved blouse, she seemed taller, filled out; and, her long black hair had been permed into a cute semi-Afro style. She still had the same, almost transparent large blue eyes, and her once thin face was now nicely rounded out—creating a pair of deep dimples on either cheek. I’d once thought that she was a pretty girl, but she’d blossomed into a beautiful woman.
She opened her eyes wide and threw her arms out into a warm welcoming hug. She bounced up to me, giggling. “Oh Frank! My God, you look great!”
I hugged her back—hard, taking in the light sweet scent of her perfume. “Brenda! You look pretty good yourself!”
Still holding me tightly, she pulled her head back taking me in with her eyes. Suddenly, she smiled, pulled me back in, and planted a big juicy kiss right on my lips! Surprised, I tried to pull my head back a bit, finally surrendering to her insistence.
“There!!” She said, throwing her head back. “I’ve been wanting to do that for years, but I always thought you were too hung up on Sharon!”
“Well…uh…” I stuttered. “I don’t know what to say. Thanks, I guess!”
She laughed heartily. “Well, I see you haven’t lost your sense of humor.”
“Well,” I said, disengaging myself from her grip. “There hasn’t been a lot to joke about lately.”
She stepped back and look of sadness came over her face. “Oh Frank…God…this is so awful. How can you stand it?”
“You mean, Sharon getting pregnant?”
“Well, yeah…no! Everything! I mean, you just don’t deserve what she’s done to you. And believe me, she’s paid for it too!” She walked over to the couch and sat daintily down. “Everyone has just about written her off…she’s like the black sheep of the family, I’ll tell you. I was the only one she ended up talking to, and that’s because I just felt so sorry for her—and her pathetic situation.”
“Yeah, well I don’t know too much about it. She never wrote me while I was gone—well, except for the letter that I got in July when she told me her condition.” I sat down on the other end of the couch.
“Yeah!” she said, forcefully. “And even then, she didn’t want to do it! She had to be forced, you know.”
“I didn’t know that. All she said was that everyone, including her lawyer had advised her to write me and tell me about what was going on with her.”
“Yeah, well she was in denial for the longest time—claiming that she just didn’t know what had happened, when she damn sure knew what caused her problem.”
“Well, in her letter she didn’t know who the father was and we haven’t had a chance to talk about it—in fact, we’ve really not talked about anything since I came back. We did speak a little during dinner last night, but all she seemed interested in was finding out about Okinawa. She made comments to the boys and me about being excited about going to a foreign country, you know, and stuff like that. I didn’t feel that I should bring up her pregnancy in front of them.”
“Oh! Are you planning on sending for them after all this is over and you go back? You’ve still got a couple of years to spend over there, right?”
That question brought on a great feeling of sadness and sorrow—and my throat tightened up, causing me to pause and swallow hard a couple of times. My memory instantly replayed the scene a few weeks prior when, after I’d asked for an appointment, I found myself sitting in front of one of the Assistant Adjutant Generals at Naha Air Base. I had showed him Sharon’s letter, which he read several times over; then, finally looking up and asking me what it was that I wanted to do. Without hesitation, I told him that my first inclination was that I had no desire to continue being married to her, but I wanted to know what my options were.
After referring to a couple of large black, red-trimmed volumes, he advised me that under the ‘Soldiers and Sailors Civil Relief Act’, I had the right to file for an uncontested divorce, and my absence at any, and all, court proceedings would be allowed due to my military service obligations. In other words, I could file for divorce, offer a reasonable amount of monthly child-support (which could be increased or decreased by the presiding judge), have any alimony demand quashed (given the defendant’s egregious actions), and have a judge render a final judgment—all with my not having to be present at any of the proceedings.
After about another hour of discussion I told the AAG that I would make my final decision after I returned from Reno. He thought that was a good idea, and advised that whatever I decision I came to should be properly and carefully considered—as the result of that decision would be permanently binding on all parties.
On the long flight home, I had all but made up my mind to file for divorce. It had come down to this: I felt that I could never again trust Sharon. And, if my trust in her was gone, then I had no business being married to her.
“Oh, uh…well, like I said before,” I stuttered, as Brenda’s interest piqued, “I haven’t had a chance to talk to her about that, or anything else. I guess once this is all over we’ll have to have a serious discussion.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what I think! She fucked around on you, then denied the obvious to everyone here! So as far as I’m concerned anything you decide to do, short of forgiving her and hauling her unfaithful ass back with you, would be entirely justifiable!”
“Well…we’ll see…”
“Oh yeah, and that bullshit about her not knowing what happened? That’s a crock. She told me and Sherry…you remember Sherry don’t you? She was Sharon’s bridesmaid.”
“Of course.”
“She’s living here in Reno now, working at one of the casinos. Anyway, she told us that she’d been invited to a Christmas party by someone none of us ever met; and she ended up getting drunk. She said she woke up and this guy was on top of her.”
“Oh God.”
“Yeah, she claims she was so drunk she just let him do it.”
“Really? So in truth, he raped her.”
“One would think!”
“Did she ever report it to the police?”
“No! Her excuse was that she was too embarrassed. Can you believe that?”
“Kinda sounds like something she’d say.”
“Yeah, well I think she knew what she was doing all along. Just didn’t think she’d get knocked up.”
“Probably.”
“Anyway, the phone call—did she already have the little bastard?”
“Huh?” The question shocking me in its bluntness. “Oh, no. The doctor told me to come home because her labor pains had subsided, and they weren’t sure just when she was going to give birth.”
“So, you’re just supposed to just wait here until, what? She pops?”
“What else can I do?”
“Right! OK, I have an idea. How long has it been since you’ve had a glass of good scotch whiskey?”
It was then I remembered that Brenda’s choice of drink was scotch. “Well, Okinawa may be on the other side of the world, but they do have scotch whiskey there.”
“Ha! That may be, but I’ll bet it just doesn’t taste the same as it does when drinking it in Nevada.”
“You may be right there.”
“So, here’s what we’re gonna do: Since I couldn’t find a damned thing to drink around here, I’m gonna run out and buy us a bottle; and you and I, old buddy, are going to get old-fashioned shit-faced! What’dya say to that?!”
Actually, I didn’t have anything to say about that, so I just asked a lame question. “So, what would be open this time of night?”
“Are you shitting me? This is Reno! Everything’s open! Boy, you’ve been gone too god-damned long!”
And with that, she jumped up and retrieved a fancy black rawhide leather jacket that had been hanging on one of the kitchen chairs. I noticed that she was wearing a pair of really expensive-looking western boots.
“It won’t take me but a jiffy, then we’ll—by God—put this night away properly!”
I reached into my pocket to give her some money.
“No! No you don’t!” She said—shaking her finger at me. “This bottle’s gonna be on me. It’s been a long time since I’ve bought a handsome man a drink.”
“OK,” I laughed. “But if you find one out there fitting that description don’t you dare bring him home!” She laughed loudly. So instead of money I pulled Sharon’s car keys out and threw them to her. “Here, you better take Sharon’s car. I parked it behind yours in the driveway.”
“Right! I’ll be right back.” She grabbed me by the cheeks with one hand and planted a noisy kiss on my mouth. “Hold that thought!” And, she walked out.
***
She brought back a fifth of Cutty Sark. “I remembered it was your favorite.” she said, after putting the bottle down on the dining table. “Let me find us a couple of glasses and a pitcher of water, and then let’s see how much damage we can do to that baby.”
We talked and we drank, and she filled me in one what she’d been doing since we’d last seen each other way back in what seemed decades to me. She’d moved to Reno, and was living there when Sharon had returned and I’d flown off to Okinawa. Some good-looking cowboy named Roy, who’d been working the rodeo circuit had swept her off her feet and they’d married. Two years, and two kids later, she discovered that during those trips when he was competing, he’d fathered a number of other kids with other women in a couple of other states.
“Oh, but don’t worry,” Brenda said while taking a healthy swig off her lightly-diluted scotch and water. “He ended up paying big for his fucking little indiscretions.” In addition to a healthy chunk of change up front, she ended up with some land in Idaho and a generous monthly child support payment. “I ended up doing OK, but you know the sad part is that I really loved that asshole—and even with all that went down, I still really miss him.”
“Well, that’s too bad.” I said. “But I’m sure you’ll find someone else.”
“Ha! Well, if I were looking—maybe. But no, not for a while.”
“So where are your kids now?”
“Roy’s back off the circuit for a while after cracking some ribs, so the kids are with him for a couple of weeks.”
“Oh. So, you always dress like this when you’re just hanging around the house waiting for your half-sister to call?”
“Oh no. I was getting ready to go out western dancing with some of my girlfriends when she called. Hell, if you were home for good I’d take you out to the dance hall and show you off.”
“Stop it!” I said, a little embarrassed. “I have other things I need to worry about right now.”
“Yeah, I guess you do. Too bad.”
I don’t remember exactly when we decided we’d had enough, but the shrill ring of the light green wall phone brought my senses back abruptly. I was lying, face-down on the couch, one arm under me and the other resting on the floor. With every ring, my head throbbed, and as I pushed myself upright, I felt a little light-headed and a lot nauseous.
The wall that the phone was hanging on really looked far away, and I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to walk all the way over there to answer it. I looked around for Brenda, but she was nowhere to be seen. I got myself to my feet, leaned forward, and pointed myself in the direction of where the phone was jangling noisily.
“Hello?” I said, through what felt like cotton balls in my mouth. “Hu…hello?”
“Mr. DeLeón?”
“Uh…yes?”
“Hold please.”
“What?” I asked, looking for a chair where I could sit myself down. “Hello?” I said again. Then I remembered that the tinny female voice had said to hold. Pinning the receiver to the side of my face with my right shoulder, I reached for one of the dining table chairs and pulled it over to me. Sitting down, I felt a bit steadier.
“Mr. DeLeón?” Another female voice asked.
“Yes?”
“This is Doctor Rogers’ nurse…”
“Uh, OK.”
“Well, sir…Doctor Rogers wanted to let you know that your wife gave birth this morning just after six.”
“Oh.” I just didn’t know what else to say.
“Mr. DeLeón?”
“Yes?”
“Did you understand what I said?”
“Yeah…Sharon had the baby.”
“Yes sir, that’s correct…a little after six today.”
“All right.” I wasn’t sure what else I should be saying, but the thought that went through my head just then was that if these were normal circumstances I would probably be ecstatic. Probably. “OK, so what happens now?” I finally thought to ask.
“Well, I think what the important thing to tell you is this,” the nurse continued, “If you’re planning on visiting her this morning, the doctor suggested that maybe this afternoon, or maybe early evening would be better.”
“Oh? Why? Is something wrong?”
“Well, I’m not at liberty to discuss the particulars, but she didn’t take to the procedure very well, I’m afraid.”
“You mean, there were some problems with the delivery?”
“No, not the delivery. Sir, I really can’t discuss this with you. But I can tell you that she’s presently under heavy sedation and is in no condition to receive any visitors. At least not for now.”
“OK, I don’t understand. Is she OK, or not?”
“Dr. Rogers, or the other resident will call you back with more details later today. Will you be at this number?”
“Yes, sure.”
“When the doctor decides she’s up to seeing you, he’ll call. Right now, he just wanted to let you know that she’d given birth.”
“All right.”
“OK, sir. Someone will call you later. Goodbye now.”
And she was gone.
I stood and hung up the phone. I sat there for a few minutes trying to understand what had just happened, when Brenda cracked open the bedroom door.
“Hey…” she said, eyes squinting and obviously in pain. “Was that the phone?”
“Yeah…”
“So…is everything OK?”
“Um…kinda…I think. That was the nurse. She said Sharon had given birth, but then told me not to plan on going to the hospital to visit her until I got a call later. Something must’ve happened because she was under heavy sedation but she wouldn’t tell me what was wrong.”
“Oh God! I hope she’s OK. What about the baby?”
“The baby? Oh…I don’t know. I guess they must’ve taken it away.”
“Taken away? What do you mean—taken away?!”
“You know—that’s what Sharon wanted to have done. I thought you knew…she signed papers to give the kid up for adoption. Shit, I had to sign them too…something about my being the legal father.”
“WHAT?”
“You didn’t know?”
“NO! No one knew! God damn her!” And she slammed the door shut.
I staggered back to the couch and sat down. I didn’t know what to think.
Regret, Hysteria, and Pleas for Forgiveness
I spent the rest of the morning trying to sober up. Brenda came out of the bedroom wearing one of Sharon’s robes and made a long trip to the bathroom. As much as it hurt for me to move too fast I decided that I should take advantage of Brenda’s absence and go in to wake the boys. I seated them at the table and went into the kitchen to grab some milk and cereal. Just thinking of eating made my stomach quiver and roll.
Brenda finally came out, greeted and kissed the boys and said she was going to go get dressed. I told her that the doctor was going to call me later to let me know when I could go see Sharon, and Brenda suggested I call her when that happened. She also said she’d come back and pick up the boys and keep them at her house while I went to the hospital.
“Also,” she added, “I guess I’ll have to make some calls when I get home to cancel Ricky’s party this weekend.”
The word ‘party’ sunk slowly into my scotch-soaked brain. “Party? Oh…oh my God—yes, his party!” My hand flying to my head.
Ricky looked up from his cereal and asked, “Is it my birthday yet, Aunt Brenda?” Beebe stopped his spoon as he was guiding it into his mouth and yelled, “Party!”—spitting Cheerios half-way across the table.
Brenda, quicker on the draw than I was, said, “No Ricky, not yet. Maybe tomorrow, or maybe the next day—but not today.” She looked up at me with pooched lips, made a sorrowful frown as she shook her head slowly.
“Yeah son, and Grandma and Grandpa DeLeón sent you some presents from Houston. So when it’s your birthday you can open them—but not today. Is that OK?”
“Uh-huh…” he said, slightly disappointed. “Will I have cake too?”
Beebe yelled out, “CAKE!” and spit more Cheerios out.
“Yes, everyone will have cake.” I said.
As Brenda retreated back into the bedroom, I was left to ponder this deplorable fact: My wife had given birth to an illegitimate child on our son’s birthday. Could this situation get any worse? Regrettably, it could—and it did.
After Brenda left I took the boys into the bathroom and ran a hot bath for them. They were still at the age where they both played well together in the tub, and that came as a great relief for me. Anytime I bent down to adjust the water or to scrub their backs, I thought my head was going to explode, or I was going to throw up all over the bathroom. By the time they called out to me to tell me they were ready to get out of the tub I was beginning to feel a bit more human.
There didn’t seem to be much food in the cupboards so after the boys were dressed I told them I was going to take a shower then we’d all go to the store. That really seemed to get them excited.
After I showered and dressed, I was very disappointed when I tried to find clothes for them to wear for the trip to the store. A search of their small dresser yielded just a few t-shirts—most of them in not very good shape, and a couple of pairs of old jeans and some too-small corduroy pants. I did the best I could and made sure that their little coats covered up the condition their shirts were in.
I still had some money left over from what my dad had given me so I tried to buy stuff that the boys seemed to like. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to get everything they wanted. We got home around noon and the boys decided that they wanted hot dogs for lunch. Still a little queasy from the night before, it took all my willpower to keep my stomach in check while preparing their lunch.
At about two-thirty, Ricky advised me that this was the time that mom insisted they go into their room for their nap. I was all for that, and thought that after they were down I would probably partake in that same activity on the couch. Just as I was getting myself comfy, the phone rang.
Thinking it might’ve been Brenda, I made my best effort to sound cheery as I answered. Instead, it was the hospital. They told me that I should plan to visit my wife today, but not earlier than 6:30 pm that evening; also, that I should check in with the floor nurse before going to Sharon’s room. I told them I’d be there and asked if she was all right. The nurse on the phone sounded very evasive, and while ignoring my question repeated the instructions for my checking in when I arrived at the hospital.
I called Brenda and she suggested that I bring the boys over to her house so I wouldn’t be rushed when I went to see Sharon. “They can stay the night here in case they want you to stay overnight with her, or something…” she mused.
“I hope not. But I’ll let you know one way or the other once I get there,” I said.
I arrived at the hospital a few minutes early and decided to go into the gift shop to see if I could find something small to give Sharon when I saw her. Although I was still very uncomfortable and didn’t quite know what to expect, I sure didn’t want to make her feel any worse than she probably already did. I bought her a very non-committal get-well card, and a handful of pink and white flowers in a small crystal vase. Everything came to less than five-dollars, but I was getting close to being broke again.
Walking back into the lobby I looked for the check-in desk, and failing to find anything that looked like one, I opted to go to the information desk instead. The lady instructed me to take the elevator up to the maternity ward, and there would be someone there to check me in and direct me to my wife’s room.
When the elevator door opened, the first thing I saw was a large glassed-in room that was full of infants in small light-blue and pink, round baskets. Each basket had a card displaying their names and date of birth. There were several men lined up, noses pressed to the glass—most pointing and waving to the babies—most of whom were sleeping.
To the right, I saw a large desk with a sign that said, “Nurse Station”, so I turned and headed in that direction. There were several nurses, but they all seemed to be either reading, writing, or doing both, to clipboards that they each had in their hands. I stood there until one of them took notice.
“Can I help you, sir?” She asked me, suspending her note writing temporarily and looking at me in an almost cross manner.
“Yes, my name is Frank DeLeón, and I was asked to check in before I’m allowed to see my wife.”
“And, your wife’s name is…?”
“Sharon…Sharon DeLeón.”
“Oh…!” A frown instantly overtook her previously annoyed expression. “Oh…yes. Just a minute.” Her body tensed a bit. “Just wait right there. I’ll get someone to help you.”
She put the clipboard down and hurried out from behind the desk, heading down the hallway where I assumed the rooms were. She glanced back once, and quickened her pace. She ducked her head into a couple of rooms, then finally paused and entered one of them.
I quickly noticed that the rest of the nurses had mostly ceased the intense interest in their clipboards and were gazing surreptitiously, but intently, at me. I cleared my throat and tried to assume one of my most nonchalant poses. With the little vase of flowers and the card clutched in my hand, that was a tough thing to pull off.
A few minutes later, the nurse re-appeared—this time with a doctor in tow.
“Mr. DeLeón?” Said the doctor, who looked like he’d just graduated from high school.
“Yes.” He reached out shake my hand.
“OK, we need to have just a little bit of a chat before we let you go in to see your wife, OK?”
“Uh, sure.”
He led me behind the nurse’s station to a small office with just a desk and a couple of chairs. He motioned for me to sit to the side of the desk while he stood, leaning on the edge.
“I think you need to know that your wife’s had kind of a bad experience.”
“Well frankly, I’m not surprised. The baby’s illegitimate, and she’s given it up for adoption; so, I think that in itself is pretty bad.”
“I’m afraid it’s a little worse than that.”
I didn’t know what else to say, but I started to get a really bad feeling about all of this. “I guess you’d better just tell me.”
“You know that the procedure that she agreed to was to never see, touch, or even hear the child’s first cries, right?”
“Well, I didn’t know it was that detailed. I just thought she wasn’t supposed to see it.”
“Yes, that’s true. But there was a bit of a glitch. Let me tell you what happened. Because the delivery was delayed until early this morning…I think it was about three minutes after six when she gave birth, the team of nurses assisting had been changed out. The new team apparently wasn’t briefed sufficiently…at least the head assisting nurse wasn’t…and when Dr. Rogers delivered the child he handed it to that nurse to prep.”
“OK.”
“That means she was supposed to leave the delivery room with the child, go into the next room and do the prep, then take it away. That way, your wife—already a little bit sedated—would not be aware of the child. Unfortunately, the nurse—as I said before—had not been briefed sufficiently, and instead of leaving the delivery room with the child, returned with it wrapped in a blanket and presented it to your wife.”
“Oh…”
“Well, not only that—but before Dr. Rogers was able to intervene, the nurse told your wife that she was the mother of a healthy baby boy!”
“OK, so now she knows it was a boy. I don’t see how that…”
“Mr. DeLeón, do you understand what the term bonding means?”
“Uh, well no, not really.”
“The mother/child bonding process is very complicated, but it’s also very personal. That’s why it was forbidden for your wife to see or touch the child. The moment the nurse put the child on your wife’s bosom she realized that that baby was hers—and not someone else’s. So she instantly bonded with the child. Understand?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Consequently, when the mistake was corrected, and the child was taken away, your wife…well, let’s just say, she didn’t take it very well.”
“Oh…”
“No, she immediately tried to get off the birthing table and chase after the nurse and child. She had to be restrained—and ultimately sedated…heavily.”
“Oh God. How is she now?”
“Well, we think that she will eventually accept that the child is gone forever, but that’s really going to have a lot to do with you.”
“Me?”
“Yes. See, I’ve been briefed on you and your wife’s situation, and given the stress and guilt that she’s been under for the entirety of her pregnancy, she was…and is…on the verge of a serious nervous breakdown. Add to all that the experience she went through this morning and, well…I think you understand.”
“Where is she now?”
“She’s been placed on another floor, obviously away from the maternity floor, in a private room. For her safety, and the safety of our staff, she’s physically restrained…that is, her arms and legs are belted down and she’s under moderate sedation. We lightened the amount of sedation to allow for your visit because we feel that you may have a calming effect on her.”
“How so?”
“She’s extremely fragile right now…mentally speaking…and will have to be evaluated by one of the psychiatrists on our staff before we consider discharging her. But before that happens we’d like to see how she relates to you.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“I know it’s tough on you, but I would ask that any animosity that you may feel for her right now be put aside. What she needs now is understanding and kindness. She’s been through a lot, and I’m afraid we didn’t help in that regard.”
“Can I see her now?”
“Yes, when you think you’re ready.”
“OK.”
“I see you brought her a gift. That was thoughtful of you, but remember that in her condition she may not understand your motives. Regardless of what she says, just stay calm and be gentle with her. Can you do that?”
“I think so.”
“Good. So, if you’re ready we can go up to her floor now.”
We walked out of the office, and under the nurses’ veiled gazes and walked over to the bank of elevators. The doctor chose a floor two levels up, and in a few seconds the door opened.
This floor was very different from the one I’d just left. While the maternity ward was painted and decorated in bright colorful tones, its walls plastered with cartoonish-like decals, this one was plain and almost colorless. Light gray walls, subdued lighting, and dark gray spongy carpet on the floor gave this level a feeling of quietness and restraint. It was so quiet one could hear the hissing of the heated air as it was being pushed out of the registers and into the hallway.
I was led to the center of the main hall and to a very different-looking nurses’ station. The head nurse was seated behind a tall dais, and when we arrived she was speaking on the phone. Even though I was just a few feet from her I could not hear her voice. It was then I realized that something on this floor restricted sound from traveling as it normally would. It was as if the air was still and dead.
The nurse hung up the phone and focused her attention on us.
“This is Mr. DeLeón, and he’s here to visit his wife, Sharon.”
The nurse stood and reached out to shake my hand. “Mr. DeLeón—you’ve been made aware of your wife’s condition, have you not?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Fine. I’ll escort you to her room but I may not enter. I see you have some flowers for her.”
“Yes, and a card.”
“Well, she may not be able to open the card today due to her restraints, but leave both items on the table next to her and we’ll make sure she gets them when she’s better.”
“OK.”
“So, when you walk in you will see that her arms and legs are tied down to the bed with leather straps. Don’t be alarmed. They’re there for her own safety. She’s…well… she’s been flailing about quite a bit. You’ll also see that her knees are raised and her legs spread apart under the sheet. We’ve placed a type of heating lamp, and it’s focused on her pelvic area. During the birth the doctor had to make an incision to accommodate the baby’s head and shoulders, and the lamp helps dry the stitches. Because of her past violent movements she’s already torn them out a couple of times.”
“Oh.”
“We don’t think she’s in pain, except the small discomfort in her pelvic area, so don’t be concerned with that. It’s her mental state that is a little worrisome now.”
“All right.”
“I’m just telling you these things so you won’t be confused when you see her.”
“OK.’
“Now, we’re not sure how she’ll react to your presence, but I’ll be right outside the door in the event she gets violent. Under no conditions are you to attempt to remove her restraints. Is that clear?”
“Yes.”
“OK. Doctor,” the nurse turned to the resident, “do you have anything further for Mr. DeLeón?”
“No, I think you’ve covered everything well. I’ll just go ahead and return to my floor now—there’s no reason for me to be here any longer.”
“OK, that’s fine. Mr. DeLeón, are you ready?”
“Yes, I think so.” She came out from behind the dais and motioned for me to follow her. She stopped in front of a very heavy-looking wide wood-grained door which she quietly pushed open and stepped aside. I walked in, and although the nurse had said she wasn’t going to go into the room, I sensed her just behind me.
The room was small, just enough room for a bed, a small metal nightstand, and one chair. The curtains were pulled tight over the one window, even though a deep darkness had already descended on the city.
I saw Sharon in the bed right off my left. She was on her back, heard turned toward the window, arms splayed out to her sides, and she was lying very still. Her knees were drawn up and I could see a strong light reflecting between her legs under the sheet. That seemed to be the only thing in the room that was giving off light.
I couldn’t see her face very well from the foot of the bed where I was standing, so I moved quietly to her right side, and glanced to see if she was sleeping. The nurse tapped me on my left shoulder, momentarily startling me, and motioned for me to put the vase and flowers on the little metal table. I moved toward the table, being careful to place the vase softly on its surface to avoid making any noise. It was then that I was able to get a good look at her face.
Her eyes were closed, and although she appeared to be sleeping, she had a very pained expression on her face. I turned to see if I could pull the chair close to me so I could sit down, but the nurse was already quietly carrying it to me. She put the chair down, motioned for me to sit, and then she quietly stepped out of the room—leaving the door slightly open.
I sat down and looked at Sharon closely. Her breathing seemed ragged, and she appeared to have aged overnight. The puffiness in her face had all but disappeared, but the circles under her eyes had darkened considerably. Her right arm jerked slightly, and that’s when I noticed the strap around her wrist.
It was leather, about two inches wide, and the buckle appeared to be heavy gauge steel. Between the leather and her wrist there was a layer of what looked to be flannel—apparently so that the edges of the strap wouldn’t cut into her skin.
As angry and abysmally disappointed I’d been with her after coming home, I couldn’t help but feel a deep sorrow for what she was going through. After watching her for a few minutes, I found that I wanted to touch her and hold her hand.
Reaching slowly for her right hand I found that I could only grasp the tips of her fingers. As soon as we touched she turned her head toward me and opened her eyes.
“Ohhh…Frank…oh…my love…” she whispered, and I saw that her lips were severely chapped and raw.
“Shh…that’s OK, everything’s OK.” I said, moving my other hand and placing it on top of hers. “Don’t say anything…I’ll be here for a while.”
“Ohhh, Frank…! Ohhh…my God…what have I done…?”
“Nothing…you’ve done nothing. In a couple of days, I’ll take you home and you’ll…everything’ll be fine…”
“No, no, no….oh God…oh Frank,” she whispered in a high tortured voice. “It was a boy, Frank…a boy…oh my God! And they took him away!!” Her voice cracked, and a sob came ripping out from deep in her chest. “OHHHH! MY GOD, WHAT HAVE I DONE FRANK, WHAT HAVE I DONE?”
The abruptness of her wail took me completely by surprise, and I found that she was squeezing my hand with almost superhuman strength. I looked down at my hand and saw that she was pulling up on the leather straps making the buckles rattle.
“Hey, hey…” I said, a little bit panicked. “Take it easy, everything’s OK.”
“Frank, Frank, oh Frank. I’m so, so, sorry for what I’ve done. Please, please forgive me—oh, I just want to kill myself! OH GOD! Frank! Do you still love me?”
“Look, everything’s going to be OK, you’ll see. Just think about getting better, OK?”
“Nothing will ever be the same—ever! I’ve ruined our lives and the life of our sons…and the baby…oh, the baby! What have they done with my baby…ooh….” Her voice trailed off.
Suddenly she began viciously pulling up on the straps on her wrists; and by the way the bed was shaking I assumed she was also pulling up on her legs. She jerked her head off the pillow and the tendons in her neck stood out precariously…her teeth clenched and her face was a mask of anger and frustration.
“GOD FRANK! HELP ME TAKE THESE THINGS OFF!!” She screamed hoarsely, “HELP ME FOR GOD’S SAKE!!”
“No, Sharon I can’t…I can’t. You need to lay back down and relax, OK?” I stood up and tried to push her back down onto the bed by her shoulders, but she was stiff as a board.
“Are we having a little episode?” I heard the nurse’s voice behind me.
“UNNG…! GET…THESE…THINGS…OFF!!” Sharon, grunted and I saw spittle running out of the side of her mouth.
I stood up as the nurse pulled me back and away from the edge of the bed.
“Now, now, dear!” she said, in a low sing-song voice, moving smoothly in front of me. “Keep this up and we’ll have to put you back to sleep, won’t we?”
“UNNG..!” Sharon grunted.
I saw the nurse reach for a wire that was hung on the back of the bed. She pushed the button on the end. “Mister DeLeón, could you step out for a few minutes, please?”
“Uh…sure,” I said, not knowing what else to do or say. As I stepped back I realized that Sharon still had one of my hands in a vise-like grip. I carefully undid her fingers and pulled my hand away. “I’ll just wait out in the hallway.” As I turned towards the door, I saw it open. A male nurse, carrying a large syringe hurriedly stepped in. I went out into the hallway and pulled the door closed behind me.
***
The female nurse came out a few minutes later and told me that I could go back in and see Sharon for just a few more minutes.
“The sedative should be kicking in pretty soon; then she’ll be out for a few hours.”
“How long is she going to be this way?” I asked.
“Hard to tell, but we’ll know more tomorrow. The staff psychiatrist will be here for an evaluation. So for now, say goodnight to her and then come back tomorrow evening. I’ll make sure the doctor calls you beforehand so you’ll know what to expect. She just needs to get over this, then she’ll be all right. It’ll probably be just a couple of more days.”
I walked back in and Sharon was lying on her back, her head turned away from me. I walked up to the side of the bed and touched her shoulder. I could see that her eyes were open, but she appeared to be again staring at the closed and curtained window.
“Hey…I’ll try to come back tomorrow to see you, OK?”
No answer, and I saw beads of sweat and a non-stop trail of tears rolling onto the wrinkled pillowcase. Her breathing seemed extremely erratic.
“OK, I’m gonna go now, but I’ll be back, OK?” I said, hoping that she was hearing me. She didn’t move.
Taking a deep breath, I turned and walked back out of the room. The nurse put her hand on my shoulder and said, “She’ll be a little better tomorrow, you’ll see. Now you go home and get some rest.”
I wanted to tell her I wasn’t tired, but instead just shook my head and headed down the hallway.
Walking out of the building and into the parking lot I felt more confused than anything else, and I felt like I was going to burst into tears. Up until the moment I had seen her in that state, I had pretty much made up my mind about what I was going to do. Now—I wasn’t so sure. I reflected on how helpless and how tortured she seemed, and I wondered if the plans I’d made would eventually drive her over the edge. I decided that what I needed now was a drink and some time to think.
When I got home I called Brenda and partially filled her in on Sharon’s condition. I left out the part about the restraints. She suggested keeping the boys until the next day because they had already had dinner and were getting ready to go to bed. I agreed, my mind set on that little bar I’d seen just down the street.
After having a few drinks and trying to think things over, I found that I had not changed my mind at all. As sorry as I felt about Sharon, I concluded that she’d done what she’d done all on her own—and I just couldn’t see myself trusting her ever again.
About an hour later, I got back to the house and headed for the couch. Just before falling into a deep, dreamless, sleep, I made some tentative plans for the next few days.
***
I called Brenda when I woke up the next morning and asked her if she could keep the boys with her for the next couple of days—or at least until Sharon got home. I told her I just wasn’t up to looking after them—and besides, the hospital could call me anytime and ask that I return to the hospital. Further, I had no idea how long they were going to keep her there. From what I saw, it could be weeks.
My concerns also included my eventual return to Okinawa. In order to make it back before being declared AWOL (Absent without Leave), I would have to leave no later than October 3rd. Not knowing when Sharon was going to be discharged put me in a real bind. Since I had no way of contacting my commander, I would just have to play it by ear and see what happened.
I got no calls from the hospital the following day, nor did I hear from them on Thursday. I finally made a call to inquire about my wife’s condition and to ask about a discharge date. After being put on hold and transferred several times to different floors, I finally found myself speaking to Doctor Rogers.
“She’ll be ready to go home tomorrow.” he said abruptly.
“Tomorrow? Friday?” I asked, a little bit surprised.
“Yes, Friday. I’ll check on the exact discharge time, but I’m assuming she’ll be ready to go sometime after ten in the morning.”
“Oh…uh…so, she’s OK now?”
“Well, I don’t know her exact condition, but I’m assuming she’s better now. The doctor will be prescribing some medications for her before she leaves. One for any post-discharge infection and the others to help stabilize her mental state. But, to allay any of your concerns, she seems to understand now what her situation is—so, she should be much calmer.”
“OK, so I can just go up there around ten and she’ll be ready?”
“Should be. But, why don’t you call around nine and ask for the discharge nurse. That way, if something happens you won’t make a trip for nothing.”
“OK. Should I get anything for her for when she comes home?”
“No, nothing special. She’s still a bit weak and will be on bed rest for a few days, but besides that she should be good to go. No special diet or anything like that—just make sure she takes her medications.”
“OK.”
The following morning, a brightly sunlit but bitterly cold day, I called the hospital and after receiving assurances that Sharon was indeed ready for discharge, I got in the car for the short drive and pulled into the same circle driveway as I had a few nights ago. Sharon was sitting, just outside the sliding door, in a wheelchair. Bundled up against the cold blustery wind, she was wearing the red coat I’d first seen her in at the Reno airport. A green hospital blanket was wrapped around her legs and on her feet were a beige pair of hospital-issued footies. A male attendant was standing behind her steadying the wheelchair against the wind.
I got out of the car and walked up to her. She looked up, eyes squinting against the sunlight, and smiled weakly. I looked down, and saw that in her hands she was tightly clutching the card and the little vase of flowers that I brought her. Before I could say anything, the attendant handed me a clipboard and asked me to sign the form that was attached, but flapping crazily in the wind. After I returned the clipboard, he placed it into a pouch on the back of the wheelchair and proceeded to roll Sharon towards the car. He handed me a small white bag with three small bottles full of pills.
After I opened the door, I helped lift her off the chair and into the seat. As I began to pull out of the driveway, Sharon looked at me and said, “Thanks for coming to pick me up.” I noted how hoarse her voice was.
“Oh, no problem…” I responded, not sure why she was thanking me.
The rest of the trip back home was accomplished in complete silence.
Once I got her into the house, I helped her into her bedroom and onto the bed. She seemed to be very weak and in some pain. The night before, I’d washed the sheets and made the bed in preparation for her return, and I had also tried to straighten up the room as well as I could—making sure her closet doors were closed. After propping her head up on a couple of pillows I asked her if she was hungry or wanted some water.
“Oh…maybe, if you don’t mind, could I have some soup? I’m a little hungry. I didn’t eat breakfast this morning.”
“Sure, I can get that for you in just a few minutes. You want some crackers too? I went to the store the other day and got some, among other things.”
“Oh, that was so sweet of you. Yes, crackers would be good.”
I walked out of the room and went to the kitchen to prepare her meal.
While waiting for the soup to warm up I tried to think of what I should say to her. There was just so much we needed to discuss, but with my impending departure—and her just getting home—the timing was extremely awkward. By the time I walked back into her bedroom with soup and crackers on a tray, I had decided to not say anything for awhile. She, however, had apparently come to a different conclusion.
As I finished helping her prop herself up on the bed and positioning the tray on her lap, I asked if she needed anything else. She took a deep breath, looked at me wide-eyed, and whispered hoarsely, “Forgiveness.”
This took me so much by surprise that I could only stand there holding the paper napkin in my hand—truly, not knowing what to do or what to say. Her eyes filled and overflowed with tears, and her lower lip began quivering uncontrollably. Her chest heaving, she looked at me pleadingly—longingly—her head cocked slightly, and she whispered: “Oh…please, Frank. I’m so sorry. So…so sorry…But…but, please…oh…please forgive me and don’t leave me. I love you so much…I don’t know what I’d do if you were to leave me…oh God…I’m so lost…”
She managed to say these words between choking sobs. Her hands suddenly flew to her chest, as if she was afraid her heart was going to come flying out, and her fingers tightened into tight little white fists. As the sleeves of the light blue sweater she was wearing fell away, I saw the mean black and blue bruises on her paper-white wrists where the leather cuffs had dug in during her post-partum ordeal. No longer able to restrain herself, she completely surrendered to her emotions and broke into loud heart-rending sobs. I had never seen anyone cry so bitterly, and it affected me profoundly.
No longer able to contain myself, I muttered, “I’ll be right back…”, and walked quickly out of the room—closing the door softly behind me. I made it as far as the dining room table and collapsed onto one of the chairs. I buried my head in my arms and, without being able to stop myself, gave in to my own emotions.
All the pain, all the hurt, and all the disappointment that had been building in me for almost a year came flooding up and completely overwhelmed me. My eyes burned as my own tears poured out and my throat ached painfully as my own sobs racked my body. The bitter sentiment that pained me the most was that I knew, deep down in my heart, what I would have to do. And, the result of that decision would not only tear us apart, it would keep me from seeing my boys grow into young men. The sweet love that had been born in our young and innocent hearts just a few years ago in that little town in Nevada had now been ripped out, pounded into dust, and laid asunder by forces and circumstances that neither of us had seen coming. And the heartbreaking thought that cut deep into my very core at that moment, and on that table, was knowing that we would never, ever again, be husband and wife.
***
On Saturday, October 1st, 1966, a small birthday party was held for my son Ricky to celebrate his 4th birthday, and of the children that had been invited from the neighborhood, only three showed up. The lack of attendance didn’t seem to bother him though–he being more interested in the gifts that he received.
Brenda and Sherry, with their children also attended, and for me it was a bittersweet experience spending time with both of them. Sharon had mostly recovered, at least physically, and although she put on a happy face during the party, I could see the sadness deep in her eyes.
After the party, and after everyone left, the boys went outside to play with Ricky’s new toys and I helped Sharon clean up. Afterwards, she retired to her bedroom and I retreated to the couch. I sat there for the longest time trying to build up enough courage to tell her what I needed to say. Finally, deciding that there would never be a better time, I got up and knocked on her door.
She was in bed and had been reading a book when I stepped in quietly. She smiled and thanked me for helping make Ricky’s party enjoyable. I sat on the foot of the bed and asked her if she wanted to talk. Her only response was a barely perceivable nod. I asked if she had anything she wanted to tell me before I said what I had to say. She said that she really didn’t have anything to say except that she didn’t want me to leave her.
I nodded, and took a deep breath. As I began to talk she crossed her hands on her lap and lowered her head. I began by telling her that I had decided to leave Reno the following day and return to Okinawa, because there was no longer anything else I could do here. I also advised her that before leaving Okinawa, I had sought out legal assistance to determine my rights in light of what I had learned after reading what she’d written in the only letter she’d sent to me in almost a year. Then I told her that, although it would break my heart, I had made the decision to file for divorce once I arrived back at my base.
I continued, and said that although I truly forgave her for her indiscretions, and I still loved her very much, the past, current, and future circumstances made it impossible for me to want to continue our marriage; especially in light of our having to be separated from each other at least the next few months.
My trust in her, I said, which had already been shaken severely back in Olathe, had finally been completely decimated by her illegitimate pregnancy. For the rest of my life, I would always wonder where she was, and who she was with, when late coming home from some errand in which she had been delayed by a perfectly innocent reason. I would constantly be on edge if the phone were to ring, and once I answered, the party hung up. And lastly, I was ashamed to think that I would forever be considered to be, by all those who knew, an object of derision and referred to as the cuckolded husband.
Perhaps it was selfish for me to think of my feelings in this regard, but it was more than I could ever bear. Better for both of us to go our separate ways and forge new relationships than to remain together and forever have this incident sitting conspicuously between us.
“I’m not asking you to agree with me, nor do I expect you to understand why I just don’t let bygones be bygones. It just is what it is. I know myself well enough to understand that I will never recover that deep sense of trust that I once had for you—and without that trust I know that our marriage is doomed. I’m so sorry, but I can’t see us in my future any longer. My one and only regret is that I will forever lose the joy of seeing my sons grow up. I only ask that you try to be a good mother to them and to shield them from the harm that this incident may bring their way.
As for me, I will try—in my limited capacity—to be a good, but distant father. In the end, our sons will end up as the grand losers in all of this. And if I knew of any other way to resolve this without condemning the boys to a life of living with only one parent, I would. But sadly, I can’t.”
With that, I stood up and walked out of her bedroom.
That evening I called and made civilian air reservations for my flight out of Reno to Oakland for the following day. From there, I would use military transportation to return to my base.
Sharon did not come out of her bedroom for the rest of the evening, and I called the boys in once it got dark. After changing their clothes, I took them out for a fast food hamburger dinner before bringing them home and seeing them for the last time.
In the morning I got up, showered and changed into my uniform. I called a cab, and twenty minutes later I was on my way to the airport. Two days later I was back at my base in Naha, Okinawa.
The End
Epilogue
When I returned to Okinawa I proceeded with my divorce from Sharon. In a matter of weeks, I received the final signed papers, and I was again single.
My five dear friends were all very supportive and helped me through the expected ups and downs—but especially during those moments when my resolve weakened because I thought I may not have done the right thing.
But, one by one, those wonderful, loyal friends began to leave Okinawa for one reason or another, and by the end of 1966 they were all gone. I was the only one left, rooming alone in that big noisy barracks.
Nat had had enough of the Air Force and decided to take his discharge and return to Philadelphia. He married his high school sweetheart and went to work for the Federal Aviation Administration, as a civilian Air Traffic Controller.
Smokey also took his discharge in early December and returned to his home in Minneapolis. Once there, he found that while he’d been on Okinawa, his wife had been carrying on a torrid affair with his best friend. After beating her to within an inch of her life and spending over a month in jail, he divorced her. After one letter, I never heard from him again.
Roomie, Ramie and Peewee all received orders from Army Headquarters reassigning them to combat positions in Vietnam. Within a few weeks of my returning to Okinawa in October, they had all been transferred out; one by one, Roomie being the last to go.
In late December of 1966, I heard that their old commanding officer who was still assigned to the Army side of the Air Defense Center had received some tragic news. All three of my friends had been killed within days of each other—even though they were all at different bases. Roomie and Ramie had each died of small arms sniper fire while on patrol near Danang, and Peewee had been killed when a Vietcong soldier, dressed as a farmer, threw a hand grenade into his jeep just outside of Saigon.
I wondered just how much more heartbreak I could take.
In February of 1967, I was promoted to staff sergeant and became eligible for off-base housing. Despite not having a family on the island, I was allowed to rent a small two-room Okinawan house located just outside of the base’s south gate. I lived there until I got married and was reassigned to Bergstrom Air Force Base in Austin, Texas, in January of 1968.
1972
In May of 1972, I saw my sons for the first time since my divorce. Sharon had eventually married a man named Kip, and was still living in Reno with him; and I, also now remarried, had been working as an Air Traffic Controller in Houston with the Federal Aviation Administration (FAA) since 1969. As fate would have it, I had married that rude little Okinawan girl who used to work the snack counter in my barracks at Naha Air Base. Her name was Kazumi, and she turned out not to be that rude after all.
After requesting an overseas assignment to an FAA facility on the island of Guam in 1971, I was finally approved to go in late April of 1972. I told my wife, Kaz, (my nickname for her), that on our way to California on the way to drop our car off for shipping to Guam, I wanted to make a side trip to Reno to see the boys. She thought that would be a good idea and readily agreed. I got Sharon’s phone number from my parents and called her to ask if I could spend an afternoon with the boys.
We drove into Reno on a sunny and warm day in early May and checked into a hotel. I left Kaz there for the day and drove to pick up the boys at Sharon’s house. We spent the afternoon at an amusement park, and the early evening went to a movie the boys wanted to see. After dropping them back off at Sharon’s house around seven, I returned to the hotel where my I’d left my wife. The next day we continued our drive to the shipping docks of St. Pedro, California to turn our car in for shipment to Guam.
1978
I had now been on Guam for six and a half years, and had been promoted to Air Traffic Training Officer in 1976. In early 1978, I had submitted a bid for a vacant Military Liaison Specialist position at the Honolulu Air Route Traffic Control Center, on Oahu, Hawaii, and had finally been notified of my selection in May of that year. My reporting date was set for October 31st.
On September 9, 1978, about a month before my departure to Hawaii, I received an unexpected phone call from Sharon. The call came as Kaz, the kids, and I had just finished a late dinner at our home in Perez Acres, in Yigo, Guam. We were clearing the dishes when the phone rang. I answered, and heard a very weak female voice on the other end. I couldn’t understand what she was saying, so I asked her to speak up.
“Oh, OK.” she said, a bit louder, “Frank, this is Sharon. I’m calling you from Reno. Can you hear me OK now?”
I was momentarily shocked. “Sharon!?”
Kaz, who was cleaning off the dinner dishes, looked up suddenly with a quizzical look on her face. She mouthed the name, “Sharon?” I nodded yes.
“Oh, Sharon! Hey, how are you?” I could not imagine why she should be calling me. “Is everything OK? I mean with the boys?”
“Oh yes, the boys are fine, and they send their love. Listen, I’m sorry for calling you, but…what time is it over there?”
“Uh, it’s a little after nine in the evening, on Saturday.”
“Oh, I hope I’m not calling too late.”
“No, no that’s fine.”
“I won’t keep you long, but I just need to tell you something very important.”
“OK.”
“Well, there’s no way to sugar-coat this, so here goes. I’ve been diagnosed with breast cancer. And, uh…it’s apparently very advanced.”
“What?”
“Yeah. I think it’s a little funny because, I don’t know if you remember when we were married I once told you that if I ever got breast cancer I’d just have to die. Do you remember that?”
Unfortunately, I did—and I was thinking just that when I heard the words, ‘breast cancer’. “Yes, I do”.
“Well…” she paused for such a long time that I thought the call had been disconnected. “Uh…there’s no other way to say this, but the doctors tell me I have stage 4, and only have about nine months to live.”
“What? Oh, my God!!”
“Yeah, crazy huh?”
“No…no! My God Sharon, could they be wrong?”
“No.”
“Oh God.”
“Yeah, well anyway, that’s not the main reason I called. I need to know that when I finally pass if you’re willing to take the boys. I mean, to live with you.”
“My God, Sharon…of course. They are my sons…of course!”
“Oh, thank God.”
“But excuse me for asking, your husband…? He…he, doesn’t want…you know, custody?”
“No, he doesn’t. He says they belong with their father and he doesn’t want anything to do with them after I’m gone.”
“Yes, of course. He’s right. When are you planning to send them over here?”
“Oh no. I don’t have any plans to do that until…you know…when I….”
“No, I know—sorry.”
“I just wanted to make sure you were good with them returning to their father.”
“Of course. And maybe this will all be unnecessary…you know… the diagnosis may be wrong after all.”
“Oh, that’s so nice of you to say. But no. It’s not wrong.”
“OK.”
“It was so nice hearing your voice, Frank. Thank you so much. I’ll be in touch, bye.”
And the line went dead. I stood there, wondering if what I’d heard was real. Kaz came up and asked what the call was about. After we put the kids to bed we stayed up late talking about this and planning what we would do.
The following month, I completed the purchase of a new Lincoln Town car that I’d made through the military auto purchase program on Guam. I had decided to fly from Guam to Houston (to visit my folks), then to Dearborn, Michigan, to take delivery of my new car. I then planned to drive it back to California and have it shipped directly to Hawaii, so it would be there when I arrived to start my new job. On the drive from Michigan to California, I decided to call Sharon and tell her that I wanted to pass through Reno and visit the boys for a day. She thought that would be a great idea and gave me directions to the house they now lived in.
When I drove in to Reno, I stopped at a phone booth to ask her if I it was convenient for me to drop by and pick up the boys. She told me it would be fine, and that the boys were anxious to see me. As I pulled up to the address she’d given me I saw an old lady sitting on a lawn chair on the front lawn of the house. I assumed it was probably Sharon’s mother-in-law, and I casually waved hello as I walked up the concrete walkway leading to the front door of the house.
To my surprise, the old lady called out my name. I stopped, a bit shocked, and took a closer look. It was then that I saw it was Sharon. She was frighteningly emaciated, skin hanging off her arms and face, and scraggly wisps of hair sticking out of the cheap scarf she’d wrapped tightly around her head. Had it not been for the distinctive shape of her nose, I would have never recognized her.
“Frank! She rasped weakly, “It’s me…Sharon. Come here. Let me take a look at you.”
I stepped off the walk and onto the thin lawn. I saw that the cancer had taken its toll on her and I could only wonder how much longer she could hold on.
She smiled weakly and told me how well I looked. “You’ve always been so handsome, but as you’ve gotten older you’ve really turned into a great-looking man.”
I thanked her and attempted to return the compliment. “Well, you know, you look really good yourself,” I lied, embarrassed that I couldn’t think of anything better to say.
1979
Almost exactly ten months later, I received another call from Sharon. By this time, I was already in Honolulu, in a house I’d purchased from an air traffic controller who’d taken reassignment back to the mainland. The house was located in an exclusive area named Hawaii Kai.
Prior to leaving Guam, Kaz had decided not to accompany me to Hawaii right away, as she was deeply involved with the management position she had with a large company on Guam, Duty Free Shoppers. She kept the kids, as Ken was doing well in school, and Christine was still too young to travel.
Sharon’s call caught me by surprise one afternoon while I was in my office at work. My secretary buzzed me and said there was a call from a Sharon waiting on line one.
“Hello?”
“Hi Frank, it’s me, Sharon.” Her voice was raspy and very, very weak.
“Oh, hi. How are you?”
Oh, not too good, but better than expected.”
“Oh, OK.”
“Look, I need to ask you a favor. I know we talked last year about the boys, and I was wondering if you’re willing to take one of them now.”
“Take one…now?”
“Well, here’s the problem: I am not doing real well, having to get oxygen treatments often, and doing my chemo, and unfortunately, the boys are not behaving very well.”
“What do you mean?”
“They are constantly fighting and at each other’s throats. Kip, my husband, is at his wit’s end, and neither he nor I can control them anymore. I need to have them separated.”
“Oh, I see. That’s terrible, but how do you propose to do this?”
“Well, if you take one of them now—that is, fly him to where you live now in Hawaii, then that would really solve my problem. Can you do that? Do you have room at your house?”
“Well, the room is no problem. My wife decided not to come to Hawaii right away, and I live in a two-story, four-bedroom home over here. So, yes—I have plenty of room.”
“Great. Which boy do you want to fly over?”
“Uh…Sharon…I can’t make that decision from over here. Who do you suggest?”
“Well, frankly I’d prefer that you take Rick. I can pretty much control Beebe, but Rick has just been a handful.”
“OK, that’s fine with me.”
Since it was summer vacation, both boys were out of school. When Rick flew in to Hawaii a couple of weeks later I was ecstatic and anxious to see him. Although we’d not seen each other for several years, we seemed to hit it off just fine.
At 4:40 am on Thanksgiving morning, November 22, 1979, as I was getting ready to go to work, the phone rang. It was Kip—Sharon’s husband. He told me that Sharon had passed away a few hours earlier after being rushed to the hospital. Before I could express my condolences he abruptly asked me how soon I could arrange to have Beebe flown to my home in Hawaii. I told him I could probably get him a ticket for the following weekend. He seemed pleased and told me he’d call me back as soon as the funeral arrangements for Sharon were made. His plans were to put him on an airplane the day after she was buried.
When she died, Sharon was 34 years, 7 months, and 18 days old.
The night before we knew of Sharon’s passing, I had discussed with Ricky that after I got off work on Thanksgiving afternoon I would let him choose the restaurant where we’d eat our Thanksgiving Day meal. Now, instead of looking forward to enjoying a turkey dinner, I was filled with dread knowing that as soon as I got home I’d have to tell him about his mother.
When I arrived home I saw that he was ironing a pair of shorts and a new Hawaiian shirt that I’d bought for him after he’d arrived on the island. I asked him to sit down and listen because I had some news I needed to share with him.
Afterwards, I said I would leave it up to him to decide how we spent the rest of the evening. If he just wanted to stay home and mourn his mom that would fine with me. He thought about it for a few seconds and said that he’d prefer we continued on with our plans. “I knew she was going to die, and although I’m sad, I’m happy she’s finally at rest. She’d been suffering a lot before I left,” he said, sagely.
The following weekend, on a Sunday evening, Ricky and I drove to the Honolulu Airport to pick up his brother, Beebe. For the next year, the boys and I lived contentedly on the island. They learned to surf, experimented with various Hawaiian dishes, had girlfriends, and enjoyed conversing in the local dialect. In 1980, we returned to Houston where I resumed my career as an air traffic controller.
***
OK, that’s it. So, are you’re wondering if all my future adventures have been as stimulating as those which I experienced when I was younger? Well, the answer to that is, yes and no. My life, from 1980 up to this point, has been no different than what most people experience: moments of dead boredom interrupted by periods of sheer terror, with months of sadness, broken by weeks of happiness.
But this has been my life; and all these experiences that you’ve been reading about made me who I am: not good, not bad—just me.
FDL, Shawnee, Kansas—February 2017