The Final Journey Part 13 (Provincetown)

Wednesday October 19

The drive up Route 28 north was different this time. Nothing had changed on the route; it was still 35 miles on the highway before switching over to the mostly two-lane, twisting and mountainous, country road. The drive was dark and especially quiet at 5:30 a.m., interrupted only by the occasional lights and passing of an 18-wheeler. It would be 90 minutes before I reached I-80, the interstate that would take me across Pennsylvania.

There was an eeriness to the drive this time, though – not only was it dark and quiet, but a thick layer of fog neatly hovered between the road and the sky, as if suspended on cables. That fog would stay with me until daylight. I noted how it metaphorically resembled my own recent state of mind. This first part of the drive was always the most peaceful part of the trip. I could relax and let my mind drift. The few vehicles on the road at this time of the morning meant that I only had to keep my eyes peeled for deer, especially once I hit the two-lane portion of the road. It was normally a long, lonely drive to I-80, but this time it few by. The radio was blaring with the KDKA morning show, but I didn’t even hear it. I was deep in thought and not in my usual frame of mind.

My October Provincetown trip was historically about Alcoholics Anonymous. It had been more than ten years since I first attended the Provincetown AA Roundup. I loved it immediately and I haven’t missed a year since that first one. Close to a thousand gay and gay-friendly alcoholics would descend upon the tip of the Cape and we would enjoy a long weekend of friendship, fellowship, sobriety, and fun. In stark contrast to my annual summertime visit, October in Provincetown is a perfect time for sobriety, recovery, and peaceful reflection.

As always, there would be friends, too, those who were residents and who I often didn’t even see during my summertime visit as they were either hiding away from the crowds or too busy working seasonal jobs, or both. There would be those acquaintances from all over the country that I would see from year to year.

And so these were the things I usually contemplated on the drive  - who I might meet or what AA events or workshops I would attend; what new restaurants may have opened since summer or which would still be open this time of year; or which restaurants I wanted to try but couldn’t during the summer because they were too busy. Where would I eat? I’d wonder. How would I spend my free time? How much time would I spend with my friends? These were all the normal things.
This time, however, I wasn’t thinking about the normal things such as AA events or restaurants and food or friends. I was consumed with deep thoughts about my now life. I was wondering what this trip would be about. What did I hope to accomplish? It had been only nine days since I lost Gram. I was experiencing a major life change and I was lost. My therapist had suggested I was not only mourning Gram, but also my job as a caregiver, and my purpose, which had, for all of my adult life, been to take care of her in one way or another. Therefore, I was seeking purpose, direction, and faith. Four days in Provincetown wouldn’t be enough to find it, I knew, but I wanted time to reflect and I wanted to write in hopes of attaining some guidance.

As I drove, I reflected on the days since Gram passed.  I remembered how I thought this trip may not happen. When Gram stopped eating, I didn’t know how long she would live. I honestly thought it might be a month or so. And perhaps had she just stopping eating, it may have been a month. But when she stopped drinking, things moved quickly. The body can survive a while without food, but without water, only days. I realized, too, she had been slowly starving for the couple of months that I had been struggling to get her to eat. Of course, I would have canceled my trip in a second to be with Gram had she not passed when she did.

At home, I had put off doing Gram’s last loads of laundry. Some of it I had at my house before she died and there was that which I brought when Michelle and I cleaned out her room that morning she died. Doing her final laundry was difficult, but I wanted to get it done before Provincetown and donate it to ManorCare as I had done with the rest. I had procrastinated doing it and now scrambled to do so the night before I left.

As I reached in to gather the last load of clothes from the washer to place it in the dryer, I saw something in the bottom of the drum. It was a rusty nail. I immediately broke out in laughter. Over the years, I had found some bizarre things in the washer that Gram had picked up and stuck in her pockets – plastic gloves, cups, and money, to name a few. But the nail was a first. I picked it up, clasped it between my fingers as I shook my head and smiled. For a few minutes in my laundry room, I leaned on my washing machine, reminisced, and got comfort from a rusty old nail. I decided immediately I would keep that nail forever. It’s a perfect reminder of the character Gram was, especially in her disease – mischievous and curious, and in many ways, childlike. It was sad, but at same time sweet and funny. 

Before finishing up the laundry, I pulled out one of Gram’s favorite sweaters and a pair of PJs to keep for myself. I placed them safely in a plastic bag. They would provide me with comfort any time I needed to remember her smell.

When I arrived at ManorCare to deliver the clothing, I wasn’t ready to go downstairs to where Gram’s room was. Luckily, the woman at the front desk was there and told me I could just leave the bags in the conference room upstairs. She held the door for me, expressed her condolences, and thanked me for the donation.

I was exhausted and fell quickly into a deep sleep that night when I got home from ManorCare. However, I woke up middle of the night, terrified and confused. I sat up in bed. I rubbed my eyes and my head trying to determine if I was awake. I momentarily lost track of reality and I wasn’t sure if Gram was dead or alive. I struggled to get to reality. It took me several minutes to talk myself down and to realize that she was, indeed, dead.

By the time I had arrived at the ShireMax Inn, 11 hours after I set out, I had come to a couple conclusions about the trip.

First, this was not going to be a social trip for me. I just wasn’t feeling that way. Depending on circumstances in any given year, my participation level for the AA events varied. I decided I would not participate much this year. I yearned for alone time – for my thoughts and for my writing. I was so desperately afraid that if I focused on anything else, I’d forget Gram.

There would be two exceptions to my anti-social rule. They were my two dearest friends in Provincetown. I would be happy to see my friend Bruce and I would spend some time with him. He and I had been friends for many years. We met when he lived in Pittsburgh. He moved to Provincetown twelve or so years ago. He was responsible for turning me on to this beautiful place. My first vacation here was with him in 2002. I’ve come every year since.

I would also see my friend Dennis. Dennis has run the ShireMax since the first year I stayed there. His hospitality and upbeat, funny and colorful personality have kept me coming back. The Inn is the only place I’ve stayed since I was introduced that first time, probably six years ago. Dennis and I became immediate friends then. “Michael, if we had met when we were young, we would have been best friends,” he said to me once. I agreed. I cherish his friendship and I always look forward to seeing him and catching up.

Dennis greeted me with a big hug and immediately expressed his condolences for Gram. His sentiments were authentic and felt nice. He knew my relationship with Gram. He didn’t have to say much; I knew he understood. We caught up for a few minutes, but I was restless and tired. I wanted to shower, attempt a nap and scope out places where I could write.

Both of these guys knew me, understood my life, and respected my current challenges. There was no pressure with either. They respected whatever I needed to do. Furthermore, since I had been going to Provincetown 14 years, I was comfortable and knew my way around. I felt at home. This was the perfect place for me to be now.

My second conclusion was about the book I had been working on that would tell the story of my relationship with Gram and the journey through Alzheimer’s disease. The book suddenly seemed less urgent, even meaningless now. Was it still worthwhile? I wondered. I knew deep down that it was worthwhile, but not immediately urgent. For now, I was compelled to write a different story – to chronicle these last several weeks – those that led up to Gram’s death and those after. I needed to document this “Final Journey” both as a healing exercise and memory exercise. It would become my focus on this trip and for some time ahead. I would take a temporary hiatus from the book. Provincetown was the perfect place to reflect and write this story.

My first night sleeping in Provincetown was as equally disturbing as the night before at home. Again, I went to bed early, fell into a deep sleep quickly. I slept over eight hours. However, when I awoke, my body felt fully rested, but my mind was exhausted. It was odd, but I knew there was a lot that went on in my head during the night. I just didn’t remember any of it. I felt turmoil; I felt anger – not toward Gram, but about Gram, I think. I spent that entire day feeling emotionally exhausted. My brain definitely had a lot to work out.

In the end, I had a good trip. It was quiet and low-key. Although I had questioned whether it was a good idea to go in the first place, I learned that it was. I slept a lot. I needed it. I spent a lot of time writing and I spent some much-needed time alone. It was exactly what I needed. It was a good place for me to be at a time in my life that was not so good.