Say It Ain’t So — Carl Wheezer

The last conversation I had with my mom was over the phone.

She had told me a week prior that she had the flu. Her “doctor” had confirmed that she didn’t have covid-19. She assured me that her cough and flu symptoms were nothing serious. I had called that day with two goals: to make sure she was feeling better and to convince her that she wasn’t being careful enough. I spent some time before the call googling “How to convince your old parents do things?” and “How to persuade someone? I knew what I was going to say and how I was going to say it. I would be calm and nice, but firm and direct about what I thought my parents should be doing to stay safe.

The call with my mom went so well. I had never gotten through to her that way. I was everything I had hoped to be on the phone. I said, “If you’re being careless enough to catch the flu, then you’ll eventually catch the coronavirus. You catch them the same way so you’re going to get it”. My mom responded epiphanically. I could hear in her voice that my words were resonating. I think back and wonder if it wasn’t my words convincing her, but her realizing that she was in fact very sick.

I was so happy after my conversation with my mom. I had never convinced my mom of anything before but that day, it seemed like heard me. She believed me. She was going to be safer and she would be healthy. She would rest. She would stay home. She would stay away from all these careless and fucking idiotic people that came to her restaurant. The people that came to a fucking restaurant run by two elderly and sickly people because they were bored, or because they couldn’t make their own lunch or whatever stupid reason they had.

Immediately after such an amazing success, out of shear hubris, I almost arrogantly ask to speak to my dad. I really that I was going to convince him just as had my mom. Well my foolishness was met with an even bigger fool — my father. He said to me, “It’s just the flu”, but not the in the loving and concerned voice of my mother. My father’s goal was to belittle, to crush any belief I had that I knew what I was talking about, to dismiss my words. I can’t even recall the rest of our 30 second conversation, but it all had the same objective: To exert the idea that he was right and I was wrong.

The next call I made to mom a few days later went unanswered. In fact, the rest of my calls went unanswered. I thought that maybe she was busy or her stupid tracphone was acting up again. I called my dad and he said not to worry, she would call me back when her cough was better.

The next call to my dad was practically the same. I wasn’t really concerned in our short conversation. What peaked my intuition was how he ended the call. He said, “I love you”. Not in the joking way he would half-yodel, half squawk to me a handful of times in my life. For the first time in my life, he said it like he meant it. Although his outer demeanor was still dismissive, those last three words conveyed a cry for help. On some level or plane or telepathic wavelength, my father had said to me, “Please help me”.

I heard it so clearly, but I convinced myself that I was crazy. I forced myself to believe that he said it accidentally and there was no meaning behind it.

I stopped trying to call my mom and just started to directly call my dad. Again, the beginning of the call was him ensuring that they were getting better.

“Don’t worry, we closed the restaurant so your mom and recover”. “That’s good, dad”. “We haven’t eaten for the last three days because we lost our appetite”. “That doesn’t sound good. I think you should go to the doctor”. “No were getting better”. “Oh, okay”. “Your grandma made soup. I force your mom to eat some today.” {“Forced?”, I thought to myself} “So she’ll feel better once she eats again”. “Ok, dad”. “But she’s on the floor right now”. “Why is she on the floor?”. “Oh well…because she doesn’t have the strength to get on the bed”.

This conversation was a rollercoaster that rocked me between some reassurance and plummeted me back into fear. On the telepathic plane, I could now hear loud and clear that my father was scared and needed help. He was asking me to come help my mom, in his own convoluted way.

My sister called and solidified more of fears. She told me that the week before, when she visited, my had a bad cough and was back and forth from the bathroom. She thought that my mom had covid because of the cough and what she believed was diarhea sending my mom to the bathroom. I told her I was planning to go on the weekend, but that I would move up plans to go check on my mom.

I called my dad before I left. He once again assured me that she was fine. She couldn’t come to the phone but that I shouldn’t worry — she was getting better. “Where is she?”. “She’s on the floor. She doesn’t have the strength to get on the bed still”. “I’m just going to go check on her”. “No, you’re going to get sick if you come”. “I just want to check. If she doesn’t need me to help then I’ll leave”. “Ok, you can come”.

I called my sister on the car ride. I told her about my mom being on the floor and she wanted to come along. I didn’t think it was a good idea because she’s a mom. She can’t get sick. She promised that she would stay outside the house when I check on my mom. I agreed and changed my route to pick her up. When I got to her house I came in for a few minutes, but I felt an urgency to get going.

On the car ride, I felt like this was the beginning of something. Deep down, I think we knew of the terrible things that were waiting for us at the end of this 20 minute journey. Oddly, it felt like the end of a teen romantic/coming-of-age movie where the characters are having one last good moment with their bestfriend(s) or girl/boyfriend. The last pure moment before their relationship is going to change forever and their new life will begin.

We knew it was coming, but we still spent those last few minutes laughing together. Enjoying and savoring our happy life. We knew it was over.

Our last good moment was with this song: the Jimmy Neutron character, Carl Wheezer, covering Weezer’s “Say It Ain’t So”. I had already been listening to it for the last week so it shouldn’t have been funny anymore, but hearing my sister laugh made it even funnier. I feel so ridiculous crying to this song now. It’s still funny as hell to me. But I don’t or maybe I can’t laugh when I hear Carl Wheezer squeaking and screeching through the song. Life has such a good sense of humor to make this song the symbolic beginning to this journey. The beginning of my new life and the last good moment before losing my mom.

Note: I am going to post this without reviewing/editing. It was very difficult to write and I don’t think I can read it. I hope there aren’t too many errors, but if anything is confusing, you can send me a message and I’ll try to clear it up. Thanks for understanding.