The first blood work on Carter after the chemo came back hopeful, but not great. Subsequent tests after they came back from the Bahamas weren’t even that positive. The cancer was slowing, but not gone. A second round of chemo was needed, with stronger medicines and a longer period. That started in May.
The strain on the Tusk family only increased that summer. Both of Tusker’s parents died in June, his father of a heart attack, and his mother from heart break. She simply lost the will to keep going, and passed away in her sleep. We helped as much as we could, like the rest of their friends. I was one of his father’s pallbearers. Tessa and Carter missed that funeral because Carter was taking chemo that day. That was really tough on the family. Tessa and Tusker were arguing a lot after that, but held it together for the sake of Carter. Marilyn and I could only stand on the sidelines and offer moral support.
Our big summer party that year was July 24, a Saturday. The Tusks came to it, like always, but you could see the strain on them. Carter had just started a third round of chemo. Tusker and Tessa were keeping a brave face up when around him, and they never said anything to anybody other than that he was getting better, but it was like they were whistling as they walked past the graveyard. Carter was down to skin and bones by then, and rather than sit outside with the others, he was propped up in one of the recliners in the living room.
One of us would always be with him, spending time with him so he didn’t feel like he wasn’t being included. We were having the party catered again, so Marilyn and I could circulate, but at one point in the afternoon, I had a chance to sit down with Carter and talk with him. Most of the time, when he was around, one of his parents were hovering, but now, it was just the two of us. I sat down in the chair next to him and asked, “How you doing, Carter?”
“Okay, I guess,” he said, quietly.
Something didn’t sound quite right, so I asked, “You want to talk, Carter? Anything I can help you with?”
He looked at me and asked, “Can I ask you a question, Uncle Carl?”
“Sure, whatever you want.”
“Will you tell my parents I’m sorry after I die?”
I think a bomb could have gone off at that point and I wouldn’t have noticed it. Then I realized he was looking at me very seriously. I couldn’t just laugh this off. “Why do you ask, Carter? Do you think you’re going to die?”
He nodded. “I’m not getting better. Mom and Dad won’t say anything, but the chemo isn’t working.” He gave me a wry look, and finished, “I mean, they keep taking me to the doctor’s office and I’m not getting any better. Aren’t you supposed to get better after going to the doctor?”
I smiled and nodded. “That’s the general idea.”
“Well, I’m not getting better, am I?” he stated.
I was slow in answering, but Carter was serious, and he wasn’t joking about this. I shrugged and nodded. “No, you’re not.”
Amazingly, the little boy’s face lit up at this! “Thank you! Everybody around just keeps telling me bullshit!” Then his eyes opened wide and he clamped his mouth shut. “You won’t tell Mom or Dad I used a bad word, will you?”
I laughed at that and patted him on the knee. “Your secret is safe with me. So, what do you want to do? Do you want to stop seeing the doctors?” What the hell was I going to do if he said yes?
“No.” Carter shook his head. “I tried to talk to Mom about it once, but she just got angry at me and told me I was getting better. Why does she get angry like that?”
“Well, she’s not angry with you. You mom really loves you. She’s just scared. She’s really trying to convince herself, not you, that you’ll be okay. I think that if she were to tell herself that you might not be getting better that would be the same to her as giving up, and parents never give up on their kids.”
“Yeah, I guess that makes sense. Anyway, I didn’t want to make her cry any more. She cries so much anyway.” He looked at me and shrugged. “I don’t think it will be for all that much longer anyway.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. I just sat there with him, and he continued, “So will you tell them I’m sorry? They’re always crying and arguing now, and Bucky gets it, too. If he makes a joke or says something Mom and Dad yell at him, too.”
“I promise.”
“Thanks, Uncle Carl.”
I stood up. “Can I get you anything?”
“Nah. I’m kind of tired. I think I’ll take a nap.”
“Okay.” Then, before I left him, I said, “You know, you’re not dead yet! You might just pull through. Won’t you feel silly then about this!”
He smiled at that. “See you later.”
I left my little friend in the living room and went into the kitchen, where I sat down at the island and quietly cried. Then I pulled myself together and washed my face and went back outside to the party. Carter was snoozing in the living room. Marilyn saw me come out and glanced towards Carter. “Everything okay?”
“Just fine.”
Carter Henry Tusk passed away ten days later, August 3rd. It wasn’t anything dramatic. Carter just kept getting weaker and weaker, whether because of the treatment or the fact that he could barely keep any food down, so he wasn’t getting any nourishment. I heard from Tessa later that she went in to wake him and he wouldn’t wake up, though he was still alive. She called an ambulance to take him to the hospital, but nothing helped. He was in a coma, and later that evening just slipped away without waking.
Marilyn called me at the office in Westminster and I drove home to help her break the news to the kids. I called the Tusks the next morning, but all I could hear on the other end of the line was Tusker crying. Eventually Bucky came on the line and whispered that he would call us later. We heard from friends the funeral service would be Friday morning, at St. Paul’s. Visiting hours at the funeral home were Thursday night, and Marilyn and I took the kids. We debated whether the girls were too young, but they were nine like Carter had been, and we thought they would be old enough to handle it.
The funeral home was pretty well packed. Tessa’s parents were there, along with both Tessa’s and Tusker’s siblings. Bucky looked fairly miserable, in that he was both bored to tears standing around like he had to, but also because he had loved his brother and was hurting as much as his parents. He saw us in the line and broke free to come over to us, where Marilyn gave him a hug and Charlie tried to act like a grownup. The girls were a touch bewildered, but soldiered on.
I was surprised by the turnout, but I shouldn’t have been. You had quite a few biker types, rough guys who looked like they had been cleaned up special for the occasion, and you would see them standing next to a suburban family with a child Carter’s age, who had been in school with him. I nodded and spoke to the people I recognized, but it wasn’t the time or place to work the room.
We moved up the line to the casket. The undertaker had done a decent enough job with Carter, who was wearing a suit and a baseball cap to hide his baldness. Marilyn showed the kids how to kneel at the little prie-dieux in front of the casket, while I stood to the side. They all made the sign of the cross, and prayed quickly, before standing and moving aside to say what we could to the family. As I shook Tusker’s hand, he asked, “You’ll be there tomorrow?” The funeral was the next morning. Tusker and Tessa looked like they had been dragged through a knothole.
“Of course. Uh, do you need somebody to help, you know, with…” I nodded towards the little casket. I had carried a few in my time. He nodded bleakly. I looked beyond him and found one of the funeral home’s people. “I’ll go let them know.”