Travel fatigue, a trip to the ER and back to the party, as a family shares good times and bad

In May 2022, my wife Belinda and I flew from our home in Cuenca, Ecuador to San Francisco, California, for our nephew Matthew Reardon’s wedding.

“Belinda, it’s great we’re gonna see Joe! It’s been four years.” I reminded her as we settled into our seats on the six-hour leg from Panama City to San Francisco. Joe, my youngest brother, would celebrate his 71^st birthday on the same day as the wedding, May 7^th. After exchanging emails and phone calls, he agreed to come from Rhode Island along with his son Kevin from Texas.

“Jeremiah, this first trip after Covid is no fun but I’m glad we’re going,” Belinda said from her window seat. “It’s going to mean a lot for Matt to have you and Joe at his wedding since his dad won’t be with him.”

Rehearsal Dinner: Joseph Reardon, Mary Flahive and Deborah Corrales chat with a friend.

“Agree, Honey. I’m still struck how I got to say “Hi!” to Denis just an hour and a half before he died. And, how on that call to Denis I heard Mary and Matt singing, “Jingle Bells!” while she drove them back to the city.”

In 2011 Matt witnessed his father and my older brother Denis’ death after suffering from asthma for many years. Earlier that day, Matt had celebrated Christmas with his parents at his mother Mary Flahive’s home in Rumson, New Jersey. Then, she drove Denis to his Upper West Side apartment in Manhattan before taking Matt home to Brooklyn.

When he entered his apartment and had an asthma attack, Denis called Matt for help. Matt heard no sound over his phone, so he and Mary quickly returned to 81st Street and Broadway.

Once Mary dropped Matt off, he ascended to the thirteenth-floor. Opening the apartment door, he found Denis slumped on the floor and tried to resuscitate him. By the time Mary arrived after parking her car, Denis had died due to a heart attack.

Beth Phillips Brown, our poet friend from Delaware County, PA, where Belinda and I rented our first apartment in 1990, spent Christmas eve with us at the home of Philadelphia friends in downtown San Francisco. On Christmas Day, in sight of the Pacific Ocean, Belinda drove us home while I made holiday calls to my family, including Denis.

Dillon Beach, CA.

In Santa Cruz at a Chinese restaurant, my phone rang, and I got up from the table to take the call from my younger brother Francis. We’d just spoken so I felt puzzled as to why he called. I retreated past the cashier to the parking lot. “Jerry, Denis just died!” Francis said. He cried and I consoled him while absorbing the tragic news.

“Thanks for telling me, Francis. I’m gonna try and call Matt.” Overwhelmed with grief, I called Denis’ phone. Matt answered and I told him that I loved him and would be coming to New York soon. He sounded calm, already resigned to his father’s death.

Back inside the cheery premises, I decided not to ruin everyone’s holiday with this unsettling tragedy. But my flagging spirit caught Beth’s attention. After dinner, we dropped her off at a nearby home where she pet sat for friends. Later, when learning Denis had died, she said, “I knew that call bothered you, Jeremiah! Because you acted differently after you went outside to take it.”

Tomales Bay (left) merges with Bodega Bay in Dillon Beach.

Night fell as I drove home on Highway 1 from Santa Cruz to Monterey. Through my tears, I shared Denis’ death with my wife. “Oh, Jeremiah, I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

Struggling to keep my emotions in check, I replied, “One of my heroes just died! I was in a state of shock and didn’t want to create a scene till I absorbed just what happened, Honey.”

Landing on the western edge of San Francisco Bay, we concluded our twenty-four hour day of travel and checked into an airport motel room well past midnight. Over the next couple of days, we shopped and visited friends in the bay area.

Arriving in Dillon Beach, Mary greeted us outside her vacation rental home, a wood-sided ranch with an attached garage. Taking in the awesome views of Bodega Bay, we thanked her for putting us up in such beautiful surroundings. Mary’s other houseguest, Matt’s godfather Anthony Konopski, arrived the next day from Los Angeles.

For that evening’s rehearsal dinner in the rural town of Marshall at Straus Home Ranch, we all rode together in Mary’s car on Highway 1 which skirted the bay. Among a jovial crowd gathered on the lawn of the bridal party’s guesthouse, Joe and Kevin greeted us. I felt comforted to have Joe’s company and not be the sole representative of Denis’ immediate family.

Lisa Corrales escorts her daughter Debra.

We last caught up with our busy lives in July 2018 at the Washington, D. C., wedding of our niece Charlotte. That’s when Matt, a rock musician and accounting intern, introduced us to his Brooklyn girlfriend Debra, a modern dancer and dance company employee.

First thing on the day of the wedding, I took pictures outside the rental home on Maui Lane where birds chirped from backyard bushes. Below the cliff at the street’s cul-de-sac, Tomales Bay emptied into Bodega Bay. This convergence created the coastal sand bar which generated whitecaps resembling the fragile fringe of an oriental carpet. Ten miles to the north stood the village of Bodega Bay where Alfred Hitchcock filmed The Birds in 1962.

Mary had set out a champagne breakfast, including caviar, pate and capers. “Thank you, Mary. Mm, so good!” I said while diving into my meal. Anthony cleared his throat and said, “I brought everything on the table with me from Los Angeles as my gift for Mary’s hospitality.”

After breakfast, I took advantage of our proximity to the sea and drove to the town beach for a dip. Along the edge of the water, cliffside walls sculpted out of sandstone served as wind breakers for a hardy group who had set up a tent camp. Their children, wearing jackets, raced on the sand.

Wedding ceremony of Debra and Matthew in Marshall, CA.

Back at the house, Belinda and I relaxed before leaving in late afternoon for the wedding. Our host Michael Straus, tanned and wearing a Buddha-print T-shirt, greeted us in the parking lot. He bowed in Eastern Indian fashion with his hands clasped in prayer.

Across the way on the guest house lawn, the groom smiled at us in greeting. Matt wore a navy-blue suit with a striped tie and showed no sign of wedding day jitters. In that moment Denis came to mind. I thought, what words of wisdom would he have shared with Matt? Seeing no sign of Joe and Kevin also concerned me.

To get to the ceremony, guests trudged uphill on a farm road to a clearing designed for occasions like this. While we kept an eye out for Joe and Kevin, Michael offered Belinda a lift in his white sedan.

Guests sat on benches under eucalyptus trees subjected to powerful wind gusts. Cold air blew our way from the bay. Mary tightly tugged on her wrap and Matt buttoned his suit coat for warmth as they stood waiting for Debra and her mother Lisa’s arrival in Michael’s car. Guests wrapped themselves in blankets deposited on each bench. The wind tipped over Lisa’s vacant bench with a thud.

Wedding reception guests are greeted by Deborah and Matt.

Once his bride’s car pulled up, Matt escorted Mary to the bench occupied by Anthony, Belinda and me. The groom then joined his best man in front of the congregation.

Beautifully attired in a cream-colored gown and smiling broadly, Lisa escorted her daughter down the aisle. Carrying a bouquet, Debra wore a stunning white satin gown with a corset bodice. Her pulled-up hair had a lace veil pinned to it. Halfway up the aisle, a sudden wind gust swept the veil sideways.

Matt’s friend Nick, a recent officiant, opened the service with a psalm and a Shakespearean sonnet, spoken into a hand-held microphone. The capricious wind made it difficult to hear his words over the loudspeaker. While listening to Nick, I felt relieved to see Joe and Kevin arrive.

The ceremony concluded and Belinda and I walked with Joe and Kevin to a converted hay barn for the reception. “We had to charge the Tesla,” Joe explained. “That held us up.” They had no prior experience driving the electric car.

Once inside the barn I started to feel faint and walked up stairs to a mezzanine furnished with sofas and a coffee table. Overcome by feelings of impaired health, I stretched out on one. What’s come over me? I thought. Slowly, I regained my senses.

Mary dances with her son Matt at reception.

Walking back down to the hall, I sat at the table with my name card and drank water. Then, Mary’s childhood girlfriend Robin and her husband Jay arrived, and I got up to greet them. When Debra and Matt entered the hall, a welcoming cheer interrupted our conversation.

At our table Belinda asked, “What’s wrong, Jeremiah? You look pale. Please, tell me what’s wrong?” I couldn’t speak up at that point.

She took my hand and led me out a rear door. Perched on a stone wall, I thought to myself, Give it a few minutes. I’ll feel better soon.

When Belinda quizzed me again, I didn’t respond, focused on my breathing. Was this what happened to Denis? I thought, feeling weak and disoriented. Later, my wife told me how her intuition made her think that I would recover. For my part, I didn’t know if I’d live or die.

Belinda went back inside and got Joe. He insisted that I see a doctor. While Kevin went for the car, Belinda worried because we had no travel insurance.

“We’ll take care of that, later,” Joe told her. “Jerry, we’re taking you to the emergency room.” With Denis’ tragic demise in mind, I consented.

Deborah and Matt cut the wedding cake.

Within cellphone range of Petaluma, Joe reached the hospital. I gave Kevin directions, guided by the blue and white hospital signs. Our route traced streets filmed in George Lucas’ 1963 cult movie, American Graffiti. My speech sounded normal and reassured me that I hadn’t had a stroke. After Kevin crossed over the Petaluma River Bridge we soon arrived at the one-story hospital’s grass-covered campus.

Joe and Kevin sat in the lobby illuminated by afternoon light while Belinda and I spoke with the admitting clerk at his desk. The young man gave me the best news possible. “Your visit today won’t cost you anything, Mr. Reardon.” Belinda and I had feared thousands of dollars in medical fees. Thank God for Social Security’s Medicare coverage!

Within fifteen minutes, a nurse led me to the emergency room. I handed Belinda my clothing and stretched out on a cot. A technician inserted an IV into my arm and drew a blood sample. Over my two-hour visit, I had a chest x-ray, an EKG among other tests. The attending physician Dr. Charlie Evans fitted me with an IV for medicine and a sodium chloride drip. Staff moved efficiently in the room, checking on their patients, about six of us.

To my amusement, in the next cubicle obscured by a curtain, a town character responded to his nurse’s question about his condition. “No, I don’t drink anymore,” he said. “Not for a month, now.”

“Are you still smoking pot?” she asked.

“Maybe, but I don’t drink,” he reasserted in a blunt tone.

A moment later, Belinda and Dr. Evans rejoined me. A man of medium height in his sixties with a calm demeanor, he told us that he had visited Cuenca twenty-five years ago. He admired how we chose to retire to Ecuador and live as expats.

Handing over a page with the results of my treatment, my doctor exclaimed, “Why, Jeremiah, you’re as strong as an ox. You’re dehydrated from your traveling. Drink lots of water and avoid alcohol. You’ve had medication injected to treat your dizziness.”

“Doctor, I can’t tell you just how much I’ve appreciated what everyone here has done for me. Now, I’m feeling much better. Thank you.” I got dressed and walked back into the lobby with good news for Joe and Kevin.

Leaving the hospital around 9:00 P.M., Kevin drove us back and parked next to the caterers’ vehicles. Once inside, Debra and Matt greeted us. I joked, “Just call me Lazarus.” Belinda added, “Your Uncle Jerry did not die on your wedding day!”

Only a couple of dozen guests remained. Some danced to recorded music. Famished, we ate paella and salad off small paper plates. Debra and Matt brought out wedding cake from the kitchen along with ice cream.

How ironic that Belinda and I had traveled almost four thousand miles to celebrate my nephew’s special day only to miss out on the wedding party. If put in the same position as Joe, I hope that I respond with the same sense of responsibility. And I’ll always cherish the love my family had shown me in that moment of impairment, close to the sea and far from home.
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Photos by Rachelle Derouin