I had planned on continuing the story, but death touched my life again tonight. The whole purpose of this novel/journey was to help people in some way to embrace their own journey through loss. In this past week, I traveled though one stop of someone close to my hearts journey of processing a loss in their life. I then found myself on that journey again with the loss of another family member that came too soon. I find myself thinking, how do I just write…? These characters that have evolved in my mind.., right now, how do I make them live when reality has hit again so hard?… Once again, I find myself looking at life and trying to honor how precious each moment is. I find myself throwing my own “demons” out the front door of my own life and saying,”embrace it all”, truly live..truly love!!!! Honor the gift of life. Honor the gift of LOVE. Each day and interaction is truly a gift. Look at those that surround you, not just your loved ones but that guy on the street. Let them all know that their existence matters. That you “see” them. Adore and value the sky above all of us! The fluffy clouds that ignite your imagination, the twinkling stars that beckon your wishes, the rainbow that some of us are able to see. Embrace it all and most importantly, embrace love and life.
Sorrrrrry!
So, life has distracted me from my, “self-imposed” deadline! Last post will be properly edited tomorrow. Next post will be posted, hmmm, ummm, ok…by this week end. I have had many prompts and urges for what is to come with the boys who have entered our journey….story to continue soon!!!!! And, I know…Justin is an major one, right?!!!!
CHAPTER 3 – CAT AND I/PART 1
My loving, feline companion, Cat, greeted me at the door as soon as I enter my modest, studio apartment. She was over-the-top with affection and probably some hunger due to my unexpected, extended absence. Happy to see her and my cozy home, I scooped her up, kiss her kitty-nose and toss my backpack next to one of the four bookcases overflowing with books dating back to junior high. What my 485 square foot home lacked spatially, it made up for with character. It was one of the “sitting rooms” of a turn of the century, Victorian which had been divided into condos in the mid-eighties. Original 1879, hardwoods peeked up from an assortment of area rugs. Although no longer working, a grand fireplace with ornate cherry wood mantle commanded your attention upon entrance. A pair of windows stretched from just slightly over a foot from the floor to about the same from the ceiling. The twins were still lovely even though peeking from under the thick plastic taped around them, which was my band aid to their broken sashes. I had a futon from college which doubled as sitting and sleeping accommodations, piled with an array of pillows in various shapes and sizes. Pillows have always been something I can never have enough of. Some women use shoe shopping as a favorite form of therapy…for me it’s pillows. I throw myself on the futon with a heavy sigh. I float in a haze of surrealism, while thinking of the world wind past two days. Cat, hops on my stomach and rouses me back to reality. Her name was not chosen for lack of creativity, but a love of “Breakfast at Tiffany’s”. I fell in love with the movie and Audrey Hepburn when I was very young, and I still watched the DVD when I need to escape. Most often, of course, with a pint of dark, chocolate ice cream in hand. Cat’s soft, white fur sticks to my sweaty legs each time she brushed against me. I open a can of her favorite, over-priced, organic, easy on her tummy food and hit the play button on the answering machine. My friends make fun of me for being so retro with the machine but, it plays well to my creature of habit nature to come in and push a button. When I saw the red light blinking I was hopeful. An automated voice tells me there are eight messages. I sit with Cat on my lap and l listen to a string of “I’m so sorrys” and “whatever I can dos”. Then I hear the familiar voice of Justin. “Hey Hon, I’m really slammed here, but I will be back in town tomorrow. Let’s have dinner, you pick. Make a reservation for 7:30 and I’ll call you when I land. Love you.” I guess he didn’t pick up on the distress in my voice on the messages had I left him. Tomorrow is the wake. I hope we can connect before the day is over. I wish he were here for me to tell him in person. I wish he had been there on the Cape with us, with me. I’m angered by the lack of concern he has shown by not returning my calls to my cell phone. I specifically asked him to call me on it. I know his is just his way of not actually having to talk to me. Once again, Justin falls short on the emotional support side. The one call I choose to return is my best friend, Larry. He has always been there for me and with me through many happy days and many of the sorrows, too. He was the one who “celebrated” my column being pulled. He came over, instructed me to pretty myself up and took me to Beba’s. Beba’s is the scene to be seen with it’s air of wealth and sophistication situated downstairs from the Four Seasons. We drank Cosmopolitans and said a big cheers and “screw the Herald.” Then laughed until it was light out. The phone rings just once and he answers. “Lar, I’m home.” I instantly began to cry. No longer numb. “Sweetie, what do you need? I’m coming over right now. I can’t believe he’s really gone.”, He says tenderly with his usual take-charge attitude. “I don’t know what I want or need right now. I’m going to take a shower and try to put myself back together.” I replied between tears and sniffles. “And, I can’t get Justin on the phone.” Saying this only released the floodgate further. “What?! Ok, take a shower. I’m on my way.”, I say good-bye and hold Cat so tightly I could feel her heavy purr along with every bone in her tiny body while I sob uncontrollably. What was stifled so well is pouring out like a damaged levy. I feel so weak. I find it physically difficult to raise myself from the couch. As I finally find the strength and pull my thighs, now stuck to the leather cushion of the couch, I feel Cat’s fur and my dried sweat begin to make my calves itch. I make my way to the bathroom and reach down to turn the water to warm. I immediately sit on the floor of the lion claw, cradle myself, and cry. I continue to cry until the water turns cold. The chill revives me enough to quickly wash and step out. I throw on some shorts and a tank. While pulling my hair back in a clip off of my neck, I feel arms around my waist. As I turn with puffy eyes, there stands my constant savior. “Larry, this is so fucking surreal!” He brushes my half wet bangs from my eyes and strokes my cheek, and says, “Go get your biggest Audrey sun glasses and we’ll walk down to the pond.” We walk the few short blocks to the Jamaica Way and cross to the pond. All the while he nestles me closely under his arm, like a mother bird protecting her young. After a long period of silence he asks, “So, where the hell is Justin?”
CHAPTER 2 – A WALK ON THE BEACH/part 2
We met when I was finishing my undergrad at Boston College and he was in his final year of law school there. I had been stood up; thankfully, at a coffee shop in Harvard Square by a boy I really had no interest in knowing. A silly, but brilliant, man who would one day achieve great accolades and prizes. All to which would still bring no attraction for me. I had only agreed to meet him to get my roommate off of my back for not leaving the campus in far too long. I stood and waited for what seemed an eternity, watching the afternoon turn to evening in the square. Luckily for me, there was a never-ending parade of visual interests for my amusement. I decided to not waste my night out and enjoy watching the array of characters that walked the streets of the infamous Harvard Square. The hippies, the punk rockers, the hip hop hopefuls spitting lyrics like rain. If nothing else, it might give me some ideas for another short story. When I placed my notebook on the metal table and reached for my purse, my tea was toppled and the luke, warm liquid drenched my sacred notebook. “SHIT!”, I yelled and reached to grab the now empty cup. My loud profanity caught the attention of many including a tall, dark-haired man with penetrating, hazel eyes. “Do you need some more napkins?” He asked as he handed me one from his lap. Feeling adequately pissed and embarrassed, I thanked him and began sopping up the chamomile tea that dripped from the corners of my creative outlet. Those eyes! Wow! I had a hard time not glancing over to meet them again. “Will it live, or have you thoroughly drowned it?” He coyly said. His smile even bigger now, made it near impossible to resist flirting back. “Sorry Doc, I think it’s a goner!” As am I! “What is such a pretty and clumsy girl doing out here alone on a Friday night?” “Just taking it all in” I replied with blushing cheeks. Little did he know “it all” at the moment was him! Before we knew it, three hours had passed with us laughing, talking and amusing ourselves with the many faces and hair colors that passed us by in front of Au Bon Pain. “I’d say I hate to cut this short, but short I hardly think it has been! Unfortunately, I have a paper I haven’t even started yet that’s due on Monday.” I hated to leave, but the ten-page paper I had to write was beginning to distract me. “Well, at least let me walk you to your car.” He said while reaching out his hand. My, my, gorgeous, funny, smart and a gentleman, too! I placed my hand in his and we walked the brick sidewalks to where my car was parked only a few blocks from the Charles River. “Well, this is me.” I sadly said as I reached for the keys to my old, but trusty blue Buick Skylark. Whenever I drove through the city the guys on the corners would quickly rush off until they realized that although the car looked to be undercover, I did not. He paused for a moment and I was hoping to see if his kiss would be as enchanting as the night had been. “I know you need to go, but my favorite walking bridge is just around the corner. The moon looks amazing from it. So, how about a quick stroll over it and then I promise I will safely place you in your car.” Now how could I resist that invitation! Maybe it was a line, but I didn’t care and it worked! He was right, the moon was amazing and he did safely return me to my car. I was right; it was the most enchanted kiss I had ever been given. He called the next night and that was the beginning of a relationship that has continued for the past seven years.
The traffic started to slow and thicken. It seemed every drive in the city was a new and different experience with the notorious “Big Dig” constantly rerouting traffic. I often wondered if the constant rerouting was someone’s way of having fun, and if they sat somewhere and laughed at our frustration while we drove in circles. I decide to exit the high way and snake my way through the streets of Dorchester to my apartment in Jamaica Plain. The oppressive, summer heat penetrated the air conditioning in my car. A cool shower will be first in order as soon as I arrive home. Maybe Justin left me a message at home? Why is it when I really need him, he’s not there? Much like the day I was told that my editorial column was being cut from the Boston Herald. I had been hoping to be picked up by the Boston Globe anyway, but it was still a disappointment that his hug would have eased. He couldn’t get himself out of the client dinner he had scheduled that evening. I always understood and put his work before me, as had he. Here we are now at a time that I have never needed him more, and again he is unavailable. This is what Daddy had warned me of. He told me years ago that Justin was a driven man and I would have to accept that his work would ALWAYS come first. This time, I don’t know if I can accept it.
CHAPTER 2 – A WALK ON THE BEACH/part 1
The sun was just beginning to light the distant horizon and glistened across the peaceful waters for as far as the eye could see. I walked the beach wondering what emotions the day would bring and if I could hold it together for another two. I need to stay strong for Mom. I know if she sees the pain on my face, it will make hers harder to bear. She has been accustomed to dealing with the raging hormones of three adolescent girls and the past due bills of young women’s shopping sprees. She has even been equipped for the heart breaks that have come along the way when “he” didn’t turn out to be the “one” for each of us. This, however, I know is not something she has been rehearsed in. Sarah the youngest, has been the delicate, weepy one and Christina fighting and feisty, but I have always stood solid level-headed and strong. I have always been the “together” sister amongst the three of us. Maybe it’s me that I am worried about. Maybe, this time, I will be the weepy, fighting and feisty. I am still numb. I am afraid to see him, dressed in his best, laying there for all to view. The only wake I have been to was my great-grandmother when I was seven. I had thought she looked like she was sleeping and didn’t truly understand that we would never again taste her stuffing on Thanksgiving or feel her warm embraces. I didn’t really understand what her passing meant then, but now I do. Now I truly know what it means to lose someone dear from your life, forever. A smooth rock stares up at me on the white sand. The contrast of its deep, gray shade draws me to it. As I grasp it and rub the sand off with my thumb and index fingers, I remember the many, much like this one, that Dad and I had collected through the years. I always loved our times on the beach in the early morning. We would arise before everyone and run for miles along the shore. With sweat dripping and hearts racing we would finish with a quiet walk gathering driftwood, rocks and shells. This was my time to have his undivided attention, listening ear and humor that made everything seem all right. Feeling this rock tucked in my hand gave me comfort and the courage to face the pending, public farewell. I felt as if I held this rock tightly, I could feel the hand of my father and that would make me able to face this through his strength.
I crossed the Borne Bridge and headed to high way 93. As I scanned the stations, no song seemed to fit. I don’t want to listen to any of my CDs, but don’t want silence. I cracked the windows and let the rush of traffic and wind fill my head. So many memories come to me. The time, just two years ago, when I told my family that Justin and I were speaking of marriage and Dad said, “You just follow your heart.’ Or, when I was only six and Dad read my favorite book over and over until he drove away the hurt from the boys who had thrown worms at me at the bus stop. A loud car horn alerts me that I am drifting from my lane and brings me back to reality. Where the hell is Justin? I had left him three messages and called him countless times in the past two days. He can’t be that busy taking depositions. He must at least take breaks to eat, sleep and urinate! His phone went to voicemail every time I called. I didn’t want to give him the news in a message, but I left messages saying that it was urgent that we speak and I still hadn’t heard back from him. He must have heard my messages by now. I usually don’t call him when he is out of town working. I respect his work and have never wanted to become an interference or distraction. He has sacrificed so much to get to where he is and he is so close to becoming partner. His making partner would be a tremendous feat considering he is only thirty and the prestige of the firm. Walker and Johnson is one of the top corporate law firms on the east coast and is notorious for only offering partnership to family, or those not far from it. Justin was neither, but a double eagle from Boston College and graduated first in his class. I just don’t understand why he has not returned a call. He always calls me when he’s away, even if just to say good night.
Chapter 2 is coming….
Thanks to all who have started to follow my book in the making! Chapter 2 starts tomorrow! Pass it along to friends and family! There have been tears and heartache for Brianna with the sudden loss of her father….what’s to come? Give feedback for what you would like to see happen! It’s all in the making! Be a part of it!
CHAPTER 1 – THE BATHROOM VORTEX cont….
We gathered back at the house and built a fire on the beach. Beers were passed and comforts exchanged. The sun soon broke and there was much to be done. I being the oldest had to stuff down my own screams and tears to accompany my mother on the, “funeral 101”, day of preparations. First stop, Sullivan’s Funeral Home. We sat with the Sullivan brothers two who kindly explained the difference between coffins, plots and emotions yet to come. They assured us of my father’s safe transport, as they would join him for the ride to Mass General Hospital and back for the “sudden death” autopsy tomorrow. Next, it was time for the flowers. It’s amazing how agonizing it can be to decide what shape, which combination, and how many are needed could be. Is there a flower too feminine? Amount too many or few? What do we do with them after? Now, the phone calls began. The news had spread quickly over night and my mother refused to take her cell phone out of the glove compartment, so I was the chosen point of contact. She always kept her phone, off of course, safely in her car for emergencies only. She is a brilliant woman, but not the most embracing to technology. A fact both ironic and amusing, considering my father had been a professor of technology at Curry College for the past twenty-three years. Coworkers of hers and dads began calling to express their shock and condolences. Dad was training daily for his third Boston Marathon. He never smoked, rarely drank and was the model member of our family. Losing him at fifty-four could never have been imagined. “Mom, it’s noon already, you really should try and eat something.” She hadn’t touched a thing in more than twenty-four hours. I grabbed a couple of sandwiches, bottles of water, chips and found a picnic table for us to sit at in front of the diner. She looked so tired and worn. The usual sparkle in her crystal, blue eyes has dimmed completely. Her sun kissed cheeks were now pale enough to match her snow, white hair. I look down at the untouched food sitting in front of her. “Mom, why don’t we just go back to the house so you can nap? I can make some phone calls from there while you rest.” “What, Hon?” she said as her distant gaze broke and a forced smile appeared. “Did you know that your father used to bring me here when we first met? We were just kids then. We’d sit on the beach, eat French fries with too much salt and watch the tide go out?” I can see that she is not present. She seems to be doing all that she can to just keep from completely falling down. Trapped in limbo between the sweet life long past and bitter truth of reality. “Let’s go back to the house.” I plead again. My voice noticeably stressed, while forced smile worn. I cross the table to help her up when I feel a vibration in my front pocket. “Hello?” “Yes, I am trying to reach Katherine Walden.” I do not recognize the voice or number on my phone. “This is her daughter, Brianna, can I help you?” The unfamiliar voice responses, “I am calling from the Mass General Hospital morgue and I need to verify some information for your father’s autopsy.” My heart sank. The harsh reality that he is now merely a body, which will be cut to bits, strikes me cold. “I would be happy to give you any information that you need.” I reply in a monotone voice. I am standing stiff and feeling numb. “I’m sorry, but I need to speak with the spouse.” The spouse? Screw you! Do you mean his wife, his high school sweetheart, the mother of his children, his Kitty?!!! I breathe deep, hand the phone to my mother and explain that they just need to verify some information. I do this with a canned smile whose fakeness almost hurts. “Yes, this is Katherine Walden…. Yes, he is being driven there tomorrow by Sullivan’s Funeral Home…. Ok, yes, I understand, ok, what, ok…” I watch my mother lean on the weeping willow beside her as the conversation progresses. Then suddenly, I quickly reach to catch her as the phone drops to the ground. My fragile mother begins sopping uncontrollably and holds on to me like a wounded child with a fierce grip. I move her safely to the ground and hold her as she cries. I have never seen this vulnerable side to my mother. After some time passes, she asks that we go back to the house. She never speaks a word for the entire drive. What did they do to her? What did they say? What information, that needed verifying, could have destroyed her so quickly and violently?
We arrive at the summerhouse to every woman, of every age, chopping and dicing, boiling and cooking what seemed to be enough food for all of the Cape and islands. My sister, Christina, approaches me with a barrage of questions. “How did it go? Did everything get done? Is there anything else left to do?” “I think we handled all we need to for now. We just need to get on phones and make calls for the wake and funeral. The wake will be on Friday evening at Sullivan’s at 7:00. We will have an hour with dad alone first.” I reply, while somewhat distracted by the vision of my mother’s pale face flashing in my mind. “Ok. Everyone from Curry has been calling. Did his boss get you on your phone? I figured Mom wouldn’t answer, so I gave him your number.” “Yes, I spoke with Tom and a bunch of other people that called. I don’t even remember half of who I talked to. Mass General called and really upset Mom. I don’t know what they said to her, but she collapsed from it. She’s a mess.” My heart hurts every time I think of what she must be feeling. “What do you mean she collapsed?” Christina has never been one to contain her voice when emotional. I remember when Jeffrey Richards broke up with her when she was in the tenth grade and I in the twelfth. The whole school could hear her saying words that nice girls don’t say before and after she punched him in his left eye. Her three-day suspension was nothing compared to the two weeks of humiliation he wore along with a serious shiner. “Who collapsed?” My youngest sister, Sarah rushed over. Soon the gaggle of hens surrounded me clucking. I have to raise my voice slightly to battle the chatter of women. “Mom did, she collapsed after talking to the morgue at Mass General. She didn’t want to talk about it and went upstairs to lie down. I think we need to give her some space.” I hope this will quell the inquiry. “Oh, Kitty. She always tries so hard to hold it all together and sooner or later it always catches up.” My grandmother always favored my mother of all of her daughter-in-laws. “She’ll be ok. Everyone just leave her be for a little while. She’ll come down when she’s ready.” Gram was the matriarch and no one ever questioned her orders. The women cooked, the men grilled and we all stayed busy.
When dusk was setting in I went to check on my mother. I knocked softly on the door. She didn’t respond. I opened the door slightly to see her sitting at the window, lined with shells faded from the washing of tides and years of sun. “Hey, how are you feeling? Do you want to come down for dinner? You know the family, there is enough food prepared to last us through the next winter down there.” She didn’t break her gaze and finally responded, “They had to tell me everything that they would do in the autopsy. I had to listen to how they would open him up and cut him into pieces.” I wrapped my arms around her not knowing what to say. “They will remove all of his organs and eyes for donation. He wanted that, but I can’t think of them chopping him up like an old car to sell parts off of.” Her face was stained with salty tears. There was a redness to her complexion again, not from the sun, but flush from raw emotion. “I’m sorry you had to listen to all of that Mom. You know it’s not him there any more. He’s in a better place than us now.” I said what I thought would ease her pain, but the very same feelings were racing through me.
….continued next Wednesday at noon! Sign up to follow!
CHAPTER 1 – THE BATHROOM VORTEX
a sight that everyone should see first hand at once in their lifetime…Boston 4th of July!
For the next hour all five generations present were taking turns performing resuscitation efforts that proved to be in vain, some cried, some vomited, some kept the young ones out of sight and oblivious to the loss that this family would feel forever. After what seemed an eternity, the ambulance arrived with lights, which made me dizzy, and sirens whose screams cut the darkening sky. The clam-digging caravan no longer headed to a joyful destination, but now somber precession to Cape Cod Hospital to meet the looming news. The ride was silent. I listened to my beating heart and every painful breath I inhaled. He can’t be gone, we were going to Hyannis to see the fireworks tonight He had taken my sisters and I every year for the past twenty-eight. This was all so surreal. As we approached the front of the emergency room I suddenly felt frozen to the hot, sticky seat. I don’t want to hear them tell me what I knew was to be the inevitable truth. My dad was gone. There would be no clam-digging, no fireworks, no sitting on the beach watching the sparklers dance to the giggles of children.
We overtook the waiting room. For a crowd of so many, no one dared speak. What could be said? “He’ll be ok”, or “Maybe he just got heat exhaustion?” We all knew what was coming when the doctor slowly walked towards us. His head slightly downward and eyes connecting with no one, “I’m sorry, he didn’t make it.” The sentence was only said once, but I replayed it over and over while I walked the long, pale, peach corridor to the room, which held my sobbing mother and dead father. “Oh, Kip, what did you go and do?” She tenderly stroked his hair and spoke quietly to him, as if he were sleeping. I watched my mother and each of my sisters wipe tears and hug him as he laid stiffening with every moment. “Puddin’ you need to say good bye now.” ”I know Mom. I just don’t know how.” I softly said, “I love you, Daddy.” And kissed his lips for the last time. The bitter coldness stung like nothing I had ever felt before. I knew in that moment the sting of death would never leave.
…continued Wednesday at noon!
72 Hours 