DEAR DADDY
By
Susan E. Richmond
© 2004 by Susan E. Richmond.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in
a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without
the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer
who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper,
magazine, or journal.
~ CHAPTER 1 ~
JULY 12TH
“Please take care of my daddy,” I say to the doctor who meets
us at the emergency entrance to the hospital. I want to go with
Daddy, but no one will let me. They tell me to wait in the waiting
area until Mom gets here. At least someone else has called her.
I wouldn’t know what to say or how to say it. We were just
getting into the heart of summer. With Mom not teaching
during the summer and Daddy owning his catering business,
we had plans. The biggest and best plan is my thirteenth
birthday party in two weeks. Friends, family, food, games ...
what happens now?
Mom’s finally here, which I’m relieved about, because now I
don’t have to wait alone, but what if she asks me about the
accident. How do I tell her? Can I relive it? No.
“Jessica, are you all right?” Mom asks in her sweet, gentle
voice. I wrap my arms around her, needing her to hold me, to
tell me everything will be fine. Taking a deep breath I think
about Mom’s question. How do I answer her? Physically I’m all
right, but emotionally, I will never be the same again. And I
know if I do try to talk I will cry, and I’m not ready to do that yet.
Mom holds me tight a few more minutes then says, “I’m
going to find out about your dad. Will you be all right for a few
minutes?” Nodding I watch Mom walk away. I’m alone again.
Alone with nothing but magazines and the television. Like I
care about what’s on or looking at the happy, glamorous people
enjoying life. It’s not going to help me forget why I’m here.
Nothing will. You never forget the day someone you love dies.
Sniffling, trying to hold back the tears, I realize how much I
hate hospitals. I’m staring at the same plain, white walls and
yucky brown carpet I looked at seven years ago when I was here
with a broken arm. Daddy and I had been hanging birdfeeders.
I raced up the tree, slipped, and fell. My arm hurt really bad and
Daddy comforted me. I remember him saying he should have
been in the tree instead of me, and he apologized the entire time
we were here. After I got my cast, Daddy treated me to a triplescoop
ice cream cone.
This time when we leave we won’t be stopping for ice cream.
What will we do? Can we turn back time and change today’s
events?
Sighing, I look around hoping to see Mom. Actually I’m glad
I don’t see her yet. Because when she comes out that’s it. There
will be no going back; no changing what happened.
Looking down I see my white tee shirt that is covered with
dried blood and sweat. The tears fall. This isn’t fair. It’s not right.
Why? Why my Daddy?
Looking up I see Mom walking towards me, her shoulders
slumped as if she’s carrying a 100-pound weight. Mom has
never moved so slowly in her life, not even when she was sick
with the flu. I gulp. I want to run to her, tell her I already know,
that I knew before we got here, but I can’t move. It’s like my feet
are cemented to the ground.
As she gets closer I see she’s crying. I’m trying to be strong
but it’s hard. The tears won’t stop.
Mom sits down without saying a word and puts her arm
around me. I turn towards her and lay my head on her chest. The
warm, soft chest that always comforts me when I am scared or
sad.
But I don’t want to be comforted. Not yet. Pushing away I dry
my tears. As I rest against the seat, I glance at my watch. Five
hours. I’ve been sitting on this orange padded seat for five
hours. It seems like days. Do all tragic events make time go
slower?
Maybe it’s all a bad dream. No, the look on Mom’s face
assures me that it is a nightmare, and I am not sleeping.
“Jessica,” Mom says quietly as she grasps my hand. She takes
a few breaths trying to regain her composure. “It’s over. They
did all they could, but Daddy’s injuries were too extensive. He
couldn’t be saved.”
Nodding, I think about all I want to say. My mouth is dry and
the words are stuck in my throat. Nothing I say will change
anything or make either of us feel better.
No, it’s best to remain silent. What do you say when someone
you love dies?
Looks like more waiting. Mom has paperwork to fill out so
we can get Daddy’s personal belongings, like his wallet and
wedding ring. Daddy never carried much and he never wore a
watch. Always said that clocks and watches kept us too
restricted. He liked to go with the flow, do things when the time
was right for him. Anyway, he had some internal clock, because
he is, was, the only person I know who could wake up at the
same time every morning without an alarm clock.
I don’t like thinking about Daddy in the past tense. None of
this seems real yet. Wonder what will happen to Mom and me
when reality finally sets in?
If someone up there is listening, please don’t let my Daddy
completely abandon us. He was a protector of all creatures.
Even though he can’t be with us physically, can he be our
guardian angel? Mom and me can’t do this alone. Daddy made
our family complete. Daddy made life fun. We still need him
and always will. Please let Daddy continue to watch over us.
Thank you.
On the drive home Mom and I don’t talk. What is there to
say? I am scared being in a car again, but I don’t want to think
about it or talk about it. We don’t even turn on the radio, which
is strange for us. The radio is always on in the car, usually tuned
to the oldies station or a country station. Not tonight. Actually
this morning.
Hard to believe we were at the hospital so long that now the
sun is coming up. It’s a beautiful sunrise, one Daddy would
have liked to see. Taking a deep breath Mom nods and looks at
me. She takes my hand and grasps it. It’s strange knowing that
Daddy will never see another sunrise or sunset. Stop it, I yell
inside my head. Stop dwelling on everything. For some reason
I lived, so I have to make the best of it for Mom and me. But how
do I do that? I sure hope I have a lot of help.
~ CHAPTER 2 ~
JULY 13TH
As I sit in the car looking at the house I’m not sure what to do,
where to go. What will be waiting for us behind the front door?
Will Daddy be in the kitchen making breakfast and singing or
whistling to the radio? Will he turn to us and say, “Hey, there’s
my two favorite women?”
I’m afraid to go inside my own house. Taking a deep breath
I open the car door, but my legs hardly move. Is it fear or am I
sore from the accident? Maybe it’s both.
Mom’s halfway up the sidewalk waiting for me. She doesn’t
want to go inside either. But what do we do? Move. That hardly
seems the right answer. I hope someone has answers for me,
because I’ve never dealt with anything like this before and I do
not know what I am doing or what I’m supposed to do.
Finally, I take that first step. Taking another breath I start
walking. When I reach Mom we look at each other, our eyes
filled with tears. We walk to the front door, look at each other
again, and nod. When the door is opened I gasp. It’s quiet. Too
quiet. Our house is never quiet. And it was always a good thing.
Laughter, singing, a family talking; it all filled our house. Now
there’s nothing but a deadening silence. Ooh, I really do not like
that word, deadening. From this moment I am striking the word
dead from my vocabulary.
“Jessica, why don’t you go upstairs and soak in a bubble
bath? It will help relax you after all that has happened.”
Looking at my clothes I agree with Mom. I could use a bath.
But as for relaxing, I doubt it. Quite the contrary. It will give me
more time to think about all that has happened in less than
twenty-four hours. Twenty-four hours I’d like to erase. As I
walk up the stairs I turn to Mom. “Are you all right?”
Mom hesitates. “I have to call Gwen and Charles.” Mom’s
voice quivers, as I know this is going to be the most difficult
phone call Mom has ever made. How is she going to tell my
grandparents that their son has died? I do not envy Mom. And,
though I should stand beside her to hold her hand, I’m going to
chicken out and take a long bath.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” I ask, hoping she
says no.
“Thank you, sweetie. But I have to do this, and I’d rather be
alone. Do you understand?”
Nodding, I turn and crawl up the stairs. What I really want to
do is run to Mom, throw my arms around her, and cry, but I’m
not ready yet. I am not ready to let go, to truly face the facts. Will
I ever be?
As the bath water runs I remove my clothes, take a long look
at them, and throw them in the garbage. How can I ever wear
them again without recalling every minute of last night? Not
that I won’t anyway, but I don’t need the clothes as a constant
reminder.
Soaking in the tub is peaceful. Mom has always known what
I have needed to feel better. Guess that’s why she’s Mom. I
wonder how she’s doing.
A knock at the door startles me. “Yes?”
“May I come in?”
“Sure, Mom.” When she walks in I know she has made the
call and it was not easy. “When are they coming?”
“They’re on their way as we speak.” Mom sits on the toilet,
her hands clasped in front of her, her shoulders sinking forward.
“There are so many things to do in the next few days.” Mom
exhales, unclasps her hands, and runs her fingers through her
hair. “Your Dad and I never really discussed funeral
arrangements. All I know is he wants to be buried at his
boyhood home.”
This does not surprise me. Daddy always talked about how
great it was growing up in the country, having the woods to
play in, a pond for fishing. Clean, fresh, unpolluted air. On the
down side, Grandma and Papa T’s farm is over two hours away.
They still live in the same house where Daddy grew up. I don’t
like that it won’t be so easy to visit Daddy, but he’ll be resting in
the place he loved best and that’s what’s most important.
With Grandma and Papa T here, things will be much
smoother. They’ll help Mom with the arrangements and I’ll
have someone to talk to. None of this is easy, but it helps to have
family, someone who understands what I am feeling. Though,
I’m not really sure how I am feeling. It seems strange to say that.
Yes, I am sad, angry, frustrated, but it still seems unreal. I keep
thinking I’m going to wake up and Daddy’s going to be in the
kitchen making breakfast or outside filling one of our many
birdfeeders.
Papa T’s in the kitchen making sandwiches but I am not
hungry. “Jessica, please eat something,” Mom says. And before
I can say no, Grandma says, “You do need to eat. The next few
days are going to be long and taxing and we all need our
strength.”
Okay, so I eat my sandwich. It’s one thing to “work” Mom,
but Grandma. Forget it! She is the champion at getting people to
do things they do not want to do.
As I sit in the living room listening to Grandma and Mom talk
about the funeral service, I realize I do not want to hear this. It is
late so I say good night and head upstairs to my room.
Opening the window the cool night breeze hits me. The sky is
filled with stars; stars I normally make wishes on, but not
tonight. There’s only one thing I wish for and it won't come true.
“Do you have any answers for me? I sure hope someone up
there can tell me why my daddy’s gone.” I listen and listen but
nothing.
Looking at my bed I realize I am tired, but I don’t want to go
to sleep. What if I dream about last night?
Maybe I’ll call Mandy. It’s not that late. Wait. Mandy doesn’t
know. Oh, no. How do I tell my best friend about the accident?
Sure I want her support, but…
“Jess, I just heard. I am so sorry.” Mandy runs into my room
crying as she throws her arms around me.
“Mandy, hi.” Now I cry. “I…”
“I know. What can I do?”
“Nothing.”
“What happened?” Mandy says drying her eyes. “My Dad
said there was a bad accident.”
I look at her wondering how she knows. “Did my mom call
you?”
“No, it was in the newspaper this morning,” Mandy says.
Great, now everyone knows.
“I wanted to come by earlier but thought you and your mom
would like some time alone.”
Alone. I don’t like that word either. Though technically I’m
not alone. I still have Mom. Mom and I have always gotten along
really well. She’s the one who has taught me all about
photography. She likes to photograph people; I like to
photograph nature. With Mom by my side all will be well, in
time.
Mandy promises to be here for me, as much as I need her. I
give her a big hug before she goes home. I promise to call her
later, but right now I have to know what is happening over the
next few days.
~ CHAPTER 3 ~
JULY 15TH
Two days of listening to people tell me how sorry they are;
hugs from people I’ve never met; and the constant wondering as
to why this happened. The funeral home has become our new
home. I really don’t understand why we have to do this. Do
people really need to view the body? Would Daddy have
wanted people staring at him? I know I don’t. I don’t even know
if I can look at Daddy, but it’s hard not to when we’re standing
by his casket.
Every so often I move, trying to remain inconspicuous, but
Grandma Thornton always finds me. “Dear, I know it’s not easy,
but try. It will do you and your mom good,” she says.
Like Grandma really knows. I don’t mind talking to those
who were always visiting or calling. But all day today it’s been
strangers. People we haven’t seen or talked to in months, years,
are here expressing their sincerest sympathies. I find the whole
thing sickening. Why weren’t they more interested when
Daddy was alive? Doesn’t Grandma understand that I want
nothing to do with these people? I’m not mad at Grandma. She’s
experienced all of this before, so she knows what works and
what doesn’t. I have never known anyone who died, so none of
this funeral stuff makes sense.
Watching the people who are here, no one is comfortable.
They shift from one foot to the next. Women hold tight to their
purses while staring at their shoes. Men wipe their foreheads, or
look away when talking to my mom or grandma. So, why are
they here?
It’s like there are unwritten rules for a funeral. You have to be
sociable with strangers at a time you want to crawl into bed and
never get out.
Finally we’re back home. No more viewing hours because
tomorrow we bury Daddy. I really hate all of this. Mom is
talking to Grandma about tomorrow and I don’t want to hear
any of it. So, I go into the kitchen for a drink of water. I need time
to myself away from people and noise.
Soon Grandma joins me. “Jessica,” she says as she puts her
arm around me, “all will be back to normal soon. Trust me.”
Normal? How can she say that? Without Daddy’s laughter
and singing filling the big old house while he cooked or worked
on one of his many projects, nothing will be the same, or normal.
I nod just so Grandma doesn’t say anything else. But she
does. “Your Uncle Darryl and Aunt Betsy will be here early
tomorrow. Why don’t you go upstairs and try to rest?” She
kisses my forehead and I give her a big hug. I also say goodnight
to Mom and Papa T.
I lay in bed in the dark listening to the rain pelting against my
window. I do need sleep, but how can I when I don’t understand
why Daddy is gone? Does anybody have an answer for me? No
one yesterday or today has given me any answers.
Being alone is hard because my mind wonders about all that
happened and if I could have changed it. Tomorrow is going to
come too quickly. One last day with Daddy as we ride with him
to his boyhood home. It won’t be the same without his stories
that we heard hundreds of times. We laughed as we helped him
finish his stories. Those were the days. Those were the best days.
~ CHAPTER 4 ~
JULY 16TH
Seven a.m. Do I have to go? I keep asking myself, but the
answer’s always the same. Daddy would be disappointed if his
little girl wasn’t there to say good-bye and support Mom. Am I
strong enough to support myself? Will I ever find the answers I
need?
Looking out my window I see it’s still raining. Any other day
I’d wish for the rain to go and leave a topaz sky and bright
shining sun. Not today!
A gloomy, dreary day is perfect for burying someone. Uncle
Darryl and Aunt Betsy are here. I hear them downstairs. A
family who usually laughed and smiled is now solemn and
quiet. I wish we had spent more time with Darryl and Betsy, but
they live in Alaska, we live in Pennsylvania. Not just a drive
across town.
Oh my gosh! We were going to visit them next summer. All
Daddy talked about was seeing the Alaskan wilderness. We
were all psyched for the big adventure, even Mom, who was
going to get souvenirs and information for a class project for her
third grade class. Now I doubt we’ll make the trip. Sorry,
Daddy.
Enough, Jessica. Everything is going to be different now,
well, most things. You have to learn to accept that. Don’t keep
dwelling on everything Daddy won’t hear, see, or do; you’ll
drive yourself crazy. Yeah, easier said than done.
Deep breaths, Jessica. Take many deep breaths to calm
yourself. I look in the mirror and stare at myself. All the deep
breaths won’t relax you today, Jessica, because today is going to
be long and difficult.
“Jessica, are you almost ready? We have to leave in fifteen
minutes.”
“Okay, Mom. Coming.” Like I’m even dressed. Prolonging
getting dressed isn’t going to change anything, is it?
Sighing, I put on my black dress with a red rose appliqué on
the front. The only piece of black clothing I own. Another
unwritten rule. Everybody wears black to a funeral. Why?
Looking at myself in the mirror I realize why I hate this dress.
It’s ugly. I didn’t even want to buy this dress. I wanted the red
velvet dress, but Mom said no. Red wouldn’t have been
appropriate for today, anyway. Sometimes I hate Mom for
being right. After today this dress is joining my clothes from the
accident in the garbage, along with my patent leather shoes.
These shoes are tight and really hurt my feet. But they, too, are
the only black shoes I own. The only shoes I have right now that
fit are my tennis shoes and sandals. I don’t even have to ask
Mom. I already know the answer. So I’ll suffer through the day
with these shoes.
Trudging downstairs, I stop on the bottom step, gasping as I
see Uncle Darryl. He looks just like Daddy, except his hair is
light brown while Daddy’s was blond with reddish highlights.
This is harder than I imagined. How is Mom handling all this?
She looks sad, yet strong. I really don’t want to go, but how do
I not?
Uncle Darryl gives me a big bear hug, just like Daddy always
did. I want to stay here forever, but we have to leave. Aunt Betsy
kisses my cheek and hugs me.
Why can’t they be here under better circumstances? This isn’t
fair or right.
I take another deep breath as I grab my coat and umbrella. We
go outside and get into the hearse. Daddy’s in the back. Oh, how
I wish I could talk to him. There are so many things I never told
him. So many things he still had to teach me.
Life is so unfair. A man of 38 years—full of life, health,
compassion, and never doing wrong, is being put into the cold,
damp ground today. Can anyone tell me why?
If anyone up there is listening, can you please explain it?
Daddy wasn’t done living yet. He enjoyed this earth and all the
creatures, big and small. He never hurt another human being or
animal. He was always the first to help. So why my Daddy? Why
now?
Fiddling with the lock on the car door, I start breathing
harder. My face is hot and my ears are prickling. No, I didn’t
think anyone had an answer for me. See if I care… I stare out the
window in disgust.
It’s so quiet in the car. An eerie quiet. I don’t like it. Why
won’t someone say something? Anything. But no one does. We
don’t even look at each other.
We’re here. This is too weird and I don’t know what to do.
Slowly I get out of the car and walk towards the big hole that is
already dug. Scared, my knees begin to tremble and my
shoulders shake. We cannot put my Daddy in there. He liked the
sunshine, not dark places.
Whispering, in a shaky voice, I say, “Daddy, I wish there was
something I could do.”
Grandma puts her arm around me and tries to comfort me. It
helps, a little. Then the umbrella moves and rain drips down my
back. For once I don’t care.
“Amen.”
I look around and realize the minister’s finished. I didn’t hear
a single word he spoke. His words aren’t going to comfort me or
answer my questions.
What is that noise? What are the animals doing out in the
rain? I thought they hid when it rained. I close my eyes as I
realize they’re saying good-bye to their friend, my daddy.
Aunt Betsy sings “Rock of Ages” as the coffin is lowered into
the ground. I want to shout, “Stop. It’s a horrible mistake,” but
the words stick in my throat.
Mom throws dirt on the coffin and instructs me to do the
same. Mom’s handling this really well. I know it’s tearing her up
inside, but when this is over she’ll have her time to cry. Mom has
never liked showing her emotions in public. In some ways I
don’t blame her. I’m trying real hard to keep cool, but it’s hard.
I keep looking into the hole but Grandma leads me away. “It’s
time to go to the house and visit.”
Visit? Is this a party? I don’t understand why people have to
gather after a funeral. I don’t want to talk or visit.
If it weren’t raining I’d walk in the woods. It would be more
comforting than listening to “I’m so sorry,” or “If we can do
anything…”
How about leave me alone, I scream inside my head. New rules
need to be written about funerals. I’m not sure exactly what
they’d be, but I’ll come up with a few. I’ll write a book. Would
anyone read it? Probably not. Adults are so stuck in their ways.
I half-heartedly listen to people as I shake their hands and
nod when they talk. What are they saying? I don’t know. I don’t
care. Yes, I am being negative, but right now I want to crawl into
bed, curl into a ball, and cry. It would be nice if Mom joined me
and held me as we cry together. But that won’t happen for a
while. Grandma will never let me leave this soon.
The rain has stopped. Now’s my chance to go outside for a
few minutes. I’ll sneak out the kitchen door. Grandma won’t
miss me if she doesn’t know I left. The fresh clean air hits me and
it’s wonderful, almost as good as Grandma’s apple pie. I take a
deep breath to rid myself of the mixtures of perfume and
cologne from the stuffy old house. This is exactly what I need.
I walk towards the woods where Daddy is buried.
Hey, Daddy. Today stinks. Will I ever understand why this
happened? I don’t understand why all these strangers are standing
around looking dumb and trying to be sincere. They all want to do
something. Can I tell them to leave me alone? I smile thinking about
that.
If all funerals are like this, I am not going to another one. Why can’t
it just be family? This is not a joyous occasion to be celebrated with
friends and neighbors. Doesn’t anybody understand?
My best friend Mandy said when her grandfather died they had a
wake with singing and dancing. Why? Should people have fun when a
loved one dies?
Daddy, will I ever understand?
Listen to this. I overheard people say to Grandma and Papa T that
I will overcome this tragic event when I come to terms with it.
Who do these people think they are? No one knows what I’m feeling
or going through. Therefore, they shouldn’t be judging me on what I do
and don’t do. People need to mind their own businesses.
Come to terms with it. HA! When someone can give me a logical
explanation for why you are no longer here, then I’ll come to terms with
it.
I stay by Daddy’s grave awhile longer. It’s nice to be close to
him, to talk to him about my feelings. That’s what I’m going to
miss the most, talking to him. But I do have Mom and we have
had some great conversations in the past. Yes, somehow,
someway, Mom and I will survive.
Looks like rain. I place a kiss on my hand and touch the
marker. “Bye, Daddy. I’ll see you before we go home. I love
you.”
Made it back to the porch just as the downpour starts. I laugh
as I remember what Daddy used to say about rain. Angels tears
cleansing everyone and everything. Very appropriate for today.
Grandma’s peeking out the window and she sees me. She’s
waving for me to come inside. I do feel better now. Ready to face
anything that comes my way. Right.
~ CHAPTER 5 ~
JULY 16TH—NIGHT
I am glad we’re staying at Grandma’s tonight. I’m not ready
to say good-bye to anyone else yet. I love the squishy, queensized
bed Grandma always lets me sleep in when I visit. Even
though the bed swallows me I can’t sleep. Too many
unanswered questions. Too many emotions that I have never
dealt with before. But I know it’s late and I’m not going to bother
anyone who may be sleeping.
I snap my fingers. That’s it. Daddy always listened before, so
why not now? No, he won’t be able to answer me, but I can still
talk to him.
I crawl out of bed and quietly walk downstairs. Having
stayed here many times I know where to step so the stairs don’t
creak. Right now I do not want anyone waking up to see what
I’m going to do. They would think my idea’s crazy. Maybe in a
way it is, but this is something I have to do.
Finding paper and pen I sit at the kitchen table. Taking a deep
breath I start.
Dear Daddy,
I know this seems strange, but there are so many
things I want to tell you. How else can I except in a letter?
No, you won’t be able to read it, but I’m looking at this
letter more like a diary entry. At least people won’t think
I’m too strange because I won’t be talking to myself.
It’s still July 16th, but it is now nighttime. Today was a
long day. A very sad day. A day I should have never had
to go through. Will I ever know the reason why you left
us so early in life? I’ve tried talking to God, but he hasn’t
answered me yet.
I’m just glad the day is over and all the people are
gone. What could I say to them? Mom did really well;
despite the reason everyone was here at Grandma’s. She
thanked everyone for coming and said she hoped to hear
from them soon. Right now I want quiet. I’m tired of
having to talk to people I don’t know.
I overheard one of Grandma’s friends say you had a
unique way of looking at life. You were a young man
who was old in his thoughts and feelings. As if you lived
during the 1800’s and didn’t want to see progress destroy
the woods and homes to animals. Being here is the best
place for you, because you will be surrounded by nature
and everything that made you happy.
I agree with the woman and with you. While most of
my friends and classmates spend their free time
watching TV, or playing computer games, I like being
outside playing or walking in the woods. And I don’t
think there’s anything wrong with that. Thank you for
teaching me to love and respect nature.
This is actually very easy talking to you through a
letter. It would be nice if we could talk face-to-face, but
we both know that won’t happen. Enough of being sad
and feeling sorry for myself.
While I was outside today I listened to the creek
babbling in the background, and it sounded like a
musical. Your animal friends braved the rain and said
their good-byes to you. Strange, I know, but you always
told me that life is full of miracles and unique
experiences. Maybe this was one of them.
As I enjoyed the fresh air I remembered what you
told me about the different seasons. Summer is for the
trees and animals to bask in the warm glow of the sun,
stand tall and majestic against the ever-changing blue
of the sky, and to enjoy being alive. Autumn is
nature’s way of giving us a spectacular show, almost
like fireworks on the Fourth of July. Winter is a time
for the earth to quiet itself, begin a rejuvenation
process so it can be like new again. A time to say goodbye
until a new spring has arrived. Spring is nature’s
way of showing us that all is okay. There is life.
Funny how you died at a time of year that is all
about living and enjoying what we have been given. I
hope that even though you are not physically with us
that you will be with us spiritually. You were always
a protector, not only to Mom and me, but also to all
animals. I have lost count of the number of birds and
stray cats you fed and healed. Perhaps you’ll be our
guardian angel. I’ve asked and I’ll keep asking. Hope
my prayers are answered.
I do feel better having written you. Thank you for all
you taught me–caring for animals, taking care of
nature, how to enjoy all we’ve been given through all
seasons.
The wind just picked up and it reminded me of what
you said about rustling leaves. Angels are flying
above to watch and protect us.
Thank you for looking over us today. Will you
please keep watching over us? Help me to understand
why this happened. Keep me headed in the right
direction, because I want to be just like you, Daddy. I
don’t want to be afraid to look at life differently or be
afraid to help others. We all love and miss you.
Jessica
~ CHAPTER 6 ~
JULY 22ND
One week since we buried Daddy. The phone calls have
stopped and no one visits. It’s actually nice, but the quiet is eerie
sometimes. The worst part, Mom sleeps all day and night. I
know because I don’t sleep. Nightmares wake me up and the
visions never leave me alone.
I now know what people mean when they say, “I’m so tired
I can’t sleep.” It’s how I feel right now.
Each night for the past week I’ve snuck down the hall and
peeked inside Mom’s room. If she’s not asleep she’s crying.
When she is sleeping she’s mumbling and tossing and turning.
I want to go to her—crawl into bed with her, but until she asks
I don’t want to invite myself. She is Mom and I shouldn’t be
afraid to talk to her, tell her I need a hug, or hold her while she
cries, but I am. And I don’t know why?
Maybe we should have stayed at Grandma and Papa T’s
longer. They invited us to stay, but Mom said we needed to get
home, to start over. We got home and Mom went straight to bed
and hasn’t gotten out yet.
Maybe today will be the day.
I go downstairs hoping to find something to eat.
Looking in
the refrigerator I turn up my nose. Yuck!
Casseroles! Everyone
brought a casserole. Said it would be easier on us. So we don’t
have to cook or grocery shop, but what about our stomachs?
The refrigerator has been taken over like an alien invasion.
Tuna casseroles, beef and noodle casseroles, chicken and
broccoli casseroles, and some that I have no idea what is in them.
What sounds delicious is spaghetti with the infamous
Thornton sauce that is tangy with a hint of garlic, or thick, juicy
hamburgers loaded with tomatoes and onions. Daddy made
those meals to perfection.
I warm up some tuna noodle casserole and force each bite.
“Is there any left?” Mom says.
“Plenty.” I get Mom a bowl. It’s great seeing her out of bed.
“Do you want to do anything today?” I ask.
Mom shrugs, puts her bowl, half-eaten, in the sink, and then
goes upstairs.
Did I miss something? At least she got out of bed. It’s a start.
After washing the dishes I go upstairs to my room. The best
place in the house with its slanted roof and floor. Mom told
Daddy many times to fix the slanted floor, but he never got it
done. And that makes me happy.
Taking out my notebook I decide to write another letter to
Daddy.
Dear Daddy,
The house sure is quiet without you here. Mom
doesn’t talk much, not that I blame her. But I miss her. Is
it all right to tell her that? I’m afraid to talk to her. It’s so
strange; I’ve never been afraid to tell her anything.
Is it normal for everything to change after someone
dies? Why does it have to change? I know nothing will be
as it was before, but Mom and I can make life good for us
anyway—right?
Daddy, I could really use some help, some answers. Is
there anyway you can help? I’ll keep my eyes open for
signs, listen for those special words. But, please, don’t
take too long because you know I have no patience.
I love and miss you.
Jessica
~ CHAPTER 7 ~
JULY 25TH
Two days until my thirteenth birthday. This should be an
awesome birthday with a huge party with all my friends, but it
won’t. How can it be with all that has happened? Daddy was
going to make his infamous barbeque ribs and coleslaw and
Mom was going to bake a double-layer chocolate cake with
chocolate frosting. My mouth is already watering. But, I won’t
be eating any of that delicious food, which is all right, because I
don’t feel like celebrating. Even if I did, whom would I invite?
I haven’t talked to any of my friends, except Mandy, since
that night. I haven’t talked to her since the day of the funeral.
What do I say? How can we go back to the way things were
between us—sharing secrets about who we like, laughing,
listening to music? Would she feel like she had to make me
laugh or feel better?
I really don’t understand how I’m supposed to be feeling or
how I should talk to people. Do I talk about that night? If I do,
how much do I say? I think that’s why I’m afraid to talk to Mom.
What if she asks about the accident? Can I tell her what
happened? Yes, she has a right to know, but am I ready to talk
about it, and is she ready to hear about it?
Wow! At the time I need Mom and Mandy the most, I am too
scared to turn to them. Crazy!
Six a.m. Wow! So early when there’s nothing to do, no fun
place to go. I hate not sleeping well at night, because I have no
energy to do anything, but think. I love summer, but right now
summer stinks. Why can’t school start today? Anything to
distract me from thinking.
I push myself out of bed, getting stuck in the sheet hanging
off the side of my bed and stumbling over the blanket on the
floor. What a mess! All because I toss and turn. Just like Mom!
Looking in the mirror I laugh. Because the air is so hot
upstairs my hair is soaked and plastered to the side of my face.
Some of it is sticking out the side of my head. It’s rather funny.
I look like the bride of Frankenstein. It would make a cool
picture, but who will take one?
My stomach’s grumbling. The thought of eating another
casserole, especially for breakfast, makes me sick. Cold cereal
and buttered toast doesn’t sound appetizing either. Pancakes
with maple syrup and powdered sugar sounds delicious.
I run downstairs anxious to make breakfast. Something I
haven’t done for a while.
“What is all that racket?” Mom yells from the top of the stairs.
“I’m making pancakes. Would you like some?” I ask.
“No. Be quiet. I’m trying to sleep,” Mom growls.
Geez. What am I to do? Mom is not mom. It’s almost like she’s
been taken over by aliens and they are forcing her to sleep all
day and be grumpy when she’s not sleeping. I wish I knew what
to say or do to let her know I love her and need her. And for her
to know that I’m here for her whenever she needs someone to
talk to. But I don’t know how to approach her anymore. I sure
hope someone sends me some answers and soon.
Sitting in the kitchen alone is strange. The wooden cupboards
are the same, as well as the off-white appliances, but the oak
table for six seems huge with only me sitting here. I feel like Jack
eating at the giant’s table in Jack and the Beanstalk.
Even with Mom sitting at the table with me will it still seem
so big?
What I’ll miss the most is our conversations about anything
and nothing. Daddy sure knew how to liven up any
conversation. Most of the time we barely finished our meals
because Daddy had us laughing so much. I wish I had taped all
those conversations. Not so much to remember what he said but
to hear his voice again.
I force the last bite of pancake into my mouth. They were
good, but I hate eating alone with all these memories. Will the
memories ever be enjoyable again, or will there always be
sadness lingering in them? Will my questions and uncertainties
ever be answered?
It’s a gorgeous day today with the sun shining bright,
everything in full bloom, but I actually don’t feel like sitting
outside. I’ll go upstairs and listen for Mom to wake up. Maybe
today will be the day she’ll want to talk.
Dear Daddy,
As I sit here and wait for Mom to talk to me I’ll write
you a letter. I don’t like the idea of returning to school,
wondering what the kids will say or won’t say, but it
beats sitting here thinking and waiting for Mom. I hate to
disappoint you but Mom isn’t the same. She never gets
out of bed or gets dressed. When she talks to me it’s to tell
me to be quiet. I really don’t understand. I miss Mom and
I want her back, though she would make me give up my
really comfortable old shorts and tee shirts; the one’s she
threatened to turn into rags if she ever caught me
wearing them for anything except house cleaning or
painting. I live in these clothes now. I would give them
up in a second, though, to have Mom talk to me again. I
want us to be normal again.
Will we ever be the same? I guess I don’t see how we
can be without you being here, but please tell me I won’t
lose Mom too. It’s bad enough losing you. I can’t lose her
too. But what am I to do? I’m only thirteen (well, almost).
How am I supposed to have answers about dealing with
death when I don’t even know what I want to be when I
grow up?
Daddy, I really need some answers and fast. If you
can’t help will you send someone who can? Please.
It’s now ten p.m. and Mom never came to me. Oh
well. Maybe tomorrow. I can’t give up hope yet.
Thornton’s never give up. I love and miss you.
Jessica
~ CHAPTER 8 ~
JULY 26TH
Sunday morning. What should I do today? Normally Daddy
and I would sit outside enjoying the warm sunshine, talking
about animals, nature, and whatever else we wanted to talk
about. Daddy and I never ran out of things to talk about. But
now there’s no one to talk to. Mom’s still locked in her room.
Maybe I can talk her into going outside with me. It’s worth a
try. I dress in my comfortable clothes then walk to Mom’s room.
Peeking in I see she’s sleeping. I won’t disturb her, because she
was up late last night walking around. Nothing wrong with
going outside by myself.
Finally outside. Wow! This is awesome. Fresh, warm air,
chirping birds, and a sky that is three shades of blue ranging
from light blue to a deep, rich cobalt. That is my favorite color.
Why did I wait so long to come outside? I have been cooped
up in a hot, muggy house that is filled with so much silence it’s
deafening. It cannot be healthy for Mom or me. But how do I get
her outside? The fresh air would do wonders for her.
Looking around I see Mom’s pansies and peonies in full
bloom adding a pastel rainbow to our yard. Mom’s missing out
on so much by staying in the house. Does she realize that? What
does Mom think about all day and night? I wish she would talk
to me. I know in time we’ll be together, but how long do I have
to wait?
Enough dwelling on the bad stuff, Jessica. Enjoy the sunshine
and the outdoors. The birds are now singing and I hear the most
angelic choir I have ever heard. They remind me of the choir
singing “Silent Night” on Christmas Eve when only candlelight
illuminates the church. I could listen to them for hours.
This is relaxing, though I do miss Daddy and sharing this
time with him. Somehow, someway, Mom and I will start
sharing Sunday mornings together. We can’t give up all of the
things we used to do with Daddy.
Walking around the yard I decide to sit under the oak tree.
Mandy and I always sit here and talk or play cards. I should call
her and see if she wants to come over. No, bad idea. She’ll ask
questions; questions I’m not ready to answer.
Boy! Life sure is complicated and unfair and I’m only thirteen
(tomorrow I will be). Why did all this happen? It still makes no
sense why a man who was so young and so full of life and
compassion for others was taken from this earth.
Does anyone have the answers?
“Jess, are you out here?”
“Over here, Mom.” Cool, she’s come to talk.
“The preacher called and is coming over to talk. You will
have to come in and change your clothes. And, yes, I am going
to take a shower. I see the look.”
I should be more careful about the looks I give people. I really
don’t like the idea of the preacher coming to visit, but Mom is
out of bed and getting in the shower. Maybe this is the answer
I’ve been looking for. Cool! And she never said anything about
getting rid of my old clothes. Yes!
When the doorbell rings, Mom answers it. “Good afternoon,
Mrs. Thornton, Jessica.”
“Good afternoon, Reverend Smith. Please come in,” Mom
says.
Let’s just say I am embarrassed to have the preacher here. We
haven’t cleaned house in I don’t know how long. Hopefully he
won’t look too closely at the furniture or the stack of
newspapers laying on the coffee table. Looking at Mom I see
she’s embarrassed too.
“I know this is a difficult time for you, but know that God is
with you. Turn to Him and He will shower you with strength
and the will to live. That is what Derrick would have wanted,”
Reverend Smith says.
Okay, now I’m peeved. Who is this guy telling us what
Daddy would want? Yes, Daddy would want us to live and be
happy, but we know that. And if God is here for us now why
wasn’t He with Daddy the night of the accident? I’ll ask the
preacher, the man who seems to know everything.
“But he was, child. It was your Dad’s time to go. God was
with him every step of the way.”
Shaking my head I stare at this man. Whatever! Great, Mom
caught me giving the preacher those looks. I put a smile on my
face and pretend to listen. I don’t want to hear anything else he
has to say. He doesn’t have the answers. And I really hoped he
was the one who would help us.
When the preacher leaves I try to get Mom to eat something
but she says no. She’s too tired. “Why don’t we sit outside? It’s
a beautiful day. The fresh air will feel good.”
“Thanks, sweetie, but I’m going back upstairs. I have things
to think about and I need to do it alone. But you can go outside,
just stay close to the house, okay?”
Nodding I go back outside. The preacher’s cologne is still
lingering in our living room and I don’t much like the scent. I
know I’m being mean, but none of this is fair and his words are
not going to make Daddy come back. They don’t even help
lessen the pain. Will anything?
Now I don’t even feel like sitting outside. Why is it that every
time I think I’ve found an answer, I haven’t? Does anybody have
the answers I need? How long do I have to wait till life is a little
more normal?
I’ll go inside and write to Daddy. That always helps.
Dear Daddy,
I went outside today and how refreshing. It’s
amazing how stuffy and hot our house is. I opened the
windows, but it’s not helping much. The days and nights
are hot and muggy. Not that I’m complaining, but it
always seems worse when you’re just sitting around.
That’s why it was nice to get out today. Something
different, relaxing. Now if Mom would only try it. I know
that would be the changing point.
I’m trying really hard to be positive, but Mom is
locked away in her room, showing no signs of
improving. It’s hard not knowing what to do. I feel like
giving up, but I know that’s not the answer. Don’t worry,
Daddy, I’ll keep trying.
As I sat outside looking at Mom’s flowers, listening to
the birds sing, and looking at a beautiful blue sky, I
wondered if that’s what Heaven looks like. We spent
hours discussing it. You envisioned soft, velvety, green
grass, trees that always have leaves; flowers always in
bloom. Nothing wilts or dies. A very beautiful and
peaceful place to be.
I hope you were right and you are in a place that’s all
that and more.
Thanks for always being here for me. Love and miss
you.
Jessica
~ CHAPTER 9 ~
JULY 27TH
My thirteenth birthday. Do I feel older or different? No. How
does one celebrate a birthday when there’s no party or friends or
family to help you celebrate? This is a new experience for me. As
are many things that have happened over the past few weeks.
I won’t even have my favorite birthday dinner—barbeque
ribs with coleslaw and a huge chocolate cake. Sounds delicious,
but I’m not going to bake a cake for one. Anyway we don’t have
any cake mixes in the house. I already checked. And I will not
ask Mom to drive me to the store because I know she’ll say no.
Hardly seems fair to not celebrate my thirteenth birthday. I
remember Mandy’s party two months ago. There were five of us
girls from school and we stayed up all night laughing and
singing and dancing. We had pizza and chips and cake and ice
cream. I was the next to turn thirteen and we talked about my
party.
But things change quickly, sometimes too quickly.
It’s a gorgeous day–maybe I’ll go outside. Not like Mom will
miss me. She’s very good about staying hidden in her room.
Sometimes at night I hear her creeping down the hallway then
downstairs. But she’s never up very long. I wonder what she
does. I stay in my room so I don’t have to confront her. I want to
know what she’s thinking and feeling, but I’m afraid to know
the truth. It’s also scary realizing that at any minute she could
ask me about the accident, ask me how I’m doing. Am I ready to
answer those questions? No.
So how do I move on if I can’t let go of the past? Do I want to
let go? If I do let go then do I have to forget Daddy? All of these
questions and uncertainties are driving me crazy.
Outside again. The fresh air is nice. It gives me the chance to
get away from my thoughts. The house holds so many
memories that I find it hard to concentrate on anything but what
happened.
“Hi, Jessica,” Mandy says.
“Hi,” I say shocked she’s standing here in my backyard, yet
happy to see her.
“Happy Birthday! I hope you like this.”
Wow! is all I can think. I knew Mandy would not forget my
birthday, but with the events of the past weeks I’m surprised she
gave me a present. “Cool. I love it.” She bought me a picture
frame that says friends on it. I can’t wait to get a picture of
Mandy and me to put in this. “This is really nice. Thank you.”
“Sure. Can’t let my best friend’s birthday pass without giving
you a gift.” Then Mandy doesn’t say anything and starts looking
around.
I know what she’s thinking; what she wants to ask, but is
afraid to. “I’m doing okay. Some days are better than others.”
That’s enough. She doesn’t need to know that Mom is hidden in
her room, that I don’t sleep well. Maybe some day I can talk to
her about it, but not right now. I wish I could.
She’s my best
friend and I should be able to tell her anything, but it’s not easy
talking about Daddy’s death.
We have to brighten up our moods. It’s my birthday and I’m
going to have some fun. “So, Mandy, aren’t you leaving for
vacation soon?”
“Next week. Two weeks at the beach. I can’t wait. Are you
sure you don’t want to come along? You know you are more
than welcome.”
It does sound nice. A chance to go someplace different, see
new things, meet new people, try out my new camera I got for
Christmas, but I really need to stay here for Mom. I’d hate to not
be here when she’s ready to talk. And it could happen at any
time. “Thanks, but I’m going to have to pass this year.” I gulp
back my tears. She’s a great friend who’s trying her best to make
me feel better and I love her for it.
We sit outside and talk more. Mandy tells me about the
newest movies and music. It’s amazing how much happens in
two weeks when you don’t read the newspaper, turn on the
radio, or watch television. I sure have missed out on a lot. One
of these days, and I hope it’s soon, I’ll get back into the swing of
things (to use one of Daddy’s expressions).
After Mandy leaves I go inside hoping Mom’s downstairs
making supper. But she’s not. At least my birthday hasn’t been
a total flop. Looking at the picture frame again I get an idea.
There are old photographs in the desk drawer. Boy, I haven’t
looked at those in months.
Sitting in my favorite chair—the burgundy one with scrolled
arms and legs that overlooks the picture window, I begin
looking into the past. In those days we were happy. Every time
Daddy made a funny face Grandma took a picture. All of these
pictures are great. I need to frame some of these and put the rest
into a photo album.
This is the one I want in my room. Daddy and me in front of
Grandma and Papa T’s house. I was seven.
That’s the day Daddy and I took a walk in the woods and
Daddy let me lead the way. That was one of the best days.
Walking through the woods looking and listening to all the
different noises—animals, breaking branches as we stepped on
them, leaves rustling in the warm breeze. Neither of us said
anything; we let each other enjoy the peacefulness. That was one
of many things Daddy taught me. I hope I don’t forget any of his
lessons.
I take the pictures upstairs because I have a photo album and
a picture frame in my room. Some day Mom will enjoy seeing
these old photos. We can sit on the couch and laugh as we
remember all the fun times we shared.
I really like the picture of Daddy and me. It looks perfect
sitting on my nightstand. Now I can look at it before I go to bed
and when I wake up. A friendly face when I’m having a bad day
or night. Someone to comfort me when I’m feeling sad.
Looking in my closet for the photo album, I see why Mom has
been harping on me to clean it. What a mess! Do I have anything
better to do with my time? No. Could be interesting to see what
I find.
Three hours later and I have uncovered everything in my
closet. Amazing what I have found. A class picture from
kindergarten, the photo album, dolls, a football, old tennis shoes
that are definitely too small, and so many old clothes. Wonder if
Mom would mind if I donated them? I’ll ask her.
The best thing I found was one of my red ribbons. The match
to it was left in the woods at Papa T’s place the day Daddy and
I went walking in the woods and he let me lead. He told me to tie
it on a tree so I would know when we had safely made it back.
We returned safely, but I forgot to get the ribbon. That’s okay.
Hopefully an animal used it as part of a nest.
Now I am definitely hungry. All in all this has been a good
thirteenth birthday. A day in which I relived happy moments
from the past and I got to talk to my best friend. That was a
definite pick-me-up.
As I’m fixing a sandwich the phone rings. “Hi, Grandma,
Papa T.”
“Happy birthday, Jessica. We’d like to visit in a few days. Is
that all right?”
“Yes. I would love to see you.”
We talk longer which is fascinating. I love my grandparents
and all the stories they tell about the “good old days” and
Grandma’s songs. But most of all I love that they always know
the right thing to say and do. Must come with age. Maybe they
can help Mom when they are here, because I sure don’t have the
answers and haven’t found any yet.
Time for bed again. Days are so much easier because I can
find ways to keep busy, to keep from missing Daddy. But at
nighttime I wait for him to come into my room and kiss me good
night. It’s always a long wait. I know he won’t be coming, but it
doesn’t keep me from hoping that I’m still in a horrible
nightmare and I just need to wake up.
I look at the picture and see Daddy’s smiling face. In the
deepest part of my heart I know I’ll be fine and so will Mom.
What I don’t know is how long it will take. Maybe tomorrow
will be the day Mom reenters the world. All I can do is pray.
~ CHAPTER 10 ~
JULY 29TH
Mom’s worse. She never came out of her room for my
birthday, nor has she come out yet. I haven’t even heard the
shower, which means she’s lying in bed sweaty and feeling
miserable. It is so hot upstairs, since we do not have air
conditioning, and she stays in bed with the floral bedspread
pulled up to her chin. This is not healthy. She doesn’t eat
anymore, either. Why is she doing this to herself?
What can I do? I hate seeing her like this. I walk to her room
so I can spend time with her, ask her how she’s doing, if she
needs anything. I’m getting as bad as all those pesky neighbors
who stopped by after the funeral.
Through the crack in the door, I see her under the bedspread.
Her eyes are red and her skin pale. She looks skinny, too, more
so than usual. Mom always prided herself on how good of shape
she was in, but now she looks too thin and sickly.
It makes me shiver and I become nauseous when I look at her.
Doesn’t she realize what she’s doing to herself? Does she even
care?
If I knew what she was thinking maybe I could help. When I
knock on the door to see if she’s all right she tells me to go away.
Sometimes she doesn’t answer at all.
I want to barge in there, pull the covers off her, and scoot her
into the shower and make her stand underneath the water until
she wakes up. Yes, her eyes are open, but she’s not here. Maybe
she wishes she was with Daddy. I can understand her missing
him, because I do tremendously, but I can’t lose Mom too.
Again, I have to ask myself, what can I do? I’m only thirteen
years old, far from knowing how to handle a parent who has
refused to keep living.
When I need her the most she isn’t here for me. What can I do
to make her understand that we don’t have to talk? If she would
hold me or give me a hug, that would be great. She never gives
me the chance to tell her.
This is getting scary. I’m going to have to ask Grandma and
Papa T for help. They’ll know what to do. I don’t care if Mom
does get mad at me for talking to them. Mom doesn’t like to
involve others in family matters, but they are family. And I
don’t know whom else to turn to.
Confusing. Why is life so confusing? Will life always be this
complicated? I sure hope not. Too many rules about funerals,
but none about what to do afterwards.
Somebody has to help me, because I don’t have the answers.
I’ll write a letter to Daddy. Maybe that will help clear up some of
this confusion.
Dear Daddy,
Here we go again. Nobody knows that I write to you.
They wouldn’t understand. Heck, they’d probably send
me to an institution. Truthfully, except for all of my
unanswered questions that drive me crazy, I’m probably
saner than all the people who stopped by the funeral
home and Grandma’s house.
Maybe we’re all crazy. Does it really matter?
Daddy, we really do need you. I don’t know how
Mom and I will manage without you, though we have to
try. She’s locked herself in her room. What she does in
there all day I have no clue. I do know the television and
radio are never on.
She cries a lot. Many times I sit outside the door and
listen. That way I know she’s still breathing. Sometimes I
ask if she needs anything. The tears stop, she says no, and
then tells me to go about my business.
Who does she think I am—the maid? She’s irritating
the heck out of me. Daddy, I’m her daughter and I need
her. But she won’t let me in. You’ve got to help me. I feel
like I’m in the middle of Papa T’s pond treading water. I
can’t make it to shore because I’m too tired. No one’s
around to help so I keep treading hoping that someone
will arrive, and soon. So far, nothing. Is it worth it to keep
trying?
I know, Daddy. Thornton’s never give up, but I’m
tired.
Mandy, my best friend since the third grade, stopped
by the other day to give me my birthday present. It was a
picture frame. I enjoyed seeing her, but I can’t talk to her
about all this. She still has her dad so can she understand
what I’m feeling? Sometimes I find myself being angry
with her. I guess jealous would be a better word.
The day of the funeral when Mandy and her parents
finally left, Mandy waved to me, grabbed her dad’s hand,
looked at me again then hurried and looked away. That
made me jealous, because she was holding her father’s
hand, something I’ll never be able to do again.
But I know she’s still my best friend and it’s okay to be
jealous sometimes. But right now I need to worry about
Mom and how to get her back into the world. Do you
have any suggestions you could send my way?
I sure do miss you and hope that wherever you are it’s
peaceful and pretty. Please send me a sign soon as to how
to help Mom, or send some help. Either will be fine.
~ CHAPTER 11 ~
JULY 31ST
Three weeks exactly since the accident. Everything has
changed yet nothing has gotten better. I want my life to be
normal again. I know it can’t be the way it was, but it can’t stay
this way. Daddy is never coming home and we have to accept
that. No, we don’t have to like it, but we do have to move on. It’s
what Daddy would want.
Is it wrong for me to want to live again and have fun? Without
Daddy here, it doesn’t seem right or fair, but do I have to stop
living because Daddy did?
Whoa! Where did all these philosophical questions come
from? Oh, that weird dream I had last night. Not that I
remember what happened, but now I’m thinking about the
future. A future without Daddy. I really don’t like thinking
about it, but this is reality.
I’ll check on Mom then go outside. No answer, again. All she
does is grunt and grumble, showing me she wants nothing to do
with me. I hope that changes soon.
Warm sunshine and clear blue skies. This is exactly what I
need. Wow. I just realized it hasn’t rained since the day of the
funeral. We’re due for a big storm. It’s the way it works around
here.
What is that? Sounds like a screeching, screaming bird
getting ready to attack its prey. Running around to the front of
the house I see Billy, the boy I sometimes babysit, racing up and
down the street on his bike, his friends chasing him. They are
having the time of their lives. Like they have no cares or worries.
I was like that once. Enjoying life as much as I could. Nothing
stopped me from having a great time. I never wanted the day to
end. I remember prolonging going to bed so bad that it made
Mom so mad. Daddy laughed, saying I was just like him. That
usually got Mom laughing too. But then it was bedtime. To hear
Mom yell at me about bedtime or cleaning my room would be
fabulous. I want Mom back. I want us both to enjoy the days like
we used to. To not have so many worries. Will that time come
again?
I feel like an old woman in a young girl’s body. Too tired to
move and enjoy life. Too many worries and unanswered
questions. I want to be thirteen again. To run, play, ride my bike,
laugh in the wind. But how can I when I have to take care of
Mom and me? This isn’t fair, but how can I change it?
“Jessica Lynn Thornton, get inside now.”
Holy mackerel. Mom’s awake and out of bed and angry with
me. Cool. Though, what did I do?
“What is it, Mom?”
“What is this?” Mom waves the picture in front of my face.
“Where did you get it?” she yells while tapping her foot.
Gulping, because Mom only taps her foot when she is
furious, I think about how to tell her about the picture to calm
her. “I found it in the desk drawer with many other old pictures.
That day was a lot of fun and I wanted to frame this picture.”
“Oh no you don’t. There will be no pictures of your father on
display in this house. Do I make myself clear?”
“But, Mom. Please. It’s the only picture I want. I’ll keep it in
my drawer so you don’t have to see it.”
“No.” Mom starts walking away then stops.
“Mom, please.”
SLAP, right across the cheek. As Mom walks up the stairs
never looking at me I hear the breaking glass then the slamming
of her door.
What made Mom so mad? Why wouldn’t she want me to
have a picture of Daddy in my room?
My cheek stings. Wow. Mom has never slapped me before
and I hope it never happens again. Though, in a strange way I’m
glad it happened. Mom still cares and has feelings for me.
Maybe this is the start we’ve both been looking for.
I reclaim the picture and clean up the broken glass. I have
never seen Mom so angry. Oh, wait, yes I have. Mom and Daddy
were arguing over new furniture for the living room. Daddy
wanted the old look with antique furniture he had restored.
Mom wanted contemporary oversized furniture with glass top
tables.
Grandma and Papa T arrived and Daddy asked their opinion.
I thought Mom was going to go through the roof. There was
never a time I had seen Mom so mad. Her flaming, red face was
redder than the worst sunburn I ever had. And I swear her hair
was standing on end.
They worked it out by compromising–an oversized couch,
one glass top table, Daddy’s antique chair with scrolled arms
and burgundy cover, and the antique desk. People who visit
find it odd, but I like it. It’s a part of who we are.
We solved our problems as a family. Without Daddy we have
fallen apart and can’t seem to fix it. Mom’s the grown-up and
should have the answers, or at least some suggestions on how to
handle this crisis, but with each passing day I feel more like the
adult who’s caring for a sick child.
Taking a deep breath, I try to relax. Daddy always told me
that taking deep breaths helps you relax. It helps some, but it’s
no miracle cure. I have to call Grandma and Papa T. There’s no
one else who understands the situation. I sure hope they have
some answers.
I look at the picture of Daddy and me and it puts a smile on
my face. Is it wrong to smile and feel happy? I really want to be
happy again, to laugh, run, play, and watch movies with Mom.
Will that day ever come?
Dear Daddy,
I need help. Yes, I keep coming to you, but who else
am I to turn to? Tomorrow I’m going to call Grandma and
Papa T. Mom and I can’t keep going like this. At least
today she got out of bed and yelled at me for having a
picture of you sitting on my dresser. Strange. I know. She
still has feelings and that’s good to know. But her
behavior is out there. I’m embarrassed for anyone,
including Grandma and Papa T, to see Mom in this
condition.
A lady who did her best to look her best at all times
has let herself go. She’s a slob who has no desire to do
anything with her life or herself, let alone her only child.
I’m sorry, Daddy. These aren’t things I should be
saying, because it’s probably making you sad. It makes
me sad and angry. By writing my feelings down I’m
hoping to make sense of all that has happened and is
happening. Unfortunately it’s not working. I thought
writing down your feelings and talking about them was
supposed to make things better. But nothing has
changed. If anything it’s getting worse. I’m still treading
in the middle of Papa T’s pond and no one has come to
save me.
Please help me, Daddy. Help me find a way to get
Mom back. Love and miss you.
Jessica
~ CHAPTER 12 ~
AUGUST 1ST
Who’s ringing the doorbell at seven in the morning? I go
downstairs in my tee shirt and shorts, my hair a mess. Like I care
what I look like. “Grandma, Papa T. I was going to call you
today. Come in.”
This is strange. How did they know I needed them today?
“Would you like some breakfast?” Papa T asks then starts
making food before I answer. He knows me so well. He doesn’t
even ask what I want, he knows a ham and cheese omelet is my
favorite. And to top it off, they brought everything he needs to
make them. They think of everything.
“How are you?” Grandma asks me.
I really hate that question. When you’re fine it’s easy to
answer; any other time I don’t like it. How much should I tell
her?
“I don’t know.” I hug Grandma, because I don’t know where
to begin to tell her what all is going on. “Mom’s… well… Mom’s
not doing well. And I don’t know what to say or do to help her.
She actually slapped me for wanting a picture of Daddy. What’s
that about?”
“I can’t answer for her, Jessica. The only thing I can say is that
seeing pictures is making it harder for her to let go.”
“Let go?” I yell. Now I’m mad. My cheeks are getting hot and
I’m breathing through my nose. “Shouldn’t we remember
Daddy and all the fun times we shared? Keep him close to us in
our hearts and minds?”
Before Grandma or Papa T answer Mom stomps down the
steps. “Jessica, what are you doing down here? The noise level is
atrocious.” Mom takes a step back and swallows hard. “Oh,
hello Gwen, Charles. I didn’t know you were here.”
“Janet,” Grandma says while she hugs Mom.
Mom looks like a statue hugging Grandma. She’s not even
putting her arms around Grandma. She’s not my Mom.
“Janet, have some breakfast,” Papa T says while putting the
plates of food on the table.
Everything smells delicious, so much better than all those
casseroles we had to eat. They are finally gone. Yes!
“No thank you, Charles. I’m going upstairs now.”
“Janet, wait,” Grandma says. “We have to talk. Jessica says
you aren’t doing well. What can we do to help?”
“Help. I just lost my husband and you want to help. Can you
bring Derrick back? No, none of us can. That’s the only thing
that will help. All I want is to grieve. Am I not allowed to do
that?”
“Of course you are allowed, Janet, but Jessica needs to grieve
too. She also needs support. Have you forgotten her?”
Now I wish I would have kept my mouth shut. Mom’s got
that furious look again; her slate, blue eyes are telling me that
she is not happy I told Grandma about her. Well, somebody has
to. I need help.
“No, I have not forgotten I have a daughter, but this is
something I have to do alone.” Mom starts walking upstairs and
Grandma follows her. This is too much. I have to know what else
Grandma is going to say and Mom too. So I follow them.
Mom and Grandma are in Mom’s room and I’m sitting
outside trying to be quiet so no one knows I’m there.
“Janet, talk to me. I know this isn’t easy. It hasn’t been easy on
any of us. I cry almost every day, especially when I see Derrick’s
pictures. But it also helps to see those pictures to see how much
he enjoyed his life.”
“I see. Jessica told you I forbid her to have a picture of her
father on display in this house. I won’t allow it. Never.”
“Janet, I love you like a daughter, but you are being very
unreasonable. Jessica needs to hold on to those memories, to
remember her father and all the fun times they shared. Does it
really matter if she has a picture of him sitting on her dresser?”
“Yes. Not only did she share the fun times, but she was also
with him at the end. Why her and not me? I never got to hear his
voice again, never got to say good-bye and hear him say goodbye
to me. Why her?”
I don’t believe it. Mom hates me because I was with Dad that
night and not her. Maybe she wishes I was the one who had died
instead of Daddy.
Barging into the room, staring point blank at Mom I say, “Do
you wish it was me who had died instead of Daddy?” I glare at
her then turn on my heel and run downstairs never waiting for
her answer. I really don’t want to know, but I had to ask.
Papa T stops me before I run outside. “Sit down, child. Eat. It
will do you good.”
“Papa T, Mom wishes I had died.”
“She didn’t say that.” I look at him wondering how he knows.
“The walls are thin in this house. I heard everything. You never
gave your mother a chance to answer.”
“Like I really want to know the answer. I still don’t
understand about the picture. Why is she so against it? Even you
and Grandma still have Daddy’s pictures out.”
Papa T sits down and holds my hand. “My dear child. Some
people need to let go in order to move on. Right now your
mother doesn’t want to face the fact that your dad is no longer
with us. Therefore, she can’t let go to move on. Does that make
sense?”
“Not really, but I’ll believe you. I want to help Mom, but she
won’t let me. I need her too. I want her to put her arms around
me and tell me everything’s going to be okay, like she used to do
when I’d wake up from a bad dream. Only she doesn’t want me
around.”
Grandma is now downstairs and she leads me to the mirror in
the living room. “Look at yourself, dear.” Grandma places her
soft, crooked hands over my head and softly runs them down
my hair.
Now I understand. I look just like Daddy. The same
strawberry blond hair, blue eyes, and freckled nose.
Grandma and I cry while we hug. She smells like vanilla, as if
she’s been baking all morning. I wish she had brought apple pies
and peach cobblers. Those always cheer me up.
Grandma and I sit at the kitchen table and have a long talk.
“Normally, I wouldn’t burden such a young person with all of
this, but I feel it is in your best interest to know everything that
is happening.”
She continues. “Your mother is having a difficult time
dealing with your father’s death.” (She had to use that word,
didn’t she? That word is not in my vocabulary). “It hasn’t been
easy on any of us, but it has hit your mom especially hard. Why?
I’m not sure. Perhaps because you and he are her only family.
He was her best friend, spouse, and companion. It’s hard to lose
someone who is all of those.”
Grandma takes both of my hands and squeezes. “Because she
doesn’t want to let your father go, not truly accept that he isn’t
coming home, she can’t fully grieve. Therefore she can’t help
you deal with any of this. I know it isn’t easy, but give her time.
When you least expect it she’ll come to you with open arms and
the two of you will start healing together.”
Wiping the tears off my cheeks I ask Grandma, “Do you think
she wishes it were me instead of Daddy who died that night?”
“No, sweet child,” Grandma touches my cheek. “She’s angry
and frustrated, but not with you. She’s glad you are here, even
if she doesn’t show it.”
Grandma and Papa T leave a few hours later, right after
supper, which makes me sad and scared. With them around I
have someone to talk to. Now I’m alone again. I’ll go to my
favorite corner and sit in Daddy’s favorite chair, which is also
mine.
I love that it’s right by the picture window so I can look
outside. It’s still light outside and the neighborhood kids are
playing kickball in the yard across the street. I wish I could join
them; I love kickball, but I’m not in the mood tonight. I’ll watch
them having fun.
It’s sad that life has gone on without Daddy here to enjoy it.
Some days I feel that the world should have ended, but sitting
here today I realize that Daddy wouldn’t have wanted the
world to end. He enjoyed life too much—watching the animals
play, walking through the woods, and sitting outside listening
to the birds. He also loved kids and watching them have fun. He
wants us to keep enjoying all that’s here on earth, to keep living.
I wish Mom would remember many of the things Daddy
believed. It might help her start the healing process.
The chiming clock wakes me. Wow, it’s midnight. I was more
tired than I thought. Never did see who won the kickball game.
Oh well. I’ll head upstairs.
Pausing outside my room, I wonder if I should check on
Mom. No. She’ll come to me when she’s ready to talk. Sure
doesn’t seem right or fair, but what else am I to do?
I walk in my room and feel the cool breeze blowing in my
window. I wouldn’t be surprised if it rains tonight. Before I go to
bed I’ll write to Daddy.
Dear Daddy,
Thank you for sending Grandma and Papa T. You
had to be the one to let them know I needed help. They
came before I had a chance to call them. It was tough
hearing all the things Mom said. She’s having a really
hard time, harder than I ever imagined. Grandma told
me to be patient, that soon Mom would need me. How
long do I wait?
Daddy, she has let herself go. Doesn’t she care
anymore? That’s really sad.
I haven’t done much with myself, but I eat, shower,
and get fresh air. That’s what Mom needs. But how do I
get her to do those three simple things? Maybe an answer
will come in a dream.
All day long I thought about the 1890’s ice cream
parlor. Remember all the stories we made up about the
people in the photographs? Town looked different back
then and the people dressed differently, but it’s neat
seeing the pictures.
I now realize how important it is to have photos,
because then we can never forget how things were.
Daddy, I want Mom and me to do things like that
again. But right now she is in no condition to go
anywhere. Yes, it’s mean to say that, but Mom is not well.
Please help her see that she has to take care of herself;
that she has to come back to me. Please help me find the
strength to wait for her, but to also know when to step in
before it’s too late.
I know I’m asking a lot, but I really do need the help.
Thank you, Daddy. I love you.
~ CHAPTER 13 ~
AUGUST 1ST—LATE AT NIGHT
Turning out the light I hear the rumble. I knew we were going
to get a storm. If it rains too hard and blows, I’ll have to close my
window. Then my room will feel like an oven. Drat! Hopefully
it won’t come to that.
Crawling into bed I lie there staring at the ceiling, watching
the lightning light my entire room. My eyes keep closing.
A loud crash of thunder wakes me and in the flash of light I
see something.
“Daddy, is it really you?” I shake my head. “It can’t be you.
We buried you a few weeks ago.”
Rubbing my eyes, I look straight ahead and Daddy is
standing there. How? Why?
“Daddy, why are you here? I’m scared.”
“Don’t be scared, Jessie darling. You have asked for my help.
You also want to know what heaven looks like. All normal
questions and requests. All I can tell you is keep your eyes open.
Look all around you; listen to your heart. When you see it, you’ll
know.”
“What kind of help is that? Daddy, please…”
“Jessie, darling, please don’t cry. Some things you have to
find out for yourself. You can’t be told. Please try to
understand.”
I try reaching out to Daddy, to touch his hand, but my arms
won’t move. It’s as if they’re weighted down.
“Don’t try to move,” Daddy whispers. “I would love to give
you a big bear hug, but the rules don’t allow it.”
“It’s not fair, Daddy,” I scream while crying. “Why you? Why
is life so unfair?”
Chuckling, he says, “If you only knew how many people
have asked that same question. No one likes to lose loved ones.
But it happens. If people never died the earth would be overrun
and no one could survive.”
“But why so soon? You are so young, Daddy.”
“I was done with my work on earth. I’m needed in Heaven.”
“I need you. Mom needs you,” I say pouting and getting
angrier by the second. It still makes no sense.
“Jessie, I know you’re upset and no one blames you. I’m here
to tell you to look deep inside yourself. You have the strength to
go on—to help yourself and Mom through this hard time. Don’t
give up. Remember, Thornton’s are never…
“Quitters,” we say at the same time. Then Daddy leaves.
“Good-bye, Daddy,” I say softly as tears fall onto my already
wet cheeks.
I lie down and stare at the ceiling. The storm passes and now
all is quiet and dark. “What just happened?” I ask myself over
the next hour. More than anything I want to close my eyes and
sleep, but what if Daddy comes back? I don’t want to miss him.
“Thank you, Daddy, for coming to see me.” He looked
peaceful and happy; like he did when he was living here with us.
Even his voice sounded the same, happy and calm. What did he
say? I have to look deep inside and the strength is there to go on,
to help Mom and me. Sounds easy, but is it really?
It was great seeing Daddy, but in some ways I feel more
confused and anxious. Why are there no concrete answers on
how to handle the death of a loved one?
~ CHAPTER 14 ~
AUGUST 3RD
The sun shining in my room wakes me up, not that I slept well
last night. It still seems strange. Was Daddy actually in my room
talking to me, was it a dream, or was the lightning playing tricks
on me? I was really tired last night, so anything is possible.
Maybe it was one of those unique experiences Daddy often
talked about. It’s definitely not an event I’m sharing with
anyone. Who knows what they would think?
Heading to the kitchen for a bowl of cereal, I overhear Mom
on the phone with Grandma. Mom’s out of bed. Good sign. But
why is she talking to Grandma? I stop when I hear my name.
“Gwen, I don’t know what to do with her,” Mom says. “It’s
hard dealing with Derrick’s death. I know it’s been difficult on
Jessica, but what can I say to her? Every time I look at her I see
Derrick, and it’s tearing me apart.”
My heart breaks in two. I had no clue it was this difficult for
her. I should have gone to Grandma and Papa T’s days, even
weeks ago. How was I supposed to know? Mom never even
gave me a clue. Maybe she did and I never wanted to admit it.
Maybe that’s why she’s been locked up in her room, so she
doesn’t have to look at me.
Well, this is something I can fix. Up the stairs I go to my room
to pack my suitcase. I take the picture of Daddy and me and all
the letters I have written so far. I can’t have Mom finding them,
not that she would be looking through my desk. But I’m not
taking any chances.
Tears fall into my suitcase onto the letters. I hope my going
away helps Mom. I still don’t like the idea of leaving her alone,
but if this is what she wants then it’s what she’ll get. I guess what
I want doesn’t matter any more, or at least not right now.
Mom sees me zip the bag and says, “I see you overheard my
telephone conversation. I hope you understand that I’m not
trying to hurt you. Until my feelings and thoughts are worked
out, I can’t help you. Please give me time, Jessica. Then I can help
you.”
“It’s okay, Mom. I understand perfectly,” I say rather nasty.
“Grandma and Papa T will be more than glad to have me
around. I don’t make things difficult on them.”
I walk out of my room, purposely walking around Mom so I
don’t touch her. “I’ll be leaving now. I’m taking the bus, so if you
could please call them and let them know to pick me up, I’d
appreciate it. If it’s too much trouble then I’ll call them when I
arrive. Bye.”
I practically run to the bus station. A trip that normally takes
half an hour takes me only twenty minutes. I’m at the bus
station. My clothes are soaked clean through with sweat. It’s
blessed hot outside (to use one of Daddy’s favorite expressions).
At least the station is air-conditioned and I have change for a
cold soda.
After gulping the soda I take a deep breath. What I said to
Mom was mean and uncalled for; like driving a stake through
her heart. But it’s not fair. We should be helping each other
through these difficult times–not by ourselves.
The bus doesn’t leave for twenty minutes. I have time to write
to Daddy.
Dear Daddy,
You told me I have strength to handle everything that
has been thrown my way, but right now I can’t find it. I’m
going to the farm because I make things difficult on
Mom. I overheard her talking to Grandma. And, no, I did
not misunderstand what Mom said.
Please don’t be mad at me, Daddy. I need time away
too, because Mom’s irritating me. That is mean to say, I
know, but in time it will be easier to deal with her.
I’m not quitting; just taking a time out.
By being apart, I can begin to figure out my feelings,
find the strength to deal with all that has happened. Give
me time, Daddy. Please give me time and strength to deal
with Mom when she is ready for me.
I love you, Daddy. Thank you for all you’ve done and
taught me.
The bus ride to Grover’s Mill Station is quiet and peaceful
because there are only ten of us on board. And we are all loners.
This will give me time to think about all I want to do at the farm.
The first thing I’m going to do is visit Daddy, and then I’m
going to take a walk in the woods. Even though it’s hot, the trees
will provide shade from the overbearing sun.
It’s nice going to a place where I can be outside all the time
looking at the vibrant, blue sky and smiling sun. I like being
outside at home, but it’s not the same when you’re looking at
houses and not woods. At home I never wanted to be outside too
long in case Mom wanted to talk.
The funny thing is she wants me away from her. I wish I had
known. This is hard, but Grandma and Papa T will make
everything right again. They always do.
We’re pulling into the station. I see Grandma and Papa T
waiting for me. Mom called them. Deep down I knew she
wouldn’t let me down.
~ CHAPTER 15 ~
AUGUST 4TH
We’re here at the farmhouse. Everything looks the same. All
white, two-story house with green shutters that do work,
though Grandma says they never close them.
The porch swing is waiting for me. I remember all the cool
summer evenings we spent on the porch swing, eating
homemade ice cream, and listening to Grandma sing songs
from the olden days. I hope she does that while I’m here. Her
voice is so heavenly, yet she can belt out a tune. My favorite is
“Fly Me To The Moon.”
“Jessica, what would you like for lunch?” Grandma asks me.
“Nothing. I’m not hungry right now. What I’d like to do is
visit Daddy. Is that okay?”
“Of course it is,” Papa T says as he squeezes my shoulder.
“Hi, Daddy. I’m here. I’m giving Mom the time and space she
wants. It’s not what I want, but if it brings Mom back to me then
I’m all right with it. Grandma’s keeping your grave filled with
fresh flowers from her garden–pansies and marigolds, your
favorites. My favorites are her miniature roses, which she never
lets me touch. We both know those are her babies and she’s
overly protective of them. Kind of like a mama bear with her
bear cubs. I don’t know how long I’ll be here, but I’ll visit often.”
Looking toward the house I see Grandma’s prize-winning
flowers. They fill the yard with color and beauty. It’s like
looking at an unwound roll of wrapping paper that is green
with different colored polka dots.
It is so peaceful here and the air is fresh. No car fumes, gas
stations, or pollution making me cough. Only fresh air from the
trees and plants. Now I fully understand why Daddy enjoyed
living here. This is the best place for him and me.
I forgot how much I like it here. The last time I was here was
only three weeks ago, but it was a very sad and difficult time for
us all. Now, it’s still difficult, but I can find the peace and
happiness that surrounds this place. And all the love that is here.
Yes, this is definitely where I need to be right now. Here is where
I will find the answers and the help I need. I hope.
As I look to the woods I hear them calling me. But can I do it
alone? Only one way to find out, but first I better tell Grandma
so she doesn’t think I’ve disappeared. I run to the flower garden
where Grandma is working. “Grandma, is it all right if I take a
walk in the woods?”
“Would you like me or Papa T to come along? I can finish
weeding my flowerbeds later.”
“Thanks, but not this time. I don’t know why but I feel like
this is something I have to do alone.”
“Go ahead. I understand. When you come back we’ll eat
supper. Take your time, but be careful.”
I give Grandma a big hug and not only does she smell of
earth, but she also smells like vanilla. She baked an apple pie
earlier. I can’t wait until supper.
Stopping at the “gate” to the woods I take a deep breath. You
can do this, Jessica. How many times have you been in these
woods? Too many to count. But, Daddy was always with me. I
laugh. He is still with me.
The large intimidating trees, completely filled with their
green leaves, keep the hot sun off of me. Bushy ferns shroud the
paths. A couple of chipmunks scurry past me, chattering as if
they are laughing at me, then hide beneath a branch of a fern.
What characters!
As I bend to touch one of the soft ferns I see something lying
there. No way, it can’t be. It’s my red ribbon. The same one I tied
around the tree seven years ago. How is that possible? Sure it’s
faded and frayed but it’s still here. Wow! Crazy!
As I hold it in my hands I think about keeping it. A reminder
of the day Daddy and I had spent together years ago. Smiling I
lay it on the ground, knowing a bird will make better use of it in
decorating her home. The memory is inside my heart and head;
I don’t need the ribbon to remind me.
The animals begin serenading me. Chattering chipmunks
and squirrels provide the melody while the crows with their
loud, monotonous caws and the grunting deer chime in on the
chorus. At one time the noise would have scared me, but not
today. Today I find it comforting and peaceful.
A noise brings me back to reality. Two squirrels are flying
limb-to-limb, putting on an acrobatic show. The sun is getting
into the act playing hide and seek with the squirrels.
It reminds me of the day Daddy and I went to the circus. We
were first in line to buy tickets. Mom called us a bunch of kids
who would never grow up. I think Mom wanted to go but was
embarrassed to tell us. Of course, had she gone I wouldn’t have
been able to eat hot dogs, popcorn, and two bags of cotton
candy. Surprisingly, I never got sick from all that junk food. That
day was a blast watching the clowns driving their funny cars,
the tightrope walkers, the man being shot out of a cannon. But
really the best part of the day was spending it with Daddy and
hearing him laugh.
When the squirrels finish their act I venture further down the
path. It is chillier—more trees and moss covering the ground. It
looks like a blanket of green velvet—soft and plush. It’s
tempting to lie down and take a nap, but something’s urging me
on. Some unexplained force.
It’s a barrier of large, towering trees. These are the ones
Daddy said were like a moat surrounding a castle. Darn it.
Daddy said someday he was going to show me what lay beyond
those trees, but I always said no. I thought we had all the time in
the world to see what was hiding behind that fortress, so I kept
putting it off.
Why? Fear of being disappointed. I was afraid that what lie
beyond those trees would be nothing special or spectacular.
And now I have to find out alone. Why didn’t I say yes to Daddy
when I had the chance?
I walk slowly and step over many branches that cover the
path. Reaching the barrier I stop. I want to know what is back
there, but I’m afraid of it being spectacular and not having
anyone to share it with. Amazing how our fears change due to
the changing circumstances of everyday life.
Taking a deep breath, I swear I hear my name. Looking
around I see no one. So I move forward. Wow! It’s a clearing, like
a pasture. Three deer stand in front of me, never hesitating for a
minute. It’s a mama and her two babies.
This is more amazing than I ever imagined. “Daddy, do you
see the deer?” I look to my right then my left but he’s not there.
Tears stream down my cheeks because I have no one to share
this beautiful moment with. Life sure is unfair.
I take another look, smile, then head back towards
Grandma’s house. I keep looking behind me because someone’s
here. Only there’s not another person around. What’s going on?
This is really strange. At no other time when I was in the woods
did I feel this presence. It’s not scary; it’s rather comforting,
whatever this presence is.
Wait a minute. I have felt this presence before. Laughing and
crying I realize that Daddy is with me and has been the whole
time I was walking in the woods. He helped me find that
clearing so I could experience the magic of it. No wonder it
didn’t scare me.
When I reach Daddy’s grave I kneel and place my hand on the
marker. “Thank you, Daddy, for everything you gave me today.
It is a gift I will never forget. You knew the clearing would not
disappoint me, but you also knew that I would find it when I
was ready to see it. But why did it have to be when you weren’t
physically here to see it with me?
“I guess there are going to be many things in life I will
experience alone, but I hope you are always with me. Thank you
again. I love you and miss you.”
As Grandma promised supper is on the grill. Thick, juicy
hamburgers grilled to perfection, like only Papa T knows how to
do.
“You seem in better spirits. Take it your walk went well,”
Papa T says.
“It was amazing. I always feel so at home in the woods.”
“So do I.”
Taking that first bite brings back memories of spending time
here, eating Papa T’s burgers and ribs and anything else he can
grill. Everything he makes is delicious, but the burgers are the
ultimate. Loaded with tomatoes and onions from the garden
and lots of ketchup. It doesn’t get any better. And Grandma’s
apple pie for dessert. All that walking and fresh air awakened
my taste buds. I can’t stop at one piece. I have to have two pieces
of pie. Papa T laughs as he digs into his second piece.
The dishes are done and we sit outside listening to the tree
frogs and watching the lightening bugs chase each other.
“Would you like a jar so you can catch some?” Grandma asks
me.
“Not tonight. It feels good to sit and relax. It seems all I do
anymore is sit, but it’s not relaxing. Too much going on, yet
nothing’s happening, if you know what I mean.”
Grandma laughs. “Just like your father.” Grandma takes my
hand and squeezes it. “Give her time, sweetie. Your mom will
come around. She may never be the same mom you remember,
but she’ll be Mom. Are you the same person you were a month
ago?”
Shaking my head I realize Grandma’s right. None of us are
the same, yet we have to find a way to keep going. To keep
Daddy’s memory alive, to follow in his footsteps, if that’s the
path we choose to follow. It still seems like a bad dream we are
all in, that one day we’ll wake up and Daddy will walk through
the door and say, “Hello. How is everybody?”
Grandma and Papa T head inside but I want to spend a few
more minutes outside. There’s no noise, just peaceful sounds of
tree frogs and crickets and a calm wind. It’s nice not hearing cars
and trucks and fire whistles. I should sleep like a baby tonight.
This is definitely what Mom needs too. This place will do her
good, but how do I get her here? She doesn’t want to be around
me right now. Hopefully soon, real soon.
Before going inside I look towards Daddy’s grave. “Good
night, Daddy. I love you.”
~ CHAPTER 16 ~
AUGUST 5TH
As I stretch I feel the warm sunshine on my face. I love that
this room faces east. Waking up to the morning sun is awesome.
For the first time in a long time I slept really well. I knew it
would be great for me being here.
Smelling bacon and eggs, I put on shorts and a tee shirt and
run downstairs. “Good morning, Papa T.”
“Good morning, sunshine. How did you sleep?” he asks as he
hands me a plate of food.
“It was the first night in a long time that I didn’t have any bad
dreams. I don’t know if it’s the fresh air or the squishy bed.
Maybe both.” Before I can eat Papa T asks more questions.
“What kind of bad dreams? Are they about the accident?”
“I’m not sure. When I’m dreaming none of it makes sense,
and when I wake up I don’t remember any of it. They probably
are about the accident even if I don’t actually see the accident.
Who knows. I’m just glad I didn’t have another one. Maybe
they’re done for good.”
“Child, why didn’t you tell me about your dreams? I could
have helped,” Grandma says while touching my shoulders.
Here we go again. I love Grandma but she worries too much.
“Grandma, as I told Papa T, I don’t remember anything that
happens therefore how can I tell you about them?”
“Yes, I know, but next time you have a bad dream, regardless
of whether you remember it or not, please tell me. I worry about
you and want to take care of you and protect you.”
Squeezing Grandma’s hands, I laugh. “I love you too,
Grandma. Thank you for caring.”
Grandma wipes tears from her eyes then tells me to eat before
my eggs get cold. Saluting her, I laugh and eat my eggs. I see
Papa T out of the corner of my eye looking at me and laughing.
What a threesome we are! It doesn’t get any better.
We are now outside picking beans and cucumbers. Grandma
promises to make three bean salad and cucumber sandwiches
for supper. She’s the best. I love it here. I am so glad they moved
here and have never left.
Looking around, seeing the woods and flowers, I realize I
could live here forever. Sure I couldn’t get involved in afterschool
activities, like photography and sports, but I could do all
that here. I love photographing wildlife and nature. What better
place to do that than here with the woods as your backyard.
Grandma and Papa T wouldn’t mind. I know they wouldn’t.
But I would have to give up the house where I lived with
Daddy. Every corner of the house is filled with a memory of
Daddy—the woodwork, the furniture, his voice in the walls and
floor. I would miss being in that house; the house we made a
home.
“Grandma, why didn’t you and Papa T move to Florida with
your friends?”
“We like it here,” Grandma says while pulling beans.
Papa T chimes in, “We like the changing seasons. We like
gardening and walking through the woods, woods we know are
safe. But most of all we like our house. We have made so many
memories here that to sell it would be impossible. How do you
put a price on memories?”
It’s true. I doubt Mom and I will ever sell our house. No
matter how painful it is now with all the memories of Daddy,
some day we’ll be glad those memories are there. It makes me
sad now, but some day it will make me smile.
After taking the vegetables inside we sit on the porch sipping
ice-cold lemonade—fresh-squeezed, not the powdery stuff that
comes in a can. “Grandma, you have to give me the recipe. I love
your lemonade. We only ever have the powdered mix at home.
Mom doesn’t like to make real lemonade, and now that I think
about it I don’t think Daddy ever drank it.”
“Your father didn’t like lemonade,” Grandma said.
“He didn’t?” I raise my eyebrows in puzzlement.
“He said it wasn’t sweet enough. So he drank iced tea with
too much sugar. I don’t recall the exact amount of sugar he used,
but it was over four teaspoons.”
Gulping, I try to imagine drinking anything so sweet.
Grandma continues the story in her sweet angelic voice, with
a hint of a devilish laugh. “I’m going to tell you something your
father would not want me telling you.”
This should be good. I never knew Daddy to have secrets.
“Since your father liked sweet, sugary foods and drinks, I
called him my cookie boy.”
“Cookie boy?” When Grandma nods I laugh and laugh. My
sides are hurting from laughing so much. I have never heard a
funnier nickname. “Daddy never told me that. Of course, I
know why. He knows I would’ve used it when needed. Thank
you for telling me, Grandma. But I have to ask, why?”
“There are many things you may not know about your dad
and I want you to know everything, so when you have children
you can tell them all about their grandfather.”
Hugging Grandma, I hear Papa T’s bass voice bellowing,
“Last one to the pond is a rotten egg.”
He flies out of his chair and runs into the woods. I follow right
behind. No way am I being called a rotten egg for the rest of the
day, and Papa T will if I don’t beat him.
Passing him I jump right into the pond with no hesitation.
“Whoopee! This is great. Aren’t you coming in?” I yell.
“Heaven’s no child,” Papa T says, laughing. “I like to soak my
feet, not my entire body. And I hope you have another pair of
shoes.”
Why is it that all grown-ups are concerned about having
extra clothes and shoes? “I do, but it doesn’t matter. With as hot
as it is my shoes will dry in no time.”
Looking around I wonder where Grandma is. “Papa T, is it
possible Grandma’s lost?”
Papa T laughs like Santa Claus—from his belly. “Not your
Grandma. She knows these woods like the back of her hands. In
fact she knows these woods better than I do, and I spend every
day walking in them.”
“Wow. I never knew that about Grandma.” It’s amazing how
much you learn about people by living with them, spending
time with them, and watching them. Wonder how much else I’m
going to learn while I’m here. Wonder how long I’ll be here. Oh
my gosh! School starts in three weeks. I haven’t even shopped
for school clothes yet. Will Mom take me shopping? Will Mom
teach this year, or will she take off?
How can she teach? She can’t even handle me right now. Of
course, the students are more like strangers. But she has never
treated any of her students like strangers. Has she even thought
about it? I didn’t realize how much has changed and how much
more can change.
Here am I in Papa T’s pond doing the backstroke looking at
the crystal blue sky and fluffy clouds that look like cotton balls.
Yet I feel more like I’m treading water and no one is here to help
me. How could I turn such an enjoyable moment into one of
questions and fears?
Grandma arrives carrying a large picnic basket. Opening it
she takes out lemonade and oatmeal cookies, which she baked
this morning. That lady thinks of everything.
Papa T said, “That’s our girl. Always thinking about the
important things in life.”
After drinking a glass of lemonade and eating two cookies I
float in the pond some more. Should I talk to Grandma and Papa
T about my newest concerns? They are great listeners and they
may even have answers.
Before I get the chance to ask it’s time to head back to the
house for supper. Even though Grandma made my favorites I
don’t enjoy them. How could I have forgotten about school?
Crazy!
As I sit on the edge of the bed brushing my hair, getting ready
for bed, I see a picture on the nightstand. Picking up the picture
I realize I’ve never seen this picture before. There’s a little boy
with blue eyes, short blond hair, and millions of freckles. The
way I look right now.
I hold the picture up to my face and stare into the mirror. It’s
Daddy. We look a lot alike. My hands start trembling so I put the
picture down. Don’t want to drop this and break it.
Looking at the picture I see the infamous Thornton smile, the
one Daddy always wore when he was thinking about the future.
Even though he had high hopes and dreams for the future, he
never forgot about enjoying today.
Dear Daddy,
Today was wonderful, yet confusing. Now I’m
thinking about school starting and wondering if Mom
will teach this year. I know we have to keep living and
look towards tomorrow, but it leaves so many
unanswered questions and it scares me. Daddy, you
taught me wonderful things about life and handling fear
and disappointment, but this is more than I ever
bargained for. I always thought you would be beside me
holding my hand, giving me a hug, or sharing words of
encouragement. I need that again.
You always told me to look at both sides of the picture
before making a decision. I should be using that advice
when it comes to Mom, but it’s hard. I’m here with
Grandma and Papa T and it is helping. It would be great
if Mom joined us. She needs a different environment, not
that this one is neutral, you did grow up here and we
visited here many times as a family, but it’s not our
house, the house you and Mom bought and raised me in.
And I know the fresh air would do wonders for her. It has
for me. A weight has been lifted off my shoulders, but
sadness is still in my heart. Having Mom around will
help ease the pain and loneliness.
Can you send her a message like you did for me and
urge her to come here, to find a way to live again? She
always did listen to you. Please help us again, Daddy.
~ CHAPTER 17 ~
AUGUST 5TH—NIGHT
“Jessica, are you all right?”
“I’m not sure,” I say to Grandma. “Did I just jump into the
pond?” My nightshirt is soaked with sweat and tears that are
rolling down my cheeks. My hair is soaked too.
“Was it one of those dreams?”
Nodding, I close my eyes trying to see the dream. “It was the
night of the crash and I’m holding Daddy. Only when I look at
his face I’m seeing my face. I don’t remember anything else.”
Grandma hugs me and says comforting words, but it doesn’t
help. What does the dream mean? Normally I don’t care about
my dreams, but this one is too spooky and eerie to not want to
know what it means. “Grandma, do you have any idea what it
means?”
“I’m no expert on dreams, but I’d have to say it’s your
conscience trying to help you figure out what happened that
night and why it happened. As for seeing your face and not your
dad’s, maybe that’s showing you that you do have the answers.
You just haven’t looked far enough inside yourself.”
Right, she’s no expert. Why are grandmas always right? I
may never know why the accident happened, but I know what
I have to do. Do I have the courage to do it? And how do I get
Mom to listen?
Grandma rocks me back to sleep.
AUGUST 6TH
Heading downstairs with the rising sun I hear Grandma on
the phone. “Janet, Jessica’s doing great, but last night she had a
nightmare that involved the accident. Yes, I was able to comfort
her, but she’s far from dealing with her grief and anger. Janet, I
know you’re upset, but it’s time you and Jessica deal with this
together.”
I run upstairs. There’s only one thing to do, write to Daddy.
Dear Daddy,
Why did Grandma call Mom? Because Grandma
thinks it’s the right thing. There’s no arguing with the
woman, because she always wins, you know that.
Sometimes I find it annoying. But I love her and hope to
be just like her when I’m her age—full of life, energy, and
spunk. (I overheard Papa T call her his spunky girl
yesterday at the pond. She pretended to be mad, but I
saw her crystal, blue eyes twinkle).
Daddy, how am I supposed to talk to Mom about
death, especially yours? Death, I said I would never use
the word, but it’s the only word to use.
I can’t avoid talking to her about you forever. I’m
scared, Daddy. I am the only one who knows what
happened that night. What if Mom doesn’t want to hear
it? Worse yet, what if she does? Can I tell her? Maybe it
would do us all good to hear about it. I have told no one,
not even the police. Another eyewitness told them about
the accident and they were nice enough to not ask me
questions.
I want Mom to show up, because I miss her and love
her. We don’t always agree, but she is Mom and I love her
with all my heart. Even though she hurt me by not
wanting me around I know she didn’t do it intentionally.
She’s hurting too, but I wish we could grieve together
then start anew.
It sounds horrible to write that to you, because it
means you aren’t coming back. But by starting anew it
doesn’t mean we’ll forget you.
But, am I really ready to answer Mom’s questions?
You sent me a sign to let me know that you’re where
you’re supposed to be, though I still don’t fully
understand it. One last time, could you help me with
Mom? Send a sign to let me know that all will be right
again between the two of us.
Love you,
Jessica
“Jessica, could you please come downstairs?” Grandma
hollers.
“Coming.” I put the letter away and go downstairs. I know
what she’s going to say before she even says it.
“I talked with your Mom and she’s coming tomorrow. It’s
time the two of you talk and start living again. You took the first
step by coming here. Know that we love you and love having
you here. Your laughter, the singing we do, your youthfulness
has brightened our days and our hearts. You are helping us heal
too, but you can’t hide here forever. Just as your mom cannot
stay hidden in her room forever.
“The other day you were so happy, yet so sad and confused.
You’re just like your father, never able to hide your emotions. I
wasn’t sure what was bothering you and then I looked at the
calendar and realized you were probably thinking about
school.”
Boy, this lady knows everything. “Grandma, I’m not worried
about school because Mandy and I will hang out and she’ll help
me through any rough times. It will be strange, though, because
everyone will know. Will they stare at me, ask questions about
the accident? Will they still like me or just feel sorry for me?
What worries me the most is Mom and if she’ll return to
teaching. If she doesn’t what will she do all day at home by
herself. I don’t like that idea at all. It scares me. But will she be
able to handle the pressures of teaching this soon after the
accident?”
Grandma smiles at me. “Your father taught you well. Your
concern for others above yourself is quite remarkable. Hold on
to it. Never let it go. As for your mother, only she can answer
your questions. And you’ll get your chance tomorrow or the
next day.”
“Is it all right that I’m nervous about seeing Mom?”
“Yes, sweetie. I bet your mom is as nervous as you are.”
Grandma heads inside, leaving me to my thoughts.
Somehow knowing that makes me feel better. But it doesn’t
change the fact that Mom and me have a lot to talk about. Where
do I start? Maybe it’s best to let Mom lead the way, let her ask the
questions. I don’t want to tell her more than she’s ready to hear.
Though none of it is going to be easy to talk about.
But it will be nice seeing Mom. It’s been less than a week, but
it feels like a lifetime. So much has changed for me and it’s been
positive. Hopefully the past few days have been easier for Mom
and she’s now ready to include me in her life. I’ll know
tomorrow.
~ CHAPTER 18 ~
AUGUST 7TH
I hear Mom’s car driving up the gravel road. I’m excited to
see her, yet scared. Should I run downstairs or should I give
Mom time to adjust being here? She may want to visit Daddy’s
grave first. More questions. Will they ever stop?
I watch Mom as she slowly gets out of the car. She looks like
the Janet Thornton I remember. She’s wearing navy walking
shorts with a white scalloped tee shirt. Her silky strawberry
blond hair is combed and pulled back. But each step is labored
as if she’s not sure about being here.
Dear Daddy,
Mom’s here and I should go say hi and hug her, but
first I have to talk to you. Seeing Mom has made me
remember more things and ask myself more questions.
What if Mom really doesn’t want me around anymore?
Sure, I love Grandma and Papa T, and I love this place,
but I would really miss Mom. She needs me as much as I
need her. Can you please help her realize that?
Even though it’s sad not having you around, I’m glad
I got to spend twelve wonderful years with you. Mom
got to spend close to eighteen years with you. It’s better
than no time at all. Right?
Mom’s pulling away from me, more each day, and I
don’t know why. She lost her dad when she was young,
around my age, and then her mom right after you two
were married. She should know what I’m feeling.
Wait, that’s it. No wonder Mom’s having difficulty
with your death. She has no one to turn to except for
Grandma Thornton, Papa T, and me and we all remind
her of you.
Perhaps Mom is pulling away from us in case
something bad happens to us. That way it wouldn’t be as
painful. Too many of Mom’s loved ones have passed on.
Sure it sounds easy. Remove yourself from all
attachments; go it alone. Then you never get hurt. But,
wouldn’t it be lonely? Does anyone want to go through
life alone? I wonder if Mom has thought about this. Does
she really want to be alone so she doesn’t have to
experience any more heartbreak?
I have to show Mom that she doesn’t want to go it
alone. I know deep down she’s not a person who can be
alone. That’s why she’s a teacher. But is that going to be
put on hold while she decides what she wants to do with
the rest of her life? I’ll have to ask her, but now is not the
time. I’ll ask her when we’re back home.
Daddy, why is this getting more confusing?
Shouldn’t this be getting easier? Actually I know the
answer, but I don’t like thinking about it. If Mom knows
about the accident we’ll be able to start over. But how do
I tell her? Do I really have the strength you told me I
have? If I do I can’t find it. But I’ll try for all of us.
Please send us a sign saying that all will be fine. I’ll do
my best to help Mom, to comfort her, and to love her,
even if she pulls away from me. Somebody has to make
the first move. I’ll let you know what happens, though
I’m sure you’re watching from Heaven.
Talk to you soon. Jessica
I put the notebook away and go downstairs. Mom’s sitting on
the porch swing with Grandma. She looks tired and pale. She’s
not wearing any makeup except for a touch of pink lipstick.
“Hi, Mom.” She’s still as pretty as a china doll. I see why
Daddy fell in love with her.
“Hi, Jessica. How are you doing?” Mom says politely.
“Fine. Been helping Grandma and Papa T with the gardening
and cleaning. We’ve been fishing and relaxing too. You name it,
we’ve done it.” I’m trying to be upbeat and positive, hoping it
will help Mom.
“Good. I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” Mom says,
looking sad.
I sit beside Mom while Grandma goes inside to fix lunch. I
doubt any of us are hungry, but Grandma wants to give us time
to talk without anyone around. This way we can say anything
we want with no worries of hurting anyone’s feelings.
How do I tell her that I like being here; being close to Daddy,
but I’d rather be home with her? Just tell her, Jessica. What’s she
going to do, bite your head off?
“Mom.” I clear my throat. “How are you doing?” I have to
start out gradually.
“I’m doing better. Still not 100%, but maybe someday I will
be. I never realized how much I depended on your father.”
I think about that for a minute. We both depended on Daddy
for quite a lot. Not just his cooking and house repairs, but his
laughter, hugs, and his strong shoulders to lean on when things
weren’t so good.
Now that things are horrible, he’s not around for us to lean
on. I think that’s what’s bothering us. At least it bothers me.
“Mom, what do you miss most about Daddy? I miss his smile
and laughter.”
“Yes, they were wonderful,” Mom says then looks away.
She’s silent as she looks towards the woods.
“Mom, you didn’t answer my question.” Yes, I’m pesky, but
we have to talk.
“Jessica, do we need to talk about this?” Mom says, her voice
beginning to shake and sound angry.
“Yes, we do,” I say ready to stand my ground. “I’m tired of
having to watch what I say around you, afraid it might hurt you.
I want to talk about Daddy. We need to talk about Daddy, or
neither of us will ever get over losing him.”
Mom starts crying and runs inside. Shaking my head I stare at
the ground. I know how to mess things up. Jessica, learn to keep
your big mouth shut. I walk to Daddy’s grave. He’s always
ready to listen.
As I walk, I can see Papa T at Daddy’s grave.
“Papa T, hi. Am I bothering you?”
“No, child.” He looks at me and says, “What happened?”
“Everything.” I shake my head then let out a long deep sigh.
“I tried talking to Mom about Daddy, but she doesn’t want to.
Now what do I do that I’ve messed it up?”
“You haven’t messed up anything. Now she knows you’re
ready to talk. Give her time and she will talk to you about
everything. Even though your Grandma called her, your mom
didn’t have to come. She’s ready to see you, to talk, to take you
home. She just got here, give her a chance to settle in, to consider
what she wants to say or ask. Remember, it’s not easy on any of
us. And talking about someone you love who is no longer with
you is even more difficult.”
Nodding I put my arms around Papa T’s neck. He smells like
Old Spice. “Thanks, Papa T.” Then I kiss him on the cheek. “I
didn’t know you visited Daddy’s grave.”
Papa T squeezes my hand and smiles at me. I see a tear in his
eye. I have never asked him how losing a son has affected him.
Guess I thought since he’s older and has known people who
have died it isn’t as hard on him; guess I thought wrong. He
slowly gets up and heads towards the house.
“Papa T, you don’t have to leave.”
“I’ve said all I need to say for now. You take your time.”
When Papa T’s at the house I say, “Hi, Daddy. Wow, I am
learning so much about everyone including myself. Papa T was
just here. Sorry if I interrupted. There are so many things I want
to ask him; maybe after Mom and me are back together.
“I brought you some pansies and daisies. Grandma said it
was all right. I would never take Grandma’s flowers without
permission. We both know how overly protective she is of her
flowers.
“Mom’s here. Nothing has changed except she’s dressed and
out of bed. She still doesn’t want to talk.”
“Yes, I do,” Mom says.
“Mom, you scared me,” I say, my face beet red. She must
think I’m crazy for talking to a grave.
“It’s okay, Jessica. I used to talk to my father all the time after
he died. Every day I stopped by his grave, told him how my day
was, and gave him fresh flowers.”
“You did? How old were you when Grandpa died?”
“Ten. Three years younger than you.” Mom kneels beside
Daddy’s grave and runs her hand over the marker. “No matter
how young or old, death is never easy.”
Neither of us says anything for a while. We sit by Daddy’s
grave. Mom runs her long, slender fingers over the tombstone.
I decide to give her time alone with Daddy, but when I stand to
leave she says, “Please stay. We’ve been apart for too long. It’s
my fault, my fault alone.” Mom takes a deep breath. “I lost a
husband, a best friend, a confidant; you lost a father. I had
forgotten what it was like to lose a father at such a young age.
“Aunt Gertrude, your Grandpa’s sister, lived with us. You
never got to meet her. She helped me while Mom grieved. That’s
the main reason I let you come here. I knew that Gwen and
Charles would help you.”
“They have helped, but I want and need you, Mom. We have
to work together to handle Daddy’s death. Can we do that?”
“You are so much like your father. Very wise for only being
thirteen.” Mom puts her arm around me and squeezes my
shoulder. “Yes, we can help each other through this trying
time,” Mom says, “but please be patient with me. It’s going to be
difficult.”
“I know, Mom, but as Daddy always said, ‘Together we can
accomplish anything.’”
Mom and I walk back to the house and decide to stay a few
more days. Mom needs to be away from our house. The house
where every corner you turn you expect to see Daddy standing
there. The house where his laughter still fills the rooms. The
house that will never be the same because Daddy won’t be there.
~ CHAPTER 19 ~
AUGUST 7TH—NIGHT
“No, Daddy. Don’t leave me. Hold on. Help is on the way.
Please, Daddy, talk to me.”
“Jessica, wake up. You’re having a nightmare. Jessica, wake
up.”
“Huh? What? Oh, it’s you. What happened?” I wipe the
sweat off my forehead. Mom sits down beside me.
“Honey, you were talking to Daddy. Was it the night of the
accident?” Mom asks, fear in her voice.
I nod, knowing she is afraid of the answer, and I am afraid to
speak the truth. My mouth is hot and dry, as if I have been
walking in the desert for days with no water. “Can I have a glass
of water?”
While Mom gets the water I think about the dream. This is the
first time since a few days after the accident that I actually
remember the dream.
“Here’s your water. What happened in the dream?” Mom
asks.
Gulping the water, trying to quench my thirst, I shake my
head. “I don’t remember.” It isn’t true, but I don’t think Mom
wants to know what happened.
“Jessica, honey, please tell me what happened.” Mom has her
hands on my arms and is looking directly into my eyes. “You are
the only one who was with Daddy that night. I
need to know what
what happened for m