A Short Walk Home (16 page)

When we arrived at my parents’ home that day, my dad was in a hospital bed in what had been his study. That particular day, I recall looking at all the books he had on the shelf. These were books I had seen my whole life, some of which I had read as a kid. Memories flooded back, and with them came a certain regret. On this day in particular, my father was doing all right. But that was going to change quickly.

He was no longer communicating. The cancer had sped up, and it was showing. My mother, meanwhile, had developed concerns of her own. A lump on her chest had been revealed to be breast cancer, and she was scheduled for a mastectomy two weeks
later. I found myself watching her, and while she didn’t look frail, she certainly did not look as strong as she had in the past. The events of the past months had taken their toll on her.

Every afternoon was spent at my parents’ house, and every afternoon was far worse than the one before. One particular afternoon, I decided to do what I had done with Logan. I needed to say some things to my father. It was not so much making peace; I did not need to do that. I harbored no ill will toward my dad. And being rather expressive, I felt I had already said most everything I needed to while he was still healthy. Still, I wanted to tell him how much he meant to me, in the best way I could.

Our discussion, such as it was, was one-sided. I’m not even sure that he was awake through the whole thing. I told him how proud I was to be his son. That the father and husband I became is largely because of him. While his love was rarely expressed in words, it was felt within my heart all of the time. I told him that I understood the way his introversion had made it difficult for him to say how he truly felt at times. That through his actions and his deeds, over the course of my whole life, I just knew. I reminded him of where Logan was, and told him how relieved I was that they would be together. Dad loved Logan, but our moving away and coming back when we did never allowed them the chance to really connect. But now, they would have the remainder of eternity to do so.

Twelve days after Logan passed away we received a call from my mother. Dad was gone. It happened in the early hours of the morning. Mom was beginning to second-guess her surgery. I quickly assured her that she needed it, and that her surgery
would
take place. Although I hated sounding like I was bossing her around, I did not need another parent dealing with something life-threatening.

It wasn’t until I got into the shower that I started to become emotional. Tears formed and flowed freely for the first couple of minutes. But at the bottom I felt a warmth that made the tears end; an internal warmth that told me that everything was all right.

I spent the better part of that day making calls, contacting anyone who knew my father and was close with my family. By midafternoon, I was actually laughing. I spent a few minutes alone in my office, thinking over all that I had been through since I was a child. I couldn’t help but find humor in so much of it. After all, I was the son of a genius; a man who let his brain lead him to every action in life. A man who, because of the experiences he’d had when he was young—a poverty the likes of which I cannot comprehend—realized his success or failure in life was his responsibility alone.

My father graduated from high school in 1948. He did not begin college until 1952. After all, he did not have parents able to foot the tuition bill for him. So he worked. Every day for eight years, he worked, saving every penny, making sure that the life he led would be worth the work he put into it. That’s rare today. Nowadays, if you can’t afford school, you take out a loan. If you don’t like what you have in your wardrobe, you put it on a credit card. All of this was not a part of my father’s existence. Work, and work hard. The result? Success.

This is what I’m attempting to impart upon Brennan. After all, he and my father are a lot alike. Both of them are brilliant, but more than that, there’s an air about Brennan that says he will never be satisfied. He strives toward perfection daily. And having grown up with a father who did the same, I appreciate my little boy’s attitude all the more.

When I climbed into bed that night and leaned in to kiss Jaymee, she said something I did not expect.

“Your father will be here for a long time, honey.” She said this softly, tenderly.

“What makes you say that?” I asked, lost.

“You and Brennan have his temperament. If it’s not perfect, keep trying.” She smiled as she said this, to soften it.

“I know Brennan has it; but me?”

She interrupted before I could finish. “You are your father’s son.” Sweeter words could not exist.

T
HIS BOOK TOOK
some time to write. Back when I began, Logan was still walking, talking, and laughing every day. Now, as I write this final chapter, 17 months have slipped past, and taken Logan with them. There has been time to heal, and time to see the ways that life today is far different from the life we had known.

Things have changed significantly since Logan’s death—changes good, bad, and in between. Jaymee took some time to heal; to rest a bit and to begin considering what each new day would be like without Logan. It took some time before that concept was fully appreciated, by both her and me.

In September 2013, four months after everything had happened, Jaymee began interviewing for jobs. An arduous task, all she hoped for was that she would eventually find the ideal position. Finally, one morning in early October, her cell phone rang. The company on the line appreciated her skill set and was calling to offer her a job at the same salary she made now. She told them that she would be in touch, and hung up, but not 10 seconds later, her phone rang again with a second job offer, this time from a large oil company, Shell. Her interviews had gone well, and she had been selected for a position at double her current salary. Her vacation time would also be generously
extended. It was the perfect opportunity with the perfect company at the perfect time.

This left Jaymee with a decision to make. Initially torn, we decided to go grocery shopping while I tried to help her make sense of everything. The job with the oil company was in the city, while the other company was closer, letting her make it home minutes after Brennan each day.

As we moved through the meat department at the grocery store, I grabbed a chopped steak and beautiful beef tenderloin, holding them in either hand. Indicating the chopped steak, I said to Jaymee, “This is the first company.” Jaymee just looked on in amusement. Holding out the tenderloin, marbled to perfection, I indicated that it represented Shell. And that was that; she called them back immediately and accepted the position.

“You know who’s responsible for today, don’t you?” I asked Jaymee. We had just put Brennan to bed and were settling in for the night ourselves.

“Responsible? What exactly are you talking about?” Jaymee didn’t follow.

“The job, honey,” I clarified. “This wonderful job. I believe in intercession—that someone in heaven can intervene on behalf of another. I fully believe, with my whole heart, that Logan ensured that you would be allowed more, that you could find work with a company that appreciates all of your attributes. A company that you don’t just work for, but truly become a
part
of.” Jaymee gasped; in her heart, I believe she knew this as well.

As time went by, Jaymee, Brennan, and I settled into a new life. Our post-Logan experiences were, at first, not as joyful. We were all still downtrodden and distracted by everything we went
through. But eventually—albeit months later—we were finally able to truly experience good things together. Brennan, our little distraction since day one, began to show himself again as the sweet and gentle child that he is. I believe that what we discovered in him helped in so many ways. In kindergarten, he was academically perfect, winning awards for character and ambition. Jaymee was so proud, and at times, I found myself speechless. I feel blessed in a way I never thought I could.

Mom’s surgery went well. Tests to determine whether or not it had spread to her lymph nodes were normal. Today, she is cancer free and on the mend.

Brennan has been to counseling on several occasions since Logan and my dad passed away. Initially, Brennan did not wish to discuss any part of what had occurred. He
would
talk about Logan and my dad, but never in front of us. I’d heard him in the backyard having a talk with himself on a couple of occasions. A few weeks after that, he started talking with my father at bedtime.

Our routine had always been that every night, we would brush our teeth, read a story, get tucked in, and then Brennan would go to sleep. Soon after, I leave the room while Jaymee sings to him, a private moment between the two of them. But one night, Brennan asked to see me. When I came in and sat down, he said that he wanted to talk about Logan, the first time since his passing. We discussed the virtues of Heaven, and what exactly Logan might be doing there. When I left that first night, he felt that Logan was riding a unicorn, while my dad was on an elephant’s back bringing up the rear. In other words, whatever Brennan feels he needs to say, we will always be there for him, no
matter what. We know that there are still tears to come, still bad feelings and questions without answers.

I love my son, and hold his happiness as a top priority. And it’s never going to happen through the toys I buy him or the things he wears. I want my son to be satisfied with the person living in his skin, and to know that nothing else is as important as this. I want him to be brimming with confidence, knowing that his actions in life will have a measurable impact. Brennan has something special inside him, and this will never be ignored by us.

As for Jaymee, she is surviving. Most days, she remains peaceful and pleased. We still talk about Logan and my dad as though they are still here; truth be told, in so many ways, they still are.

Jaymee decided, shortly after things calmed down, that she needed a distraction. She met with a nice lady from our church who does ceramics, and she offered to show Jaymee the ropes. The day she went to see her, the lady observed that no one she’d taught had ever picked up on things as easily as Jaymee. Jaymee seemed pleased by this.

The most amazing part of this entire situation is the way in which Jaymee and I defied the odds. Every day, we stayed mindful of the love that we shared, and did our level best to endure, in spite of it all. While it’s possible that one day she will wake up and think to herself, “What the hell am I doing with this guy?,” that would be the same day I surprise her with the extent to which I would fight to make things work. I would show her, each and every day, how needed and adored she is. I would remind her that our vows, including sickness and health, have all been covered. Richer or poorer has been satisfied. Good times and bad? I could write a book—and did. My point being that our love has made it so that neither of us wants for anything. I adore my wife, and I do see us being together for the rest of our lives. And not just
because of what we have been through, but also for all those things that brought us together in the first place.

Being a man of considerable faith, there were struggles each step of the way. But the one thing I never did throughout all of this was to judge the experience, or any person tied to it. There is already a great deal of judgment in our world. As a result, people waste their time attacking others, while other people set out to defend themselves. Why we can’t just live our lives, concerned only with ourselves and our own well-being is beyond me. I reject the notion that, just because a person is disabled, or tall, or bald, that anyone would have a problem with that. In the end, I hope to impart to anyone willing to listen that life is far too precious to be overly concerned with the actions of others. If you want to be passionate, be passionate about your spouse. Want to make things right in the world? First, limit your perspective to your own world; do your best to see that your child is educated, well cared for, and loved. It’s that simple.

I don’t mind challenges. I don’t mind being tested. What I
do
mind is people giving up for no other reason than convenience. Life is
not
a matter of convenience. It’s a difficult journey for each of us. If you plan to run at the first sign of trouble, you might as well start running now, and keep going.

I thank God every day for the life I have been allowed, both good and bad. I am certain that, for now, things will remain peaceful, as we reinvent our lives in the best way possible. I also know that grief in one form or another may be right around the corner. I am not daunted by that in any way. Whatever it is, whenever it is, I know that we will handle it. Jaymee and I have already spent a large portion of our marriage doing so. Why would that change now?

I wish I could tell you, after going through the loss of a child, that I could write something to renew and inspire others. I wish I could offer advice or hope to those facing similar predicaments. But I can’t; all I have to offer is what we went through. How tough a time it was. How I still wake up at 2
A.M.
with one singular thought on my mind: Logan. The longing won’t go away. The tears will never end. We are forever changed.