A Star is Born (22 page)

“Call around to the other homes in the seventy-mile radius if you can’t get one in time. I’m sure one of them has one they’ll sell to us.”

He didn’t argue, which was good because I wasn’t in the mood to lose an argument right then.

All decisions made and plans completed, we drove over to the church to find out about availability of the sanctuary for the calling hours and the funeral. I didn’t want to hold anything at the funeral home. We spoke with the minister, identified ourselves, and told him what we needed and when. We got the space with no problem and no questions (and no rental fee).

“I didn’t know your mother, but would you like me to conduct the funeral?” he asked, not in an obnoxious way but in a helpful way.

“I’ll be doing the eulogy,” Bill said simply.

The man nodded. “Never an easy job, especially for someone who knew the person. If I can help in any way, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

“I… I appreciate the offer and may take you up on it for a little advice if I need to.”

“Please do. I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it.”

I gave the man lots of credit. He clearly recognized Derrick and Bill, but all of his attention was focused on me. The others were there, but he focused his concern on me. When we had completed our business, I did something I should have done earlier.

“I’m sorry that I neglected to do this earlier. My apologies.” I introduced Moira, Bill, and Derrick. It didn’t matter that I didn’t know the man’s name to return the favor. He smiled and shook hands with each of them, offering his condolences to each in turn. He didn’t have a clue what relationship bound all of us together in this moment of grief, but it didn’t matter—the grief is what mattered most and what he wanted to help alleviate. I left there that day thinking quite highly of the man.

Arrangements and Reporters

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INCE
my mother’s death was part of a criminal investigation, an autopsy was required. This delayed the release of her body for us to say our good-byes by an extra twenty-four hours. When we were notified by the funeral director that the medical examiner was finished with his work and that we could proceed with our arrangements, Moira helped me to write an obituary to place in the local newspapers. Dates and times were finalized and confirmed with all of the involved parties.

All of us stayed at the motel in the city rather than return to the house. My dad needed clothes, so he asked one of his brothers to go by and pick up what he needed. I wasn’t sure when he would be comfortable going back into the house. I was concerned that the longer he waited the harder it would become. But I had to leave that up to him. I had my own issues to contend with at the moment.

Before the first visitation event, we all arrived at the church about a half hour ahead of schedule so that we could have a few minutes before people started to arrive. I hated the way they had prepared the body, but then, there isn’t much you can do with a dead body to make it look less dead.

At the appointed hour, the funeral director lined up my dad and then me to receive people when they came inside the church and before they moved on to view the body. My dad immediately said, “Where’s Bill? Bill, get over here. You’re as much as a part of this as Mark and I are.”

Bill was overwhelmed by that simple act, but he kept himself together. Moira and Derrick stood behind us, out of the way but available should any of us need help during the difficult two hours ahead of us.

As soon as the doors were opened, people began to enter. I couldn’t see outside, but they must have been lined up waiting because there was a steady stream of folks from the minute the doors were opened. The line never seemed to diminish. People just kept entering, all in various stages of grief. Some kept the stiff upper lip, others wept with dignity, and others simply lost it. One of my mother’s sisters was a total basket case. It was tough enough to lose a sibling, but to lose one in such a horribly gruesome manner was even tougher.

By the end of the two hours, I had seen more people than seemed possible. I had shaken so many hands—some of them with deathly firm grips—that my hand actually hurt.

Just when we thought we were finished, the funeral director came up to us. “Mr. Mitchell. There’s a television news crew outside. They said they’ve left some messages at your house about conducting an interview. They will go away if you’re not willing to talk to them.”

“No, I’d like to talk to them. I haven’t been home to check my messages,” he explained. “Bring them in.”

A female reporter and a cameraman entered the church, but with respect and with their camera off. “Mr. Mitchell? I am so very sorry for your loss. I cannot even begin to imagine the hell you and your family must be going through.”

“Thank you. It has not been easy, but we’re all a bit numb, which deadens the pain.”

“When my station talked about wanting to get an interview with you, I asked for this assignment. While I didn’t know your wife, I definitely knew of her. When my sister….” My dad smiled and nodded while he held the reporter’s hand.

“I would be glad to talk with you on camera. Just let me know where you want to be and where you want me. Film anything you want. Grief is best shared with the whole community.”

The reporter and cameraman talked quietly for a moment. She and he separately asked a couple of questions, did some filming inside the church, and then positioned us sideways in a pew of the church with my mother’s body visible in the background.

“Rolling,” the cameraman said.

“Mr. Mitchell. Thank you for taking a few minutes to talk with me today when you must be feeling overwhelming grief. I can’t begin to imagine what you’re feeling. Before we came in here today, I was awed by the crowds of people outside, waiting to come in. The lines were huge. Your wife must have been well-loved by her community.”

“She knew a lot of people. People mattered to her. When people were in trouble, she was there to help them get out of a jam, to pick themselves up. Let me be more direct: she saved people. Usually people in abusive situations. She would often put herself between the abuser and their victim and get them out of the mess and into a safe house where they could get some help to break the cycle of violence. I can’t imagine how many lives she’s saved over the years.”

She looked at Bill and Derrick, who stood side by side nearby. “Gentlemen, I understand that both of you have seen firsthand the work of this wonderful woman.”

Derrick nodded at Bill, who spoke first. “Absolutely. When my mom and I were in a hopeless situation that was spiraling out of control, Mrs. Mitchell appeared out of the blue one night—actually the entire Mitchell family, the extended family—and rescued us from that mess. We were on a ship that was sinking, and she tossed us a life preserver. I’m not sure either my mom or I would be alive right now without this angel’s intervention.” He looked over at Derrick, who for once in his life seemed to be struggling for words.

“Me too. My father used to beat the crap out of me. He was a sadistic old bastard. I hated him about as much as he hated me. And as with Bill, just when it seemed most hopeless, just when I was about to simply give up, this angel of mercy appeared at my doorstep and pulled me back from the edge. She got me out of there and into safety. She didn’t know me. I didn’t know her. But I know that I’m here now simply because she was there for me then. One of the proudest moments of my life was when I could talk with her on the telephone and tell her what she had done for me.”

The camera returned to my father. “Derrick was my wife’s very first rescue operation. She went in there all alone. She was terrified, but you would never have known it. As she did more of these missions, I or someone else from the family would go with her. On some we’d take as many people as we could get. The night we went to Bill’s house, we had probably two dozen people with us.”

“Why did she put herself in such danger? What drove her to do what most would consider impossible? Why did she do so much to help complete strangers?”

“Simple. She’d been abused herself. I know some in her family will probably never speak to me again for divulging such a deep, dark family secret, but I don’t care. To me the woman was a saint, and I will love her forever, until my dying day. While she isn’t here with us today, the way I see it, the only way I’m getting through this, is that she lives on in every person that she pulled out of the fire.” Everyone nodded in affirmation.

The reporter asked some more questions, including some of me as well. We all answered every single question to the best of our ability. The reporter thanked us profusely for taking time to talk so openly with her, and then they were gone and we were finally free to leave. We left the church and drove back to the motel twenty miles away to try to get some rest before the funeral the next day. Since the next day was Saturday, a day that many people would be off work, we were expecting an even larger crowd than if it had been held on a standard workday.

Bill went off by himself for a few hours to work out the last of what he wanted to say the next day. That night he reviewed what he planned to say with both Derrick and Moira, and both gave him their wholehearted approval.

Saying Good-bye

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HE
next day we were back at the church once again. If it was possible, there were even more flowers there that day than there had been the previous day. It appeared that just about every flower shop in all of the surrounding counties must have been completely bought out.

In addition to that, we were also faced with something we hadn’t even considered. In retrospect, we probably should have, but at the time it never crossed our minds. Word of the entire incident had spread through our network of friends and associates on the West Coast. When the doors to the church opened that next afternoon, several dozen of our friends and colleagues from back in LA were in attendance.

The presence of so much star power in one little tiny town in the middle of nowhere brought camera crews from every TV station within a hundred miles, with a few coming from much farther. It was a funeral, however, a time of great stress and grief, and I’m pleased to say that everyone played well together. The TV crews were all respectful. After the funeral, my dad, Derrick, Bill, and I all made a point of going out to talk to each and every one of them, giving them time to ask any questions they wanted. We tried very hard to answer all of their questions. For Derrick it was more difficult, since they wanted to know about the part of his life that had always been a mystery—his past. He answered general questions, but refused to provide details, simply saying that it was a long time ago and another life and that some of the past should remain in the past. No one pushed him too hard. Had they pushed him too hard he would simply have walked away and gone to another reporter and camera crew to answer their questions.

But I’ve skipped over the big event—the funeral. Sigh. I wish I could have skipped the event totally. Not to not be there, but just to never have need for the event. I wished that none of the recent events had happened and that none of us were wracked with guilt or grief. But they had happened, and we were all torn up.

As we had anticipated, there was an absolutely packed house for the funeral. There were more people packed into the church than the place had probably ever seen—or would ever see again. There were so many people that they were packed into the pews, packed into the balcony, even packed into the choir area behind the pulpit. Extra chairs had been set up everywhere there was space for them.

With the help of the television news crews, the church was set up with cameras to record the pulpit. This was then broadcast on large flat-screen TV monitors elsewhere in the church. There were monitors in the huge adjoining fellowship hall. There were monitors in an adjoining room that the choir used to enrobe before the services. Seeing the size of the crowd that was arriving, they had more large TV monitors placed outside where chairs had been set up so that anyone who showed up would have access to the event.