Our Heart (35 page)

In some ways, I think I understood my grandfather better than I ever had and, in many ways, he was now more of a mystery to me than ever before. I sorted through the pictures in my mind and saw all of the things I hadn’t seen before; the tenderness that he had for Grandma Sarah and how much he loved her and must have needed her. That need was so evident in my mind’s recollections of him and conveyed in his story. It was the same kind of feeling that was such a strong part of me, too. I was just barely getting by after nearly six years. It tore my heart apart trying to imagine a lifetime spent in love with someone who was always there, sharing every laugh, every tear, and every touch that came from needing to be with each other. My grandpa had given Grandma all of his heart and, when she passed away, she took it with her.

My mother’s face and then my father’s replaced those of Grandma and Grandpa, as they began to run through the slideshow in my head. The pictures were so similar to those of my grandparents, only now, as an adult, did I comprehend the scenes from my childhood and know them for what they truly showed; my father was very much in love with my mother, and he too was left without his heart when she died. I could see the similarities in my own life and love with Allison. Grandpa had tried to show it to me in his letter. His words of encouragement and wisdom were ones that I could not easily dismiss or shove under the rug. I let one single tear escape from all the raging emotions boiling within me. Grandpa had shared much in his letter. There was one comment that was not lost on me. It had been full of hope and promise. He talked to me where he knew it would do the most good, my heart. He said Allison had never gotten over me, either, and that our hearts were continuing to pull towards one another.

The resolve that my grandfather showed going after Grandma, and his devotion to her during the rest of their lives, washed over every part of my body and soul. It was a feeling of understanding and, for the briefest moment, I felt the invisible comfort of my mother’s arms around me. I clung desperately to her memory, not wanting to lose the phantom feel of her embrace. My mind was overloaded with the sensations of the past. I could smell the scent of my Grandma’s perfume and hear the sound of my father’s voice giving me encouragement. Then I saw my grandfather standing in front of me. The wall of the bathroom behind him slowly dissolved away, and I felt the warm breeze of memories past dance on my skin. No longer did I fret about the troubles of yesterday. In this moment, the past and present came together, and I reached toward the promise of hope for the future. The place I saw before me was where love mattered and a life of love would be found once more.

Chapter 18

Exhausted after reading Grandpa’s letter, I headed to bed. I knew if I stayed up any longer I would succumb to the thoughts prevalent within my mind. I was deeply numb and only wanted to close my eyes. I hoped to find some solace in the dreams I knew would surely come to me. I unlocked the bathroom door and entered my old bedroom and the comfort it still held for me. Sticking the letter back in its envelope, I placed it under the bed with my father’s. I stripped off my clothes and plunged into the realm of dreams the instant my head hit the pillow.

As I tossed and turned, in my dreams I danced with Allison, both as she was then and as I had seen her just recently. She spun around and around on the dance floor and, when she looked my way, I would be blessed with a smile, sending hope and longing running through my mind. I breathed in her perfume and tasted its fragrance on my tongue. She continued to smile as she gracefully danced, teasingly away from me, beckoning me to join her. The harder I tried to reach her, the farther the distance between us grew. Her gentle eyes and knowing smile never faltered, always encouraging me to bridge the gap between us. At last, I could only see her general outline until she disappeared into the whiteness at the end of my dream’s landscape. My heart and body could give chase no more, and I fell to my knees, feeling the weight of all the regrets and sorrows within my life once more. From behind, I felt a hand on my shoulder. From out of the murk, I heard Aunt Marcie’s voice calling, first softly and then with determination. I kept trying to see who was behind me, but no one was there. I
sought out
Aunt Marcie’s voice
as it
carried through the vast emptiness, reaching out to me, wanting to know if I was all right. Again and again she asked until I shouted, “I will never be all right ever again!”

The hand on my shoulder gripped tighter, and I felt another hand brush the hair off my forehead. I opened my eyes enough to see Aunt Marcie’s face and her concerned look as she sat next to me on my bed. She didn’t say a word, just continued to stroke my head, until I could focus on my surroundings. Slowly, my exasperated breathing began to abate and eased into a normal rhythm. I tilted my head to the left and read the clock on my nightstand: nine-thirty. I felt the weight of sleep and unresolved questions within my head and heart. I wanted to roll over and go back to sleep in the worst way, but knew I would not be able to evade the abundance of thoughts dancing around the periphery of my mind. Aunt Marcie continued to sit in silent evaluation. I found my voice and, looking into the comfort of her eyes, I said, “I’m up!”

She gave me a half smile, still not certain I was telling her the truth, but took my comment at face value. She rose off the bed and exited my room, gingerly closing the door behind her. I lay there for a while longer, resisting the need to get up and get going while yearning to bury myself under the comfort of the covers. The day ahead and the problems it posed began to stretch into the forefront of my mind. I also awoke with a nagging suspicion that I knew something, but wasn’t quite sure what it was. Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I sat there, knowing my Grandpa’s letters were tucked away beneath me. Just the thought of what I had read last night
made me doubt all that I knew to be true, or what I once thought of as the truth
. I quickly stood and headed to the bathroom for a hot, soul-searching shower.

Afterwards, I felt much better, and the mystery of the missing combination began to draw my thoughts. I headed downstairs to the kitchen. Both Aunt Marcie and Great Aunt Vicky were sitting at the table nursing their morning coffee. Neither of them was talking, as I entered into the heart of the kitchen. They looked up at me trying their best to offer warm smiles, but I could tell that it was more than just a little forced. The weight of the day seemed to be heavy on all of us. Aunt Marcie asked if she could fix me anything for breakfast and I shook my head. I wasn’t hungry and, by the look of the kitchen, neither were they. I opened the cupboard and grabbed the nearest coffee mug, filling it to the top with the last drop from the pot. Great Aunt Vicky stood up so I could squeeze by her, to get to the inside chair. Before she sat back down, she went to the sink and started another pot of coffee.

The three of us sat in silence for quite awhile, and then Aunt Vicky spoke directly to me. “Have you written your eulogy yet?” She knew the answer by the look on my face.

I told her I would spend some quality time on it today, after the meeting with the lawyer and before the visitation. I had no idea what I would say; my goal was to let everyone know what Grandpa had meant to me without sounding unintelligible. I was more than a little afraid I might not be able to find the words to convey the depth of my feelings for him, and it would somehow come off slighted, short-changing my true memories of him.

I got up
, slid past Great Aunt Vicky,
and helped myself to another cup of coffee, bringing the pot over from the coffee maker and refilling Aunt Marcie’s and Great Aunt Vicky’s cups. After returning the pot to the burner, I sat back down at the table, hoping now the conversation would turn to other subjects and away from Grandpa. Gratefully, Aunt Marcie began an in-depth discussion with Great Aunt Vicky about the need to get back home to a more normal pace. I heard her say my Uncle Tim was coming up later this afternoon to be with her and Justin. I began to tune out their conversation, sipping on my coffee, trying not to think of anything. I found that just being there with them was comforting, and I actually felt a little better. With my coffee cup empty and the caffeine beginning to kick in, I decided it was time to find somewhere else to be.

It was pushing eleven o’clock; I still had a couple hours before the appointment with Howard Kittelson, and I felt I should try to find my father before we went, so that I could give him his letter or whatever was in the envelope from Grandpa. It felt right to do it before our meeting, rather than afterwards. I headed upstairs to change clothes in case the meeting ran longer than expected and I wouldn’t have time to return before the visitation. I also wanted to grab his envelope and hopefully make my escape unnoticed. I assumed Justin was already up, when I heard the shower from my bedroom running. I passed by the closed door to listen for sounds from within the bathroom, certain that he was in the shower, I reached between the mattress and box springs to retrieve the envelope with my father’s name neatly written on its front. I was almost out the bedroom door when I spied my old guitar, sitting in the corner. It made me smile, as it brought back happy thoughts of days past. It also caught my attention in another way, and the beginning of an idea started to nestle in my already cluttered mind.

I hustled out of the room and down the steps. I was safely out the front door without rousing any suspicion or stopped by the probing questions from either of my aunts. I headed downtown toward Bill’s cafe, figuring that my father would be there, either finishing up breakfast or in a coffee-club discussion. I glanced through the main dining room window as I made my way to the entrance door. My father was sitting not two tables away from the window, along with a group of about four or five others. I had so much running around in my head that I almost kept on walking past the door. I realized the time in my life had come to stop hiding from the tough choices and to do the right thing. I took a deep breath and entered Bill’s.

My dad was deep in conversation with Harold Brickman, as I approached their table. He stopped in mid sentence when he saw me standing off to the side. He gave me a tentative smile, which I returned in kind. I received several sympathetic comments from the group of men clustered around the table. I took the time to acknowledge each one and to offer them a polite thank you for their concern. My father excused himself from the group and stood, then made his way toward me. He looked at his watch, took in my facial expression, and somehow grasped the notion that I had a special reason to be standing there. I didn’t say anything; instead, I turned and headed back along the tables and made my way toward the entrance. Dad didn’t say a word, falling in behind me, as we left the smells and comfort of Bill’s for the sunshine outside.

Once we were outside, I handed my father the envelope, which I was still gripping tightly in my hand. He instinctively reacted, reaching out for it, and then turning it over so he could read the words on the front. I watched his face, as his eyes took in his name written there. His eyebrows furrowed, and he looked up at me; I didn’t say a word and only returned his look with a slight nod. He began to open the envelope by turning it over and finding a gap to stick his finger into. I said, “Not Yet, Dad!” and he stopped, looking me square in the face.

I knew that I didn’t want to share the entire story of how I came to have the envelope, so I cut to the chase. As my father stood there waiting for my response, I felt a welcomed compassion, which had been missing for far too long. If his letter was anything like mine, then he was in for an emotional ride.

I made my comment before he could ask the questions I could tell were forming in his mind. “Dad, I found two letters at the house, one was for you and the other for me. I read mine late last night and wanted you to have yours before we meet with Mr. Kittelson. If your letter is anything like mine, you might even want to wait to read it until after we meet with him.” I could tell that my father was beginning to waver as I spoke. I watched as he swallowed hard a few times. I could sense from him that, by the way I was speaking and the manner in which I presented the letter, I’d let him know it would not be an easy thing to read. “Dad, I’ll see you at the lawyer’s office at one o’clock.” My father silently nodded and I turned to leave.

I walked away and headed downtown. I kept on walking, until I had put a block between my father and me. I turned my head around and looked back the way I’d come. My dad was gone and it was a strange feeling to be concerned for him, instead of angry at him. I was not sure what this path was I was following, but I was beginning to feel like the empty spots of my life were gradually being filled in. Someday,
hopefully,
I would regain a semblance of who I once started out to be and move towards being a whole person, yet again.

I let my feet do the navigation, as my mind wandered. I had so much left to do before the visitation. The appointment with the lawyer and what he was going to tell me
,
would it be earth shattering, I didn’t know, but nothing would surprise me now. How was I supposed to deal with the feelings I had for Allison? What about the impact it would have on both of our lives, if I found the courage to come home again? I had yet to put anything together for the eulogy. Trying to write my last goodbye to Grandpa Jake was not going to be easy…not easy at all.

I looked up to see that I had made my way back to the old TV & Repair storefront. I caught my breath as I peered in the window. Allison and her son were in the back and my first thought was to open the door and go to her. Instead, I stayed put and watched them through sun-reflected light dancing on the big picture window. The two of them were unaware of my presence, outside on the sidewalk, peering in. I could tell they were cleaning up the back room, evident by the large collection of garbage bags beginning to pile up. It was hard for me to imagine why she would be cleaning up a place that she had to know was possibly meant for me, but there she was nonetheless. I tried to read her mood by her body language and was struck hard by the realization that she wasn’t unhappy at all. Instead, she seemed to be in great spirits, laughing and playing with her son as she worked. My eyes took all of this in, but my mind still had trouble deciphering the meaning behind what I was observing. The timing was off in my head, and I just couldn’t grasp the feeling touching the outskirts of my mind. I didn’t have time to ponder it any longer, as I was shaken from the moment by a voice behind me.