Read The Christmas Hope Online
Authors: Donna VanLiere
The Christmas Hope (7 page)
I looked down at the tree. “What’s this?”
Roy picked up the tree and dragged it into the living room. “This is a Christmas tree. People decorate them during this time of year and put gifts under them.”
I smiled. Roy didn’t want Emily to wake up in a house without Christmas spirit. Roy tried to be gruff and rough around the edges but everyone who worked with him knew otherwise. He had a big soul and a bigger heart.
“It was tradition in our house to always put the tree up on the day after Thanksgiving. My grandkids helped me put my tree up this year.” He stopped and looked at the tree. “Every child should put a Christmas tree.”
“You’re a good person, you know that, Roy Braeden?”
He waved his hand to hush me. “Come on, now, I need to get going. I’m supposed to watch my grandkids today. Do you have decorations?”
I thought for a moment and grimaced.
He shook his head and opened the front door, reaching for several boxes and bags on the porch. Roy had everything we’d need to decorate the tree.
“Did you buy all these?”
“Well, at some point I did. I’ve been married twice, you know!”
I laughed and helped drag in the rest of the boxes. “She might not want to,” I said, rummaging through a bag.
“Yes, she will,” he said. “Kids love Christmas, no matter how sad their circumstances might be.” He placed the tree in a stand in the corner, making sure it was straight. “Why in the world do people have to deal with death during the Christmas … ?” He stopped and looked at me.
“Death doesn’t take a holiday,” I said, opening a box of bulbs.
Roy pulled a large reindeer out of a box and set it on the hearth. “His nose used to glow until my grandsons performed rhinoplasty surgery on him a few years ago. He’s seen better days but kids still love him. After his surgery we named him Warren because it’s a name as dull as his nose.”
Roy pulled a miniature jewelry box out of a bag and handed it to me. “Could you wrap this and give it to her? She can open it now or wait for Christmas—whatever she wants to do. My granddaughter loves her jewelry box like this. It’s filled with all sorts of gaudy beads and rings and there’s a little ballerina that spins around. Do you have wrapping paper?”
I shook my head and Roy sighed, burrowing through another bag. He handed me a roll. “There’s plenty there for you and Mark to wrap up presents for each other as well. I hear married couples still do that.”
I walked Roy to the door and stretched to kiss his cheek. “You’re just like a jolly black Santa.”
He snapped his head to look at me. “Jolly? Is that another fat joke?”
I laughed.
“And when have you ever seen a black Santa? They’re always white with pitiful, scraggly beards. There’s one down at the shopping mall this year. The sorriest-looking Santa you’ve ever seen.”
“I’m sorry I brought it up,” I said, letting Roy out.
I closed the door and started to pull decorations from the bags. When Sean was a boy his little hands would pull tinsel and lights out faster than Mark and I could manage. He couldn’t contain the excitement of being that close to Christmas. At first light on Christmas morning he’d run down the stairs screaming for Mark and me to follow. It was all we could do to convince him to open only half his presents so his grandparents could watch him unwrap the other half. Each year we’d buy him a new pair of sneakers and he’d pull them on and jump to his feet. “Look how high I can jump,” he said, reaching for the ceiling. “Look how fast I can run!” Then he’d take off through the living room and kitchen shrieking as he ran.
At nine thirty I still hadn’t heard Emily. I managed to organize the decorations before hearing Emily in the bedroom at ten. Girl followed me upstairs and pushed the door open with her nose. I saw Emily going through her suitcase.
“Good morning,” I said. “Did you sleep well?”
She sat on the bed and nodded. Girl jumped up next to her. In the brief moment when she opened her eyes that morning I knew Emily had hoped, maybe even prayed, that everything in the last five months had been a bad dream. Reality is always much harsher than we expect. She looked at the pictures on the dresser behind me. “Who’s that?” she asked, pointing to a picture of Sean.
“That’s my son, Sean.”
She studied the picture. “Is that your husband, too?”
“Yes.”
“You’re married?”
“Yes.”
She looked at the building in the picture. “What is that?”
“That’s a dormitory. That’s where Sean slept when he was at college.” She leaned her head against me and looked at the pictures on the dresser. She was quiet for the longest time.
“Does my mom know that I’m here now instead of at the Delphys’?” A child psychiatrist had been talking with Emily for the last few months, helping her through her grief and although I had a counseling background I felt ill-equipped to help her. “Can she see me from heaven?”
“I think when people get to heaven that they are just overwhelmed with things to do.”
“You mean there’s lots of toys?”
“Yes. There’s everything that you can imagine and more. But even though there’s lots to do I think God parts the clouds every now and then when something special is happening so people in heaven can see what their family is doing.” I felt a catch in my throat and couldn’t speak.
“Sometimes I have dreams and my mom’s in them and we’re playing.” I put my hand on the back of her head. “Then I wake up and she’s not here.” We were both quiet. “She can never come back, can she?”
Karen Delphy had told me that Emily often asked if her mother could come back. I felt tears coming but lifted my head so they wouldn’t fall. “No.”
“Do you think she wants to come back?” I’d never thought about that question before. Once someone was in heaven would they want to come back to the life they had? It took me off guard and I thought for a moment. “Do you think she wants to come back?” Emily asked again.
“No,” I said, whispering. “I don’t think heaven is a place that you’ll ever want to leave. But I do think she’d like you there with her.” I felt my heart beating faster. I needed to change the subject. “Are you hungry?You must be starving.”
She nodded and I gave her a fresh washcloth and towel in the bathroom so she could wash her face. I went to her suitcase and pulled out a pair of cotton pants and a red sweater with Snoopy on it. I helped her dress and thought of all those mornings I’d helped Sean. Just when I’d get his clothes stripped off he’d run down the hall screaming, hoping I’d chase him. I brushed Emily’s blond hair and pulled it into a ponytail. I looked at her. She had deep brown eyes and olive-colored skin. She was a beautiful little girl. “Come on,” I said, offering her my hand. “Let’s get something to eat.”
We walked down the stairs and Emily saw the Christmas tree and decorations. Her eyes widened. “Did Santa come?”
“One of his helpers did,” I said, thinking of Roy. “He said he brought all this for you.”
She stood still and surveyed everything that was there. “Where’s the angel?” she said, moving tinsel and bulbs out of the way. “Where is she?” I helped her look and we discovered her at the bottom of a bag full of garland. Emily pulled her out of the bag and held her up, looking at the angel dressed in flowing white with gold trim and long blond hair. A scowl came across her face. “That’s not what she looks like,” she whispered, setting the angel down. She was disappointed.
“We’ll go out and get another angel,” I said.
She looked at me and didn’t say anything. It had been so long since we’d had a child in the house that I was uncomfortable and I was afraid that Emily sensed it. “How about we eat first and then we can decorate the tree?”
She followed me into the kitchen and I poured her a half glass of juice. I pulled out the two eggs and a skillet. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d made scrambled eggs but with the exception of overcooking them a bit they turned out okay. I set a piece of toast on Emily’s plate and watched as she ate. She reached for her juice and knocked it over. It spilled off the top of the island onto the floor and I jumped, reaching for a towel. I wiped up the floor and grabbed a handful of paper towels for the side of the island; it was splattered with wet marks. Emily looked stricken and I realized my reaction had been too much. After all, it was just a little juice. What was wrong with me?
I smiled at her. “It’s okay,” I said, throwing the paper towels away. “Not a big deal at all.”
She didn’t believe me.
“Would you like more juice?”
She nodded and I poured the rest of the juice into her glass.
“Where’s your husband?” she asked, moving the food around on her plate. She didn’t look at me. In fact, since I’d picked her up she’d looked me in the eyes only once.
“He should be driving home from work,” I said. I realized I hadn’t called Mark to tell him about Emily.
“Where does he work?”
“He flies airplanes.”
“My friend Alex flies airplanes, too.”
“Really? Well, Alex and Mark will have to get together!”
She nodded and took a bite of egg. She saw a picture of Sean on the kitchen counter. “Is he at college now?”
“No.”
She took a bite of toast. It was so quiet in the house that I could hear her chew. “Does he live here?”
“No.”
She moved the food around on her plate before taking another bite. She still wasn’t looking at me.
“Will he be here to decorate the Christmas tree?”
“No.”
“Will he be here for Christmas?”
“No.”
“He’s not coming home?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s in heaven.”
Hope is not the conviction that something will turn out well, but the certainty that something makes sense regardless of how it turns out.
—Vaclav Havel
S
ean was a sophomore in college when he died. He was going to drive home on December 23, the last day of classes, and would be here for three weeks but he changed his plans when he learned Mark’s schedule had changed and he had to work on the 23rd and 24th for a pilot who was in the hospital. “Since Dad has to work I’d rather come home the next day,” he said. “Dr. Tamblyn said that if I want to work helping set up the new equipment in the media lab that he’ll pay me the same kind of money professionals get. He asked me and another guy in class because he thinks we’re his best students.”
ean was a sophomore in college when he died. He was going to drive home on December 23, the last day of classes, and would be here for three weeks but he changed his plans when he learned Mark’s schedule had changed and he had to work on the 23rd and 24th for a pilot who was in the hospital. “Since Dad has to work I’d rather come home the next day,” he said. “Dr. Tamblyn said that if I want to work helping set up the new equipment in the media lab that he’ll pay me the same kind of money professionals get. He asked me and another guy in class because he thinks we’re his best students.”
I didn’t want him to wait another day to come home but I could hear the excitement in his voice. “I wonder if maybe your professor could set everything up when you return after the New Year?”
“No, Mom. He needs all this set up before everybody gets back. We can have nearly everything installed on the twenty-third and twenty-fourth.”
I sighed. I really wanted him to come home on the 23rd but one more day wouldn’t make that big of a difference.
“What time will you be here on the twenty-fourth?
“By nine o’clock at the latest.” Mark’s flight landed at ten so that meant I’d be alone on Christmas Eve. I hated it but I knew Sean really wanted to do this.
“Okay, just keep me up to date.”
I used those two days to finish cleaning the house, get all the grocery shopping done, and start baking. Mom and Dad and Richard and his family were coming over for Christmas for the very first time. Usually we spent Christmas at my parents’ or Mark’s parents’ house. I baked a German chocolate cake and chocolate pecan pie before realizing that neither Richard nor Dad liked nuts. I made a batch of peanut butter fudge. Surely that was more than enough to satisfy every sweet tooth in the house. Just to be certain I started a batch of sugar cookies when Girl wanted out. I walked outside with her and was away from the phone for only a few minutes. When I filled Girl’s water dish I saw the flashing light on the answering machine. It was Sean.
“Hey, Mom, I’m on the road,” he said. “I left an hour ago so I’ll see you in a couple more. I’m going to be losing cell service in a few minutes but call if you need me. See you in a little while. Love ya.”
I dialed the cell number but it went right to voice mail. I knew he was driving through a pocket where his cell didn’t work. I’d try again later. I finished the sugar cookies and put them in the fridge to cool before I rolled them out. I cleaned up my mess, which was particularly big, and looked at the clock. Sean would be home in less than an hour. I dried my hands so I could call him but the phone rang before I could do it.
“Mrs. Addison,” the voice on the other end said.
“Yes.” I couldn’t imagine what sort of telemarketer was brazen enough to call on Christmas Eve.
“Your son, Sean, has been in an accident.”
I felt the blood leave my head and my heart raced. Which hospital did she say she was with? Could she repeat that again? Where is it located? How is he? She didn’t know anything. I hung up the phone. My head was spinning and the wind had been knocked out of me. Where was Mark? He was flying. I had to call the airline so they could get a message to him. I dialed a number but got it wrong. I dialed a different number but got it wrong again. In frustration I pulled out the phone book but couldn’t remember the name of the airline! It was in my cell phone. I’d call from the road. I needed to call Mom and Dad first so they could go with me. I pushed speed dial on my cell phone but they weren’t home and they didn’t have a cell phone. I pulled the car onto the road and headed in the direction of the highway. Did I put the garage door down? Did I even lock the doors? I didn’t care. I sped through the streets of our neighborhood and onto the highway.
“Please keep Sean safe,” I prayed. “Oh, please, Lord, please help him. Please.” I prayed over and over again, repeating the same things. I couldn’t think straight to put anything together beyond “Please, please, please.” I fumbled with my cell phone and called the airline but heard a fast busy signal in my ear. I dialed it again and heard the same fast signal. I screamed. There was either a problem with service on my end or with theirs. “Please let him be alive and safe,” I prayed, pushing redial. There was that same fast busy signal again. I threw the phone down. I didn’t know what to do. Did I just pass the exit? I picked up the scrap piece of paper on which I’d scribbled out the general directions. Exit 218. Was that 218 that I passed? She said it would take about forty-five minutes but I had no idea how long I’d been driving. Here was another exit … 217. One exit away. I ran stop signs and red lights and saw a large white building in the distance. I gunned the engine and pulled into the drive leading to the emergency room.
I ran through the parking lot and into the hospital. There was a group of people behind the desk but they seemed to be moving in slow motion. Were they floating or was I? I tried to walk to the desk. Something was wrong with my legs. It was hard to move. “I’m looking for my son.” No one paid attention, or if they did, they didn’t pay attention quickly enough. I ran down the hall toward a young man with a white jacket and a name tag. I looked at it briefly. It was on the list of names Mark and I had chosen for Sean but I forgot the young man’s name the moment I saw it. “I need to know where my son is,” I said. “He’s here. I need to know where he is.” I was getting frantic. The young man walked me toward the desk where no one had paid attention to me.
“What’s his name?” He asked.
“Sean Addison,” I blurted out. “Someone called and said he’s been in a car accident.”
The young man stopped when he heard Sean’s name. “I’ll get the doctor,” he said. When I saw that young man’s face and heard the change in his voice I knew that something terrible had happened and it was as if ice water rushed through my veins. The sensation almost brought me to my knees. I was shaking and weak but ran after him.
“I want to see Sean,” I said, catching up to him.
He nodded but wouldn’t look at me. “I’ll send the doctor out right now,” he said, moving toward a door. He disappeared and I could hear my heart beating in my ears. I began looking in each room for Sean but I couldn’t find him. When I saw the young man I ran toward him. “The doctor’s in surgery right now but will be out when he’s finished.” I could tell by his demeanor that he was trying to avoid any further conversation with me. He tried to get away but I grabbed his arm.
“You tell me.”
He looked at me.
“You tell me what has happened to my son.”
“We really should wait for the doctor,” he said.
“Tell me what happened to my son!” I screamed. I could tell by the look on his face that I was putting this young man in an awkward situation but I didn’t flinch. I had to know.
“He fell asleep and drove under a semi that was parked on the side of the highway.”
My heart leaped to my throat.
“The paramedics brought him here and he was conscious. He was able to talk to us.”
I nodded.
“But we could see that there had been a lot of damage.” He spoke slowly. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Addison. Sean’s injuries were too severe and he died on the operating table before we could help him.”
There are no words for that moment. My heart hadn’t stopped racing since I received the phone call but now it had been slammed into a brick wall. My vision blurred and I felt myself falling. The young man helped me to a chair. Where was Mark? Where were Mom and Dad? Why was I sitting here with this stranger when there were sugar cookies to roll out at home? Sean had called and said he’d be home in a little bit and I needed to get everything done. I heard laughter in front of me. Two nurses were sharing a story with someone at the desk and their laughs rang through my ears at deafening levels.
“Can I get you some water?”
Who said that? I stared at the young man next to me and shook my head. “What did he say?”
The young man looked at me.
“When you said Sean was able to speak to you. What did he say?”
He paused and pushed away an imaginary piece of lint off his pants.
“He told us his name and where he lived and he said that you were home alone tonight waiting for him.”
I felt tears streaming down my face.
“Then he said that he wanted you and his dad to know that he always loved you. Always.”
I put my face in my hands and wept and wanted death to snatch me as quickly as it had my son. I wanted to die sitting beside that stranger because I couldn’t imagine leaving that hospital and walking back into our home ever again. Not a home without Sean in it.
“Is that all?” I said, looking at him.
“He wanted me to tell you to never stop loving the children. That’s all.”
I moaned and put my hand on my head, trying to hold it up.
“You should know that he wasn’t afraid.”
I looked at him.
“He wasn’t afraid. He was calm as he spoke to me. Everything about him was peaceful.”
“I need to see him,” I said.
The young man nodded and led me through a door that I never imagined I would go through and when I did my knees buckled.
“If it would help, I can call a funeral home for you,” the young man said, pulling a chair close for me. “They’ll take Sean to a funeral home in your hometown.”
I stood at Sean’s side and nodded.
“Would you like to wait in a private room?”
“I’d like to stay with my son,” I said.
“I’ll make sure no one disturbs you.” The young man left the room and I never saw him again. Days later I couldn’t describe what he looked like to Mom because it all happened too fast. I was with that young doctor for a couple of minutes but because of the circumstances I couldn’t remember anything about him except to say that he had been very kind.
After nineteen years of marriage, it was hard for me to separate my point of view from Mark’s. Whenever I met people, I met them not only through my eyes but through Mark’s as well. If I went to a new restaurant I didn’t just sample the food through my own taste but also through Mark’s. Marriage does that. We no longer factor in just our own likes and dislikes, observations, or perceptions in any situation without filtering those things through the eyes and heart of our spouse as well. But all that changed after Sean died. As hard as we tried, Mark and I could no longer connect. We were with each other but it was different now. We were bonded by grief but the trouble with grief is that no one goes through it the same way as someone else. Mark immersed himself with all things Sean. He watched our old videos of Sean learning how to walk, singing his ABCs, “reading”
Goodnight Moon
or
Chicken Little
, or dancing for Grandma and Grandpa. Mark would sit in Sean’s room and read through his old school notebooks and look through our photo albums. He played Sean’s last message on the answering machine over and over and every time he played it I left the room. I couldn’t handle it. I couldn’t hear his voice or look through photo albums or watch our old videotapes because each time I’d hear Sean’s voice it was as if a new wound was opened and it made me feel raw inside. Mark’s emotions were always front and center but mine were deeper; I couldn’t pull all of my feelings to the surface and for the first time in our marriage Mark and I found ourselves unable to talk. It was as if my tears dried up and I couldn’t cry anymore. I was numb. We tried counseling but I gave up on it after a while. I couldn’t talk with Mark about Sean so how was talking to a stranger with Mark in the same room going to help? I wanted to talk to Mark but the words would never come and they wouldn’t come because in my heart I blamed him for Sean’s death. I believed that if he hadn’t worked on the 24th I would still have my son. If he hadn’t worked Sean would have come home as scheduled. Mark and I had been each other’s closest friend and the love of our lives but after Sean died we were no longer available to each other.
Goodnight Moon
or
Chicken Little
, or dancing for Grandma and Grandpa. Mark would sit in Sean’s room and read through his old school notebooks and look through our photo albums. He played Sean’s last message on the answering machine over and over and every time he played it I left the room. I couldn’t handle it. I couldn’t hear his voice or look through photo albums or watch our old videotapes because each time I’d hear Sean’s voice it was as if a new wound was opened and it made me feel raw inside. Mark’s emotions were always front and center but mine were deeper; I couldn’t pull all of my feelings to the surface and for the first time in our marriage Mark and I found ourselves unable to talk. It was as if my tears dried up and I couldn’t cry anymore. I was numb. We tried counseling but I gave up on it after a while. I couldn’t talk with Mark about Sean so how was talking to a stranger with Mark in the same room going to help? I wanted to talk to Mark but the words would never come and they wouldn’t come because in my heart I blamed him for Sean’s death. I believed that if he hadn’t worked on the 24th I would still have my son. If he hadn’t worked Sean would have come home as scheduled. Mark and I had been each other’s closest friend and the love of our lives but after Sean died we were no longer available to each other.
I couldn’t sleep at night. Neither could Mark. I’d get out of bed and wander the house before going back to bed an hour later. Then Mark would get up and I’d hear the TV or the shuffling of books before he’d come back to bed after an hour or so. Two years after Sean died Mark got up in the middle of the night and slept in the guest bedroom; he’d been there ever since and it felt like the most natural thing in the world.
It was hard to get out of bed each morning. If it hadn’t been for the children and families I worked with I’m sure I wouldn’t have. Somehow Sean knew that. That’s why he wanted that young man to tell me to never stop loving the children because the minute I stopped working with them would be the day I stayed in bed and never got up again.
I tried going to church after Sean died but after several Sundays I couldn’t go anymore. “They don’t need me there,” I told my mom when she asked a year after Sean’s funeral. “They don’t need to see me sitting there with my long face.”
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