Grief welled up within him, and he pushed the plate away as the tears came. I should be done with this by now. He disgusted himself with his weakness.
But he wasn’t done, was he? God, why couldn’t Skye have baked me brownies, cherry pie, or anything else but this? He rose so quickly the chair tipped over as he stumbled to the bedroom, collapsed on the bed, and wept.
Morning came and he struggled to prepare. He might not be working, but he longed to be at church. No one else had to know he’d been put on a leave of absence to heal. Did they? Could he bear being there? Where did a hurting pastor go to heal anyway?
He wished he knew the answer. It was Sunday and he’d start with a church worship service. But did he dare walk into Orchard Hill?
TWO
My grief lies all within, and these external manners of lament are merely shadows to the unseen grief that swells with silence in the tortured soul.
William Shakespeare
Skye stared at her painting in shock. A man in tears. A cross. The dark colors of sorrow and pain. It resembled her new neighbor. She hadn’t intended to paint him. It really wasn’t him. He left that morning, head down, as if defeated before the day began. What haunted him? Whatever happened to Sharon? Her artist’s curiosity was getting the better of her as she imagined all kinds of reasons for his low spirits.
She pulled out her sketchbook as the kids watched their favorite videos. Her pencil flew over the page as she sketched her neighbor. Different perspectives. Exploring. As if drawing him would give her insight into the darkness within.
The buzzer rang for the outside door and she rose to go to her intercom. “Who is it?”
“Riley. I want to see you and the kids.”
“You’re not allowed here. Leave or I’ll call the police.”
“Aw, come on Skye. It’s cold out here.”
“Then go where you’ll have a warm welcome. Leave me alone.”
He buzzed again and she picked up her cell phone as she checked the locks. “Hi, Police? My ex-husband is trying to get into my apartment building. Yes, I have a restraining order. He won’t leave.” The outside door opened and boots stomped up the stairs causing her heart to race. She shushed the kids and rushed them to her bedroom where she closed the door and asked them to hide in the closet. It saddened her that this was a well-known game to them.
“He’s entered the building,” she said to the dispatcher.
“Police are on the scene. Can you buzz them in?”
“Yes.” She stepped to the door and hit the buzzer.
“Come on, Skye. Let me in. You love me. I want to see my kids. You can’t keep me from coming around.” He pounded on the door.
The officers ran up the stairs, followed by shouts in the hallway as he fought with them.
“Ma’am. Are you OK?” the dispatcher asked.
“Scared,” Skye confessed.
“They’ve taken him away in handcuffs but an officer needs to talk to you. Can you open your door for her?”
“You’re sure he’s gone?”
“Yes.”
She peeked out and a female officer awaited her. Skye unlocked the door and let the officer in. “Hold on a second.” She ran to the bedroom and let the kids come out. “Coast is clear. You can go back to your TV show.”
The kids ran to the living room, ignoring the officer and resumed their movie.
“I’m Officer Alvarez. Can I get your statement?”
Skye nodded and gave a rundown of the events and soon the officer left.
Her entire body shook. She went to her room, closed the door, and collapsed on the bed. When would he ever leave her alone? When would she ever stop reacting like a wounded war vet every time Riley came near her?
She loved him once and used to do drugs with him. Until she got pregnant. Sometimes she wondered how her drug usage affected Quinn, who was hyperactive. But what did she know? Maybe that was normal for a four-year-old. In contrast, Meghan was quiet and withdrawn, and Skye wondered how much of that was a reaction to her mother’s fear when Riley came around.
It still surprised her that she’d managed to leave him. Where had she found the courage? Riley’s jail time made it easier to pack up and go without worrying about his immediate reaction. She had anticipated retaliation. The courts gave her full physical and legal custody and awarded him supervised visits. In spite of that, the kids returned home confused, and Quinn was especially wild. She wondered if Riley slipped Quinn drugs. Having the caseworker ensure the kids received no food from him didn’t make a difference. Her son probably reacted to the insanity of his father.
When her heart rate returned to normal, she went to the bathroom to splash cold water on her face. She dried off and headed to the kitchen. Soon she was settled back down with a cup of tea and her sketchpad. Her drawings now took on a darker tone. Some abstract. Some so vivid it almost brought back her panic. Footsteps on the stairs made her jump to check. It was Dan, not Riley. She peered through the hole. He approached the door wearing his leather jacket, fogged-up glasses held in one hand. He stuck his key in the lock. As he turned it, he glanced at her door. Did he realize she spied on him?
A sigh of relief escaped her lips and she returned to her sketchpad. She didn’t need to worry. Riley was in jail and they were fine. Energy surged so she grabbed her laundry and headed to the first floor to throw a load in. She was surprised to find Dan down there with his own.
“Hi.” He said, barely glancing at her. He’d changed clothes and now wore faded denim jeans and a Packer sweatshirt. Canvas shoes covered his feet.
“Aren’t the Packers done for the season?” she asked as she dumped clothes into one of the washers.
“Yeah. They lost their wild card game so they’re out. Season’s over.”
“I don’t follow that too much. Kids don’t tolerate sports much less shows I might enjoy.”
He gave her a small smile and a nod. “I’m sure they keep you busy.”
She nodded and pushed her quarters in the machine. “Speaking of…I should go see what trouble they’ve gotten into while I was down here. Later, Dan.”
He glanced up, his eyes wide. “My door is unlocked. You don’t think…”
She grinned at his panic. “I wouldn’t put it past them, but don’t worry. I don’t think they would do any damage.” She started up the stairs with him behind her. She entered her apartment and quickly discovered both kids were in the kitchen trying to get a box of cereal down. She ran to help them, averting a disaster. She was almost disappointed that Quinn hadn’t made an attempt to escape.
She managed to get her clothes in the dryer without running into her handsome neighbor but wasn’t sure why she was reluctant to see him again. Maybe because she suspected he had his secrets as much as she had hers.
She got the kids down for a nap and started to paint again. She hoped the art dealer who asked for her paintings liked what he got. She’d take pictures and send them tomorrow.
~*~
Folding clothes always made him miss Sharon. She used to take care of all that for him.
Church had been OK this morning. He was greeted warmly but no one asked how he really was. Most probably forgot he even suffered a loss. Every day he was reminded when he woke alone. When he ate alone. When he went to bed alone. When he folded the clothes…
Most people thought he should just “get over it.” But how could he? They had tried so long to have a family and had lost so many babies to miscarriage. They had been on the verge of going through the process of adoption when she died. He had no child to hold on to in the wake of his loss.
Perhaps that was a blessing. It would be a challenge to be a single dad and pastor.
Now he wondered if he should even be a pastor. Andrew suggested he visit a therapist. Or consider a grief support group. Or talk to his doctor about an anti-depressant.
How does the caregiver even begin to ask for help? It was almost too much for his fragile ego to turn around and say how hurt he sti
ll was. How he hadn’t been able to move on.
The apple pie was in the fridge. He tossed the piece last night after the one bite. It tasted like Sharon’s. He couldn’t go there. Would he ever eat pie again?
The clothes were put away and he strolled back into his living room. Dinner. He needed to prepare dinner. It was too cold out to be firing up the grill so he headed to the kitchen to fry up some brats on the stove. It at least brought memories of time with friends and not just Sharon. The smell and taste were something he could enjoy. To be healthier he would skip the buns. Of course, the fact that he forgot to even buy them might be a factor. Sharon always remembered. He grabbed an onion to slice and sauté with the meat.
That was the problem. It always came back to Sharon. But he was a pastor. He was the one who sat with people for counseling. He was the one to lead the teams. He was the one to provide care for others.
Now he was the one hurting.
Dang it, Andrew. Why did you do this to me? The only time he experienced any peace was buried in the work in his office. Meeting volunteers, putting out fires….all of those things kept his mind from his losses at home.
He pulled out a plate and slid the cooked meat and onions onto it along with some horseradish mustard. Grabbing a fork and knife he sat down at his small table for dinner.
“Thank You, God, for this food. Thank You that even though I feel very alone right now, You are still with me. Help me figure out what I’m to do next.”
He ate in silence. When he was done, he washed dishes and put them away. He flipped on the television and collapsed in a chair. Sure, there were a few more boxes to unpack but…what was he going to do these next few weeks? It was the middle of winter. Prime time for Seasonal Affective Disorder. Sure, he could work out more and get really fit. But getting a counselor? Could he really do that? Sit down, fillet his soul, and pay someone for the honor?
~*~
Working out daily at the Y kept his head above water. Wednesday morning was his regular accountability group. He showed up, but he really didn’t want to be there. Nick, Simon, and Tony all waited for him.
Clarisse had been their waitress for years at the little Greek restaurant they met at in Menomonee Falls.
Dan tucked himself in a corner. Tony was next to him. “So Tony, how’s it going?” Simon asked.
“Well. Renata’s getting a little crazy with the pregnancy. But generally, things are going well at work and at home. Still trying to figure out what God might want me to do at church for ministry, although I don’t mind helping with providing food for bigger events.”
“Your food is ministry, Tony.” Simon rubbed his tummy.
Nick laughed as he dug into his omelette. “I can’t argue with you there, Simon. But I understand your struggle, Tony. Your primary ministry though is to your family. You help Renata and the church by managing the kids when she comes to rehearsal and sings on a Sunday morning too. That’s huge. Maybe being behind-the-scenes is where God wants you to be right now.”
“There might come a time when your kids are older that you could help out with the management team or something like that,” Simon suggested.
“No. Don’t let me deal with budgets. Can’t stand that part of business and that’s why I pay others to do it for me.”
“I remember when you tried and almost lost Renata over that.” Nick shook his head.
“A good lesson for me to stick to my strengths.” Tony shoveled in some hash browns.
“And ask for help, right Dan?” Simon looked to him.
Dan nodded. “Yup.”
Tony turned to him. “You’re pretty quiet. You’ve settled into your apartment?”
“Yeah. It’s a place to live.”
“So what happened when you met with Andrew last week? You were concerned about that performance evaluation,” Nick said.
Dan let out a deep breath. “I’m on a leave-of-absence. My work performance was good. Andrew was concerned that I’m still grieving and haven’t been able to move on from Sharon.”
“And you just had the one-year anniversary of her death,” Nick whispered.
Dan nodded.
“What are you going to do?” Tony asked.
Dan shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m at a loss.” The weight of a hand rested on his shoulder.
Tony’s head bent. “Lord, You know the depth of Dan’s pain and You know how lost he is now without his work to hide behind. Please give him wisdom so he can heal. Not that he would ever forget the love and the memories of his time with Sharon, but help him move into a new season of life where You have good things planned. We know he hurts right now but help him get the help he needs. We love You, Jesus.”
“Amen,” chorused around him.
“Thanks,” answered Dan.
They moved on to Nick and Simon, but Dan wasn’t dialed into the conversation. Do You love me God? Really? I know You are good. The Bible says so. But how could You be good to me when You took away the one person who loved me so well?
When the meal was done, he paid and made his way to his car. Tony stopped him.
“Dan. I understand you miss Sharon. She was special. If Renata died, I don’t know what I’d do. I’m sorry. If you want to hit the gym together tomorrow morning, I’d be glad to sweat it out with you.”
“Eight o’clock?”
“I’ll be there. And I’ll be praying in the meantime.”
“Thanks.”
Dan drove home and trudged up the stairs. Bass pumped from the apartment across the hall. As he drew nearer, the lyrics to a pop tune became clearer. He hadn’t been so immersed in Christian culture and music that he’d been unaware of the stuff out there. He wondered how she could even think with that pounding. And where were the kids?
As he started to open his door, hers flung open. He turned to take in the site. Her hair was bright and her eyes held dark shadows. He peeked around her, expecting a tornado of a little boy to appear.
“Dan. You’re home? I never did ask what you do. I’ll turn down the music.”
“I’m a…or I was, a pastor at Orchard Hill Church.”
“A man of the cloth?”
“We’re not Catholic. Not high church. I wear regular clothes like everyone else.”
“And wear them well,” she whispered.
“What?” Did she say what he thought she did?
“Oh, nothing.” Her face turned an alarming shade of pink. “If you’re going to be around during the day I can keep the music down.”
“Don’t let me disturb you. I’ll tell you if it’s a problem.” Dan tilted his head as he took in her white smock with splotches of paint. “Did our landlord let you paint the apartment? If you need help, I could—”
“No! No, but thank you. I’m an artist and I was working on a painting. A gallery in New York has offered to sell them for me.”
“Wow. Congratulations. So you’re what they would call a ‘starving artist?’” He folded his arms across his chest.
“Not starving, but hopefully I’ll be making a better living for my kids and I. Pastors aren’t wealthy either, are they? Or are you one of those TV preachers? I could see that. You have the looks of one and I’m sure when you want to, you could be charming.”
One eyebrow went up and he bit back a grin. “My wife used to think I was, but no. Not that kind of pastor. I’m not wealthy, but our church has been more than fair in the salary and benefits they provide.”
“Your wife?” Skye frowned.
“Yeah.” He sighed as he turned away to open his door. “She died a year ago.” He opened the door and shut it behind him. He didn’t want to see the look of pity in her beautiful gray eyes.
There was a knock on the door and he opened it.
“I’m sorry for your loss. I didn’t mean to pry. She sounds like she was a smart lady, and very lucky to find a good man to love.”
“Thank you. I was the one blessed to have her in my life. We had also lost several babies over the years in our attempt
to start a family, so Sharon was all I had. She’s irreplaceable.”
Skye nodded. “You both had something few of us mere mortals ever do—true love.”
“As I discovered, there is no happily-ever-after.”
“I thought you said you were a Christian?”
He nodded.
“I don’t understand much about it, but I thought heaven was supposed to be your happily-ever-after.”
Dan nodded. “Doesn’t always take away the pain of living down here.”
“Then what good is your faith?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, if believing in God doesn’t help you live a happy life, what’s the point?”
“The point is that this life is a mere blip in the timeline of eternity. Sharon, my wife, got her happily-ever-after. She’s free of the pain and heartbreak of the world. Someday I’ll be there too. Just because I believe in God doesn’t mean that life doesn’t sometimes hurt. I’m still human.”
She looked him up and down and shook her head. “If I weren’t looking at you with my own eyes, I would say you were photoshopped. The only thing they missed are the dark shadows under your eyes and the weariness that marks your face in your frown. I’m sorry you miss your wife. Be glad you experienced a love like that. Not all of us get those kinds of memories when the romance is over.” She spun on her silly, fuzzy, booted heel and strode across the hall. She shut the door firmly behind her.
He could have sworn there’d been tears in her eyes.
THREE
There is no grief like the grief which does not speak.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Skye wiped away the tears that threatened. Riley never missed her because he never loved her. He only missed her because she was his verbal punching bag. What must it be like to be loved so much that your absence would be so cruelly grieved over? She’d never know.
Bratwurst and Bridges Page 2