Hope in the Shadows of War

by Tom Reilly

  “Sorry about your mom. She was a nice lady. Always treated me polite. Made me those cookies, you know.”

  “I know, Kenny. How did you hear?”

  Cheryl walked up.

  “Hi, pretty girl,” Kenny said.

  “Hi, Kenny. Glad you came,” Cheryl said.

  “Yeah, me too.”

  Timothy knew Kenny didn’t read the paper, so he asked again, “How’d you hear?”

  “Oh, yeah, Hoffen came by this mornin’ to talk to Dez about somethin’ and told me. Boy, I don’t know what they was talkin’ about, but Dez sure was pissed when Hoffen left. Dez and Ed was red-faced as hell when I went into the shop,” Kenny said.

  “Oh, Hoffen. Gosh, I forgot to call him. I bet he’s disappointed I didn’t call.”

  “Oh, he probably understands, Tim,” Cheryl said.

  “God, I forgot to call Dez and tell him too. I was supposed to go in today and talk to him,” Timothy said.

  “Yep, he ain’t happy about it but knows your mama died,” Kenny said.

  “Okay, I’ll deal with that later,” Timothy said. “Would you like to see my mom?”

  “Nope.” Kenny shook his head. “Dead people scare me. I wanted to come by and pay respects.”

  “Okay, thanks for coming, Kenny.”

  “Yes, thanks, Kenny,” Cheryl said.

  “Alrighty, see you two.” Kenny left without looking at the coffin.

  Bill and Frank pressuring me about the house, Father Schmitt talking about Leibert, and Dez mad at me for not stopping by. What else can I fit on my plate today?

  “Pretty good turnout for the old gal. What do you think, little brother?”

  “Yeah, Frank. It’s nice. Mom would be proud,” Timothy said.

  “I’m sure she would. Listen, Bill told me he talked to you about selling the house to pay the bills. He thinks it’s a good idea, and I agree with him. Have you given it any more thought?”

  “Not for a moment, Frank,” he said. Timothy wondered how much of this he could listen to. Cheryl squeezed his forearm. He saw this as her way of asking him to show some restraint. Leslie saw the brothers talking and came over to join the conversation.

  “You boys okay?” she said in a way that really wasn’t a question.

  “Yeah, we’re fine. Frank wants to talk about selling the house right here in front of the coffin and all of these visitors,” Timothy said—in a measured tone, thanks to Cheryl.

  “Frank, how could you, for goodness sake?” Leslie said.

  “I thought since we’re all here we could—”

  “Frank, how about we bury our mother first. Then we can deal with the business side of this,” Timothy said and looked away. At that moment, Scoot showed up. “Gotta go, Frank.”

  After viewing Mom, they walked out into the hallway for privacy. Timothy unloaded on Scoot. Leslie and Cheryl stood at the doorway and watched the two of them.

  “It’s hard to imagine, sometimes, that Timothy can tell Scoot anything, but it feels like he’s holding back from me,” Cheryl said.

  “Those two have been through a lot. Timothy doesn’t feel he has to impress Scoot. They take each other as they are,” Leslie said.

  “I hope we get to that point, someday.”

  “You will.”

  The crowd thinned as the evening wore on. Only the immediate family remained. Timothy looked tired, physically and emotionally.

  Cheryl approached Timothy and asked, “Are you doing okay?”

  “Yeah. We made it through tonight and have to get through tomorrow. After that, Frank and Bill will be gone, and Leslie and I can get back to normal, whatever that is.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Cheryl said.

  “No thanks, I’m talked out.”

  “How about we go get a bite to eat? You haven’t eaten in hours,” Cheryl said.

  “I’m not hungry, just tired.”

  “Do you want some company tonight?”

  “No, thanks. I think I want to be alone for now. You understand, don’t you?”

  “I guess I do. Are you ready to leave or do you want to stay for a while?”

  “I think I want to stay with Mom for a while. Leslie and Ike are leaving. You could hitch a ride with them if you want,” he said.

  “Sure. That’s fine. I know you want to be here alone with Mom. Would you like me to come by tomorrow and get you before the funeral?”

  “No, we’re going to meet here first and go to the church. You can meet us here if you like.”

  “Would you like me to ride with you to the church?” Cheryl said.

  “Sure, if you want.”

  “What I want to know is if you want me to be with you?”

  “Yeah, why not?”

  “Okay, I’ll be back here in the morning.” She leaned over for a hug and kissed his cheek. He returned a strong hug and held on long enough to reassure her he wanted her there in the morning.

  “Goodnight. Thanks for being here with me today,” Timothy said.

  “Goodnight, Tim,” she said.

  Timothy stood in the middle of the room. Frank and Bill left. Cheryl left with Leslie and Ike and the children. Timothy and Mom were alone again. He stood for several minutes staring at Mom. He approached the coffin and knelt down on the kneeler provided at Catholic wakes. He prayed silently for a few minutes and said goodnight to Mom. He stood to leave.

  “How are things?”

  Timothy turned around. “Hoffen, how long have you been here?”

  “A few minutes. I didn’t want to interrupt. Let’s talk.”

  They sat in a couple of chairs.

  “Hoffen, how do I deal with all this?” Timothy asked.

  “You know that life is not fair or unfair—it’s just life. It’s difficult but not impossible. Despair and hope are largely the result of the choices people make. I know you will choose the right path. It’s who you are.”

  Timothy pushed back. “What about this pain?”

  “Feel it. Don’t fight it. This is supposed to hurt. Go home to your empty house. Listen for the voice that is silent. Smell the meals Mom used to make. Enjoy those memories. Then, feel the loss. Grieve. People don’t really get over things. They just get on with life. Moving on is the magic because it is the natural rhythm of life. Getting stuck in time is unnatural. Live the memories, love the memories, and loosen your grip on the pain. That hole you feel right now will fill with new experiences and memories. That is the natural rhythm I’m talking about. That’s your mom’s final gift to you—the empty space to fill with new life.”

  Timothy put his face in his hands and cried. Hoffen rested his hand on Timothy’s shoulder and said, “Someday you will be able to talk about this without a tear on your cheek.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHERYL DROVE HERSELF to the funeral home and arrived first. Ike dropped off Leslie at the front and parked the car. Cheryl and Leslie greeted each other with sisterly hugs at the door to Mom’s parlor.

  “Hey, early bird. How long have you been here?” Leslie asked.

  “Hi, Leslie. I’ve been here a while. I was hoping to talk with Timothy before everyone else arrives.”

  “Why? What’s up?”

  Cheryl welled up at this question.

  “Like I told you on the way home last night, I’m worried about him. I thought he would be the first to arrive this morning and we could talk. He looked alone yesterday, even with other people here. He didn’t want any company at home last night. It was like he was on this island all by himself.”

  “I know what you mean. There are times when you’re talking to him he seems to be somewhere else. It’s like his body is here, and his attention is a thousand miles away.”

  “Yes. Has he always been like that?” Cheryl asked.

  “No. Growing up he was the most focused person I’ve ever met. When he played sports, the only thing that mattered to him was the action on the field at that moment. It was the same way with schoolwork. I would walk into his
room when he was studying and try to startle him as a joke, but he remained locked in. I used to tell him that a bomb could go off next to him and he wouldn’t notice. Now, he’s jumpy and distant. That’s what’s disturbing.”

  “What happened?”

  “He went to war. When he came home, part of him never returned. He went inside himself and shut the door. He sat in front of the television during the evening news and drank his beer. It was like he wanted Walter Cronkite to tell him the rest of a story that had no ending. Mom didn’t know what to do, so she left him alone.”

  “That’s so sad. I get that feeling at times—that we’re together but not really together. He’s there, and then he leaves for a while. I feel like I’m losing him. Like he’s slipping away.” Cheryl began to cry, and Leslie hugged her.

  “I know. That shell he’s built is more like a cell. He went over there young, idealistic, and innocent. He came home with little, if any, of that,” Leslie said.

  “I want to fix him, but I don’t know where he’s broken,” Cheryl said.

  “That’s the problem. Timothy doesn’t even know where he’s broken. He’s got all of these things he’s dealing with—money problems, school, car, furnace, work, and now Mom’s death. In the middle of all of this, I think there is something still eating at him, and all of these other things are distractions. I think he keeps himself busy to avoid thinking about his real pain. Can I share something with you, Cheryl? Will you promise me not to say anything to anyone?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Leslie said, “I’ve always wondered if Timothy’s interest in psychology was more than academic.”

  “How? You mean like he’s using it to figure out something?” Cheryl asked.

  “Maybe. I’ve never asked him about it because I don’t want him to withdraw more. I don’t know. Growing up, he never talked much about psychology. He always had this warrior thing going. He was like Don Quixote, tilting at windmills. You know, fighting battles, rescuing damsels. Sorry. That sounds bad. It was no surprise when he went into the Army,” Leslie said.

  “I think he’s looking for answers and doesn’t even know what questions to ask. Whenever I try to bring this up, he slams shut the windows to his mind and nothing gets in or comes out,” Cheryl said.

  “I think something is trying to make its way out. It’s just not what or how you want.”

  “What do you mean, Leslie?”

  “He has something to say. He wants to give voice to something. He wants to share with others but doesn’t know how to go about it. That’s why he and Scoot are close. They both probably feel that way and don’t have to say much to understand each other.”

  “I see that, too. And I have to admit, I’m a little jealous of that.”

  “That’s a girlfriend thing, Cheryl.” Leslie smiled.

  “You’re probably right.”

  “One time he was over at the house, and he and Ike had a few too many beers. Ike went to bed early. Timothy spent the night, and we talked into the early hours of the morning. I told him to write down what he was feeling in a notebook.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He didn’t say no, if that’s what you mean,” said Leslie.

  “That’s interesting. Do you think he’s been writing down these thoughts?”

  “Maybe, I don’t know. I remember that when he was about eight or nine, he would sit in his bed at night with his Big Chief notepad and a pencil and write things down. I would ask what he was doing, and he said he was telling a story to Chief, his imaginary listener.”

  “His therapist in those days, right?” Cheryl said.

  “I guess. I never thought about it like that. But, yes, you could be right.” Leslie nodded.

  “I wonder if he has been talking to Chief all these years.”

  “Mom told me one time she found a box of notebooks under his bed while cleaning. Of course, she said she didn’t read them, but I know Mom. She read every one of them but never told us what they said. It was her way of respecting his privacy. Got to give her that.”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know what’s in them?” Cheryl said, curious.

  “Absolutely, but that’s not for me to ask. Speaking of little Timmy, guess who just got here?” Leslie nodded to the door.

  “I’m glad we talked. I feel like you’re my sister,” Cheryl said as she leaned into Leslie for a hug.

  “Me too. I’m glad Timothy has you. You’re the light in his life,” Leslie said.

  “Thank you.”

  Timothy stood at the door and looked at the two women talking. Cheryl walked over and gave him a hug.

  “Did you sleep last night?” Cheryl asked.

  “A little. The house is so empty and lonely. It feels hollow. That’s a silly word to use, isn’t it?”

  “Not at all. I’m sorry you’re hurting so much,” Cheryl said.

  “What were you and Sis talking about?”

  “Just things. You know, girl talk.”

  “Right. I see Frank and Bill aren’t here yet. I guess they said their goodbyes last night.” Timothy shook his head.

  “I wouldn’t give that much thought. You’ve got to grieve your way, and they have to do it their ways.” Cheryl shifted back to therapist mode.

  “You’re right. I’ve been way too judgmental lately. I think I’m trying to make myself look better by making everyone else look bad,” he said.

  “You don’t have to make yourself look better. You look fine to me.” With that, she hugged Timothy again and kissed his cheek.

  “Can we all gather to say a prayer before going to Mass?” the funeral director said to the handful of people in the parlor.

  They gathered around the casket for a prayer before closing the lid for the last time. Timothy dropped his head at the same moment, as if he were sealing the lid himself. Cheryl clenched his arm. A solitary tear fell from his cheek.

  At the church, candles flickered, and the flowers smelled like those at every funeral he’d ever been to. The music was classic funeral dirge—flat and somber. He didn’t notice the people in the pews. His eyes locked onto the coffin, and it guided his every step. Others in the church didn’t matter to him at this moment.

  Weddings, funerals, and baptisms. These all happened here, sometimes in the same day. Timothy’s parents baptized him and his siblings here. Leslie got married here. The family buried his father here. This familiar church did not seem like home for him. He didn’t want Mom’s funeral Mass to feel like home. That would make it too routine for him.

  The service was solemn. The music was good and predictably Catholic: “How Great Thou Art,” “Holy God We Praise Thy Name,” “Amazing Grace,” and “Let There Be Peace on Earth” to lead the crowd out. The priest’s eulogy showed he had known Mom for a long time. It had all the right platitudes. An occasional sniffle interrupted the solemnity of the service. Timothy sat in the front row with Cheryl and Leslie and her family. Frank and Bill sat behind them, which Timothy thought suited them perfectly.

  Timothy didn’t cry. He had cried his last tear at the funeral home when they closed the coffin lid.

  As they proceeded out of the church following the coffin on its cart, Timothy scanned the crowd, making a mental note of those who attended. It might be useful for later when he wrote thank-you notes. He saw neighbors, Mom’s friends, Leslie’s in-laws, Cheryl’s parents, church people, and in the last pew he saw a steely-eyed Scoot. At the other end were Penny and Ginny. Both nodded their condolences. That’s odd, but nice. On the other side of the aisle, he saw Hoffen, smiling at him. How can you smile at a time like this?

  They rode in the funeral parlor’s limousine to the cemetery with a queue of headlights trailing them. Timothy smiled at the rain and cold—appropriate weather to bury an Irish mother. At the gravesite, the family sat beneath funeral parlor umbrellas. They seem to be ready for all contingencies, he thought. Timothy stared at the box and nothing else. He heard the Scripture readings and sympathetic words from the pries
t, but his gaze never left the box. The woman who brought him into this world, changed his diapers, wiped away his tears, and prayed him home from Vietnam lay in a simple box for all of time. A simple box for a simple person; how appropriate, he thought.

  The priest said, “It’s never an easy day for friends and family to say their goodbyes to a loved one, but it is always a glorious day for a good person to meet her Maker.” This brought sobs from Leslie and her children. Ike hung his head. Cheryl wiped her eyes. Timothy stared straight ahead. There was more, but he didn’t hear it. His mind drifted unashamedly elsewhere.

  At the conclusion of the gravesite service, the priest invited everyone to a luncheon in the church basement. The bereavement committee did their job. As the crowd dispersed, Timothy remained seated. Leslie and Cheryl stood twenty paces behind him, waiting for him to move.

  “He’s gone again, Leslie,” Cheryl said.

  “I know, honey. Be patient. Let him grieve the only way he knows,” said Leslie.

  Timothy stood, took one last look at the box, and turned. From the corner of his eye, he saw a lone figure standing in a copse of trees. Hoffen gave Timothy a broad smile and slight nod. Timothy returned the smile and raised his hand to wave.

  As he turned to walk away, Leslie said, “Who are you waving at?”

  “It’s Hoffen, by the trees,” Timothy said. “Don’t you see him?”

  Cheryl and Leslie looked at each other.

  “We must have missed him. Shame, he’s such a nice man. Do you think he’ll be at lunch?’

  “I hope so,” Timothy said.

  “Let’s go. The others are waiting for us.” Cheryl took charge.

  As they walked back to the limo, Cheryl looked at Leslie with widening eyes. Leslie returned the puzzled look. They reached the limo, and Timothy never looked back. He’d seen enough of the box. They drove to the funeral parlor to pick up their cars and then to the church basement for lunch.

  Salad, fried chicken, roast beef, macaroni and cheese, mashed potatoes, green beans and apple pie. Comfort food for those who needed comforting.

  “Mom would have enjoyed this, Tim,” Leslie said.

  Timothy looked around and nodded. “Yes, she would. There are a lot of people here who cared about her. She would have loved that. A shame she couldn’t see it.”