He looked straight at his parents as they nodded in agreement. “Okay, this is serious. Let me finish.” Rex began his well-rehearsed speech one more time and hoped for a more somber response.
“There was this persistent nagging that stayed with me long after we visited the Vietnam Memorial. I was raised by this man, who served our country without question.” Rex raised his glass to his father, whose face turned crimson with embarrassment.
“While we were standing there, staring at the endless column of names that seemed to stretch for miles, I asked him why he joined the service and went to war.” Paul knew what he was going to say next, and sat quietly, waiting for his son to finish.
“‘I went so no son of mine would ever have to.’ That’s what he said, and it stuck. For years, those words haunted me, and all I wanted to do was find my way to make a difference. Not only for my father, but for all veterans from every war, in any condition, for themselves, for their families.”
Elizabeth had been certain Rex and Julia were going to announce they were pregnant again, but now she had no idea where this was going. Whatever Rex had been striving for, working toward, or planning for the last few years, he never let on. Everyone, including Claire and Noah waited in silence for Rex to finish.
“Last week, I got a call from Brigadier General Timothy Morrison, who’s the head of a task force in Washington DC. He’s been given the daunting assignment of working with the VA to decrease wait times, make the department more accessible to our veterans, and eliminate the red tape that has bogged down the system for years. He heard about the pro bono work I’ve been doing in San Diego for homeless veterans, and after a series of interviews, he asked me to join them as in-house attorney. I said yes. I’ll start September first which means Julia, Claire, and I will be moving to DC in a few months.”
Rex scanned the faces for a reaction and saw his mother choking back tears. “I remember asking you once when you were in high school what you wanted to be when you grew up and you answered with such confidence, ‘It’s a surprise.’ Is this the surprise, Son, because it certainly is. And I couldn’t be more proud of you, then, or now.” Elizabeth raised her glass, she felt her heart swell with pride—and sink into despair. “Congratulations, Rex.”
The mood was broken when Noah chimed in, “Can we have our ice cream sundae bar now?”
The families retreated to the house, congratulating Rex and coming to grips with the news. Paul and Elizabeth followed, closed the door to the nighttime chill, and entered the warmth of the house that still had one more celebration to enjoy.
It could be our last, Elizabeth thought, as she dished out the ice cream and helped Noah lay out the bounty of toppings. But it will be our best.
Paul touched her hand as he brushed past her on his way to his lounge chair.
“I want a plain vanilla ice cream cone, if that’s okay with you, Noah.”
“Just this time, Grandpa. Next time, you have to have at least one of everything, promise?”
With a thumbs-up, Paul rubbed Noah’s little head and wished with all his heart he knew for sure there would be a next time. Barely skipping a beat, he turned back to Noah and Claire, “How about tomorrow? I’ll be ready by tomorrow.” Claire just smiled as they dug into their mountain of goo, chocolate, sprinkles, marshmallows, and a cherry on top.
Chapter 43
As the mild days of spring moved past the coastal June gloom and sizzling days of August, Paul once again found comfort in his armor of newspapers, old magazines, and unopened mail. Ignoring the demise of everything they worked on with such diligence for Mother’s Day, Elizabeth instead concentrated on Paul’s quest for peace in what she feared were his final days. She had convinced him to go in for a physical, and the tests confirmed her worst nightmare. Stage four prostate cancer. His doctor seemed unsympathetic as he queried Paul as to why he hadn’t come in sooner.
“I have my suspicion this cancer developed due to your service in Vietnam and your exposure to Agent Orange.” He drilled Paul past his comfort zone. “Were you aware you could have pursued this condition through the VA and been receiving care and benefits this entire time?” He sounded almost accusatory. “The government has made great strides in reaching out to Vietnam Veterans.” With that, Paul appeared to be listening but tuned out his words completely. With all Elizabeth’s pleas to investigate new programs, or submit to testing for PTSD and other symptoms related to his service, Paul never found the motivation to move forward with the lengthy process, appointments, tests, and questions. The part of him that died in Vietnam was intentionally buried forever.
When the young doctor finished with whatever he thought was important enough to impart to this battle-scarred soldier, Paul sat up straight and looked straight at him. “I appreciate your concern, Doctor, but it’s fifty years too late for me and my brothers who served their time in the jungle.” Grabbing Elizabeth’s hand, he held on and spoke again in a low, barely audible voice, “Maybe our country has finally learned we matter. We mattered then, and we matter now. Our son, Rex, will see to that.”
Elizabeth found her grip tightening as she realized their son’s departure was only weeks away. She wished she could tell him—that his father was gravely ill. She was frightened of what her own reactions might be as she prepared to be the innocent bystander of Paul’s final months.
)
Every morning, like clockwork, Elizabeth phoned Paul, sharing coffee from a distance. She checked in every lunch hour, restocking the refrigerator with food that had gone bad from the previous week and that Paul had barely touched. She made simple dinners for them to enjoy every night, always ending with, “Best dinner ever,” and a knowing smile from Paul. Few words were spoken at the end of the day when one or the other would call to say good night, but it was a comforting pattern that continued to sustain them and reassure Elizabeth that Paul had taken his medication before falling asleep. She resisted going much past the living room and had quelled her curiosity about what she might find inside Paul’s bedroom, which had long since been abandoned for the purpose of sleep. It was only a matter of time before she would be forced to deal with Paul’s lifelong habits of collecting, storing, and hoarding his treasures—his legacy, his gift to those he loved.
Paul had taken up the habit of seeking out a variety of mementos to touch, caress, and reminisce with. One day Elizabeth noticed his purple heart in the tattered black box, peeking out from under a few envelopes and a stack of bills.
“Remember this guy?” Paul opened the decades-old memory that contained not only the medal, but the photograph of his younger self, shirtless, propped up in his hospital bed. Elizabeth removed the purple-colored heart from the box and wondered why she had never realized how heavy it was. She was glad these hearts were given with a sense of dignity, perhaps with the knowledge it might be the only tangible keepsake for thousands of returning soldiers. She cradled the fragile black-and-white photo with care and studied the stern countenance on Paul’s face, along with the somber expression of the officer bestowing the honor. It wasn’t difficult to see beyond the moment at hand, captured in one brief click of a shutter, and she stiffened as she recalled the letters she received from her brother when she was only sixteen years old.
“Superman. You’re a real superhero in that picture,” She studied Paul’s well-defined muscles, and strong-set jaw. “I knew what I was getting when I fell in love with you.” With gentle hands, she returned the Purple Heart and photograph to the box, closed the lid, and laid it down with reverence beside Paul.
“Did I ever tell you why I joined the Marines instead of waiting for my draft number to be called?” Paul shifted in his chair. “I could have avoided serving altogether, as an only child and the only son, but I always thought the Marines were the toughest, grittiest, most badass branch of the service. I wanted to show my father and my friends I was every bit as rugged as any soldier, not the sensitive boy everyone assumed. I wanted to be the most competent, f
earless fighter to ever serve in the US Marine Corps.”
“I never knew, Paul. You haven’t talked much about Vietnam, but I had more than an inkling of what happened over there. Sam’s letters were pretty vivid. I was only sixteen. Losing both my parents in one gut-wrenching instant and agonizing over the fact that Sam might never come home, set me up for a lifetime of worry. I’ve never been able to shake it, and I promised myself that I would never leave or abandon someone I loved . . . for any reason . . . ever.”
She pulled her chair close and leaned in, “You were very badass, my Paul. And you still are.”
She spent the next few minutes running her fingers through the thick head of unmanageable gray hair Paul still continued to grow. As she was about to leave, he glanced over and said off-handedly, “Elizabeth, I think you’re gorgeous.”
Paul had never complimented her in such a manner, always one to show his love, as opposed to speaking it. Maybe, ‘you look good,’ ‘you’re so smart,’ ‘pretty dress,’ ‘best dinner ever,’ but never ‘gorgeous.’ As she blew him a kiss, she tried to memorize the sound of his voice. Sorrow penetrated her heart. Perhaps he was telling her, in the little time he had, some of the things he never said. Perhaps this was his way of saying goodbye, and she felt more anxiety with his comment than pleasure. She wanted to recall every expression, the timbre of his voice, the masterful way he could speak volumes using hardly any words. She needed to prepare for what she felt was close at hand.
Stalling before returning home, she found it difficult to turn on the engine to leave, and was compelled to poke her head inside the door one last time. She caught Paul off guard as she bent over his lounge chair from behind and wrapped her arms around his sagging shoulders. She was surprised at how muscular his arms still were, and she cradled him, whispering, “I love you, Paul.”
“I love you too, Elizabeth.”
She wanted to hear it one last time, then turned to leave.
“Be careful in the dark. Don’t trip. I’ll talk to you in the morning.” Paul waved her off into the night.
Elizabeth had never cried in her sleep, but the next morning she struggled to open her eyes, stuck together and crusted over with a salty mixture of tears and makeup that she was too tired to remove the night before. Remembering her heavy heart, she brewed a strong pot of coffee and settled herself before calling Paul.
The phone never rang more than twice, as Paul always kept a full charge, and within arm’s reach. On the third ring, Elizabeth’s heart sank, but finally, “Hello, Elizabeth.” Did Paul sound weaker or merely tired? It was hard for Elizabeth to tell, but she drew a sigh of relief when he answered.
“How are you this morning, Paul? You need to know how much I enjoy our morning coffee time. Did I ever tell you that? It brings me a sense of contentment, this ritual we have had for over forty years.”
“I had a hard time making coffee this morning. I didn’t have the best night,” Paul slurred.
“I have an idea. I made an extra-large pot this morning. Why don’t I get dressed and I’ll fill up a travel mug and come join you.”
“Sure, don’t rush. Talk to me while you finish your cup. Have you heard from Rex? How is the move going? Did they find a house in DC yet? Lily and Noah stopped by the other day for a visit. She’s a good girl . . . We done good, Elizabeth . . . we done good,” Paul said haltingly. His breathing became labored, and he was barely able to push the words past his lips.
As Paul continued to ask about Rex and Lily, his voice faded. Elizabeth panicked. Phone in one hand, car keys in another, she continued trying to converse with Paul as she dashed out the door. Forget changing from her pajamas. She grabbed an oversized hooded sweatshirt, fumbled with her keys, and rushed to start the car—all while pressing the phone between her shoulder and ear. It didn’t occur to her to turn on the speakerphone. She wasn’t getting any responses from Paul and she sensed the worst.
Elizabeth made it to his driveway, flung open the car door, and barged through the front door of the house. Paul lay reclining in his lounge chair. He looked like he was taking a nap, not unlike the many other times he had dozed during the day, catching up on sleep whenever he could. Elizabeth walked slowly up to him and knew, instinctively, that this time she wouldn’t be able to wake him. His face was relaxed, his eyes closed, and one limp arm lay over the side of the chair. Her Paul was gone. She dropped to her knees, trembling, sobbing, fighting for air. It was as if she were losing her parents all over again. Abandoned. What will happen to me? How will I survive without you? I’m not ready, Paul . . . don’t go. Please . . . don’t leave me yet.
Elizabeth struggled for composure. The gut-wrenching emotions stirred physical pain, and she felt light-headed, dizzy, off-balance. As she moved closer to Paul, she noticed something clutched in his other hand. Through her tears, she saw it was the tattered thirty-year-old Tupperware container, misshapen by the years locked inside a freezer, yet indelibly marked on Paul’s heart. She recognized it immedately and knew it was the ice cream cone. The one with her name, the one Paul promised to throw out with the trash, the one that had certainly by this time totally disintegrated, but a treasure so dear to him, it served as his last words to Elizabeth.
Scrawled on a torn corner of yellow paper and taped to the lid were the words, “Keep 4Ever.” Elizabeth felt her throat tighten again. Her shoulders continued to shake. She embraced him one last time, leaning her head on his shoulder. This was where she found comfort still, from the first time aboard the plane from Boston forty-five years earlier, to this moment in time. Without leaving his side, Elizabeth dialed Rex, then Lily. With one gentle motion, she removed the Tupperware from Paul’s hand, and clutching it to her heart, vowed to keep this treasured memento 4Ever.
It was 2011, and for Paul O’Brien, that was when it finally all ended.
Chapter 44
The bitter task of planning Paul’s funeral proved formidable for Elizabeth, but comforted by Rex and Lily, she managed to make her body move and mind function. Her biggest concern was for her children, while they made every effort to console her. Feeling depleted of energy, she found solace in the sunshine, and settled in a garden chair, staring at the vast, unkempt yard behind the house. For now, it was the only thing she was capable of doing.
“It’s going to be all right, Mama,” coaxed Rex, when Elizabeth lamented she would never be the same, never work again, never smile, never be released from the feeling of the utter defeat tightening its grip around her heart. “We’re here to help, and you won’t be alone until we’ve gotten you settled back into the house.”
“What about your job?” Elizabeth’s voice was dull, listless, but still she was concerned about her son’s commitment to his new position.
“Morrison gave me another month. Don’t worry about that stuff, Mama. I have it under control.” Rex offered his hand and walked with her as she willed herself to make sandwiches and a fresh pot of coffee for them. Rex couldn’t help but perceive the anguish that was only his mother’s to bear, the light in her eyes dim, and the spring in her step, gone overnight.
As they gathered around the dining-room table, Lily attempted to bring order to the treasures and stacks of papers that surrounded them. Elizabeth was grateful for one clean surface and a sanitary place where they could sit and plan.
“This old table. I can remember sitting here in my high chair. Daddy . . . nothing ever changed, nothing ever got thrown out. Miss you, Daddy.” Lily lifted her head and managed a weak smile.
Rex called to his mother over his shoulder, as he dared to peek inside his father’s bedroom. “When was the last time you went in here?”
“Years.” Elizabeth finished making sandwiches and poured coffee for the three of them. “I couldn’t bear to look.”
“Well, don’t, for now.” Rex closed the door and joined his mother and sister. “I’m not leaving until I’ve gone through every piece of paper, organized every file, and cleaned out every drawer.” Rex
shuddered, overcome with a wave of regret and remorse. It wasn’t until that moment he realized how much he had missed.
)
Paul O’Brien, LCPL, U.S. Marine Corps, Vietnam, Date of Birth—Date of Death, Purple Heart. That’s what the VA office suggested be written on Paul’s headstone, and no one disagreed. But with one line left, Elizabeth had one more request. She suggested to the clerk, “I would like to add, ‘We are all who we are because you were here.’” It seemed appropriate to her. It was important. The clerk smiled and nodded her head.
Difficult as it was to write the words, submit the obituary, and contact family members and friends, Elizabeth gathered the necessary strength and energy from her children. The memory of Paul’s voice coached her every step of the way. Any question she threw out to the universe she knew how Paul would answer, and without analyzing, continued to put one foot in front of the other.
)
A caisson stood at the head of the procession that had formed with dozens of cars, filled with extended family, and lifelong friends. The funeral director motioned for everyone to get into their vehicles and Rex pulled theirs directly behind the horse-drawn buggy.
Rex was getting settled behind the wheel when Elizabeth turned to him. “Why do you think your dad’s receiving the honor of a caisson? Is this normal?”
“The funeral director called me the other day and asked if we would like to use it for Dad. I didn’t even check with anyone, sorry, I just said ‘yes.’ I had no idea it would mean all of this.” He nodded to the lineup that waited patiently behind them. The final, solemn journey of his father was about to begin.
“It’s starting.” Rex noticed the carriage that carried the flag-draped coffin of his father begin to move.
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