Embracing You, Embracing Me - A Coming of Age Romance (Fingerpress Life Stories)

by Michelle Bellon

  “You told me all about your visit with Gabriel this last time and I have to believe that he knew that you cared about him deeply, but were making choices for you and Marissa. I think that he supported your decisions and was hopeful that the two of you would find a future when the time was right, but I don’t think that he was putting his life on hold and just waiting. He sounded too vibrant for that.” She paused, thinking for a moment, “Plus, you know what I believe. He knows how you feel now, even if he didn’t before.”

  Her words reached through the haze. I glanced up, searching her face for answers, for comfort. Rosie and I had always shared similar beliefs about the after-life, following the theory that souls continued on with their individual path beyond the physical plane. But at this point, my mind was thick with emotion, and I wasn’t exactly sure what I thought anymore. “Do you really think so? I don’t know,” I shook my head. “I just wish that I could tell him, so that I knew that he knew. He deserved that.”

  Rosie reached out and grabbed my hand, gave it a squeeze. “I know. But he knows. He knows.”

  Chapter 22

  Thankfully, my boss was a real sweetheart, and was understanding when I explained the situation, requesting a few days off to go to the funeral. I arranged to leave Marissa with her father for the duration, and drove south.

  On the day of the funeral, I rode in the passenger seat of Amber’s little gray Colt, feeling numb and praying that the numbness would linger, offering its solace, so I could survive the service. But as we exited the vehicle and started toward the small rural church, located just down the road from Gabriel’s parents’ house, I saw his National Guard unit standing in formation. The air was filled with booming punctuations as they began the traditional gun salute in honor of their fallen soldier.

  The sight was gut-wrenching and I turned back toward the car in retreat. When I reached the front side, I placed both hands on the hood and doubled over with body wracking sobs. Amber touched my shoulder, her tears silent. “You have to go in there, Roshell. You will regret it forever if you don’t.”

  I knew that Amber was right but wasn’t sure I had it in me. I breathed deeply. I had to go inside that church. I had to say goodbye.

  Amber walked in first, but reached behind and grabbed my hand as she stepped inside. When I crossed the threshold, my face paled. I squeezed Amber’s hand without mercy, the world slowing down to a stop as the tragedy of it all settled into my soul.

  Standing just inside the entrance, Gabriel’s family, a solid unit of strength, greeted guests as they arrived, passing out an ‘in memory of’ flyer, welcoming everyone with sad smiles.

  Just behind them, I caught sight of the multiple poster boards that filled the foyer with pictures of Gabriel. It was like watching a short film of his beautiful life. There were pictures of him as a baby and spanned his entire life up until shortly after he joined the National Guard, posing in his military uniform. In nearly every picture his face was lit up with a glowing smile and it seemed that the very sunshine flowed from his essence.

  I glanced back toward his family, standing stoic in their grief and was amazed at how brightly the light shone throughout their family. When it became too much to bear, I turned away from their sorrowful luminescence.

  Amber and I took our time scanning the display and even found ourselves smiling at some of the more humorous snapshots.

  Finally, we filed into the church and found a spot in the middle left side of the pews.

  The minister gave a sermon that I barely registered as I kept staring at the large urn, just behind him, positioned directly in front of a large headshot photo of Gabriel. I stared at that urn, trying to wrap my brain around that fact that it contained him, his ashes. It seemed so surreal, so inconceivable.

  Slowly drifting back to the sermon, I surmised he was wrapping it up. Then Gabriel’s father stepped up to the platform and greeted everyone. He thanked the guests for attending his son’s service and for all of the love and support that had been demonstrated over the last week. Then he encouraged anyone that had something to say or a story to tell about Gabriel, to feel free to come forward and do so.

  The next hour was wonderful and terrible all at the same time as those who knew Gabriel throughout different periods of his life began to tell incredibly touching and sometimes even humorous stories about him.

  Darren was the first one to step forward. Though he broke down a few times and had to gather himself together again, he managed to touch everyone as he spoke of their tight friendship. The congregation even laughed as he escorted them through a few of his bittersweet memories.

  After the ceremony was over, I gathered enough courage to approach his mother and father, wanting to offer my condolences. It struck me that I had never actually met them and wasn’t exactly sure how to approach. Waiting until they had a free moment, I stepped forward, “Excuse me, Mr. and Mrs. Harrison? My name is Roshell McRady. I… umm… I knew your son and cared for him very much. I just wanted to express my sincere sympathy. I am so sorry for your terrible loss.” My voice trembled and my knees shook as I tried to maintain composure.

  Gabriel’s mother had a kind, loving face that spread into a warm smile as she held out her hand. “I am so glad to meet you! Gabriel has told me so much about you!”

  I was taken aback: I hadn’t expected that he would have spoken to his mother about me. “Oh… he did?”

  His mother’s gentle spirit poured out of her eyes as she spoke. “Absolutely! He spoke often of you and your daughter.” She kept my hand in hers as she continued, “He loved you very much.”

  My knees nearly buckled. I put my hand to the base of my throat as it constricted with emotion. “He did?” I asked dumbly. I was at a loss for anything further to say. Desperate to escape the claustrophobic confines of the church as the walls closed in around me, I politely excused myself.

  I curved through the maze of bodies and rushed outside, anxious to pull the fresh air into my lungs before the panic cut off my airway completely.

  Amber joined me only minutes later, and offered to drive home. On the way back to her house Amber quietly said, “Darren is having a small wake tonight at his place, only a few of Gabriel’s closest friends have been invited. He wanted us to come.”

  I stared out the window at the dreary and cloudy day, the scenery passing by without notice. “Sure. Fine. Whatever.”

  “I don’t even know what to do at this point. One minute I feel so much emotion and pain that I feel as if I will drown from it and welcome the release. Then the next minute I feel numb and just want to walk through the rest of my life like that to avoid any further pain.”

  We did go to Darren’s house that evening. As we entered the home, Darren immediately wrapped me in his strong arms. We broke down, holding each other up for support.

  I pulled back. “How, Darren? How could this have happened? He was professionally trained in firearms. He knew how to handle a gun properly.” I had been asking myself those tormenting questions all week and relished the opportunity to ask Darren, who had been the last person to see him.

  Darren hung his head and shook it slowly. “I have been asking myself the same question. I don’t know how it happened, except for what the police reported. I keep going through it in my mind, and just can’t fathom what the hell he was thinking, handling his weapon that way.”

  I reached out, placing my hand on his shoulder. “Darren? Are they sure that it was an accident? Do think that he…”

  Darren’s head snapped up and met my gaze, his hazel eyes fierce. “No, I don’t think that. I know that Gabriel would never take his own life. The bullet’s trajectory came up at an odd angle and hit his collarbone first. No one would have taken such a shot if they had meant themselves intentional harm, especially Gabriel. He had too much to live for and was too full of life to do such a thing,” his voice softened, “besides he would never do that to his family, to us. He always put his family and friends before himself.” His eyes bore further i
nto mine, imploring me to understand. “It was an accident!”

  He was so adamant and I knew as he spoke that it wasn’t just because he couldn’t stand the thought of Gabriel taking his own life, but also because he knew him so well, as a brother would know their own flesh and blood. His words echoed the truth and I relaxed with relief as that nagging question of doubt was finally settled.

  Only a handful of loved ones attended the wake that evening. Emotions fluctuated between grief and nostalgic laughter as everyone spoke of Gabriel, sharing their enlightening stories about him. It was obvious that he’d touched so many people with his genuine and loving nature.

  Later on, back at Amber’s house, I curled into a fetal position on the bed that we had lain in on our last night together, exhausted and spent. My face felt chapped and sore from all the crying.

  As I’d crawled into bed, I feared that I would be overcome with emotions as the day’s events raced through my mind. I lay there and replayed the last conversation that we’d had in that very room. My body tensed, prepared to experience another assaulting wave of grief.

  Then suddenly, I recalled something that Gabriel had said that night after he’d had his premonition, fearing we would never see each other again. “We always make it back to each other. We always have and we always will.” It echoed in my head, as clear as if he were lying there with me.

  Instantly, my body was filled with over-whelming warmth, calming me. I felt cocooned in his love and relaxed with the temporary relief, sinking into the brief sanctuary that was being offered. I hugged myself tight and closed my eyes. I drifted off to the first peaceful sleep that I’d had in days.

  Chapter 23

  The next few months were spent in a haze. My attempts to participate in life consisted of showing up to work, playing with my daughter, and making ends meet. I walked around disengaged, as if my nervous system had been severed. I functioned only in the most basic of human needs.

  It wasn’t uncommon to catch myself lost in thought, in the past, staring off into space while life went on around me. I wasn’t just wallowing in grief, I was drowning in it.

  ROSIE: It’s time for Roshell to make an attempt to socialize with our friends and rejoin life. After a hellish morning of finals, I announced that we were going to go to an old classmate’s party that night. He was having a bonfire out in his field, just like old times and there was supposed to be a huge turnout. I was determined to get her out of the house.

  When Roshell declined, using the lack of a babysitter excuse, I had it covered. I presumed she would respond that way and had already called Graham, arranging to have him pick Marissa up for the evening.

  “Listen,” Rosie said, “you can’t just hole up in this house forever and let life pass you by while you wallow.” She paused, peering at me over the kitchen counter and into the small dining space where I was zoning out on an old episode of Saved By The Bell. She was giving her- ‘I’m not messing around’ face and her voice was uncharacteristically stern. “You’re going if I have to drag you.”

  There was no point in fighting her about it. I conceded and packed Marissa’s overnight Blue’s Clue’s bag. After I gave her a big kiss on both cheeks, I pulled away and was momentarily taken back when I realized my baby was no longer looking like a baby anymore.

  Her round face had matured with the loss of baby fat, and her fine, curly, baby hair, was now longer, hanging to her shoulders in perfect ringlets. She was definitely more toddler than baby and it tugged at my heart to acknowledge that that precious part of my daughter’s life had already passed.

  Life just kept moving on, whether I wanted it to or not, and I knew that I had better re-engage if I didn’t want to miss it.

  Once Marissa was picked up, I resigned to the inevitable. I would attend the party with a smile on my face and a positive attitude so that my friends would stop fussing over me.

  Within five minutes of arriving, the host, Roy, shoved a beer into both Rosie and my hands, welcoming us to his party. With a shrug of my shoulders, I joined the rest of the party. “If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em!” I announced and downed the entire bottle in one long pull. After swigging the icy beer, relishing the yeasty, hops flavor, I wiped my mouth and burped out a large air bubble. Beer was still unfavorable to my taste but it would do.

  Rosie and Roy had astonished looks on their faces. I giggled, pleased with my accomplishment.

  “Whoa, that was awesome!” Roy exclaimed.

  I casually handed over the empty bottle. “You got anything stronger?” I could already feel my body opening up, embracing the alcohol as it coursed through my veins and immediately demanded more.

  “Sure, you can use my flask. I always carry it around in my back pocket for times such as these. I just filled it with whiskey. You can have a few swigs, and then pass it back to me in a little while.” Roy turned and rushed off to greet the newcomers who were just pulling into the field.

  Rosie watched me with wary concern as I took an eye-watering swig. “Roshell, you better slow down or you’re gonna be on your lips in no time,” she warned.

  I capped the flask, my stomach burning, warming me from the inside out. “I’m fine,” I stated flatly. “I was just getting a jump start. I’ll chill now.”

  But I didn’t. My mind basked in the sudden false flux of joy that the alcohol introduced. It coursed through my dull insides and made me feel empowered rather than beaten down. It filled me with a bold strength and created an indifference to the sorrow. I dove into its retreat.

  ROSIE: While flirting with Roy, he asked if I’d seen Roshell because he wanted to confiscate his flask from her. I suddenly realized that it been a bit since I had seen her and took a quick scan of the field. I had no idea where she was. Shit!

  Alarm bells rang in my head as I stomped toward the other field where most of the cars were parked. I was desperate to find her before she did something that she would later regret. I finally found her, in the back seat of a Dodge Ram crew cab, making out with some guy that we had met only that night. Freakin’ great! This idea of mine was back-firing. I needed to take her butt home.

  There was a brutal banging on the window and I could hear Rosie hollering. My head was swimming. I rolled down the passenger side window and peeked my head out with a drunken grin and a slur in my voice. “What’s up girlfriend?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Out! Come on, get out! I’m taking your drunk ass home.”

  I pushed my torso further out the window, my right arm hanging limp. “What are you talking about? This was your idea and now I’m having fun! You were right old friend. I definitely needed this!” I raised my hand in the air and swung it back and forth as if waving a flag. “Whoooo, hooo! Party on Garth!” I thought, I was hilarious quoting Wayne’s World, but Rosie didn’t seem to get my humor. “Geez, chill out, woman!”

  Rosie continued to stand her ground, her arms firmly crossed. “Very funny. Now open the door. We’re going home.”

  I finally conceded with a drunken pout, bidding my new friend goodbye.

  By the time we pulled into our driveway, the alcohol was doing a wicked number on me and I was mumbling incoherently. Rosie helped me into the house and plopped me into bed, only removing my muddy shoes before I passed out.

  Over the course of the next six months my drinking increased significantly. I found a place to party at every opportunity. I made arrangements for Marissa, rationalizing that she wouldn’t miss me because I was only gone while she slept.

  I worked full time and made sure to spend my days with Marissa, but spent most of my free nights inebriated to the point of partial memory loss. I was constantly searching for the release from reality that the alcohol brought. Meanwhile, my grief evolved into an all-consuming rage that turned inward and led me down a path of an unconscious self-destruction. I often blacked out during my binges, waking the next morning with excruciating headaches and a relentless sour nausea.

  My memory faded in and out as I tried to piece togethe
r the previous evening, and I would often remember embarrassing little tid-bits that I’d rather have not recalled. I sometimes found sore spots or bruises from falling down or tripping. I repeatedly lost personal items and had no recollection of how or exactly when they went missing, so I began to leave valuables at home before going out. It was my new way of life.

  But the most disturbing aspect of that new life was how often my memory would trickle in and I would realize that I had recklessly slept with someone the night before. I felt ashamed and embarrassed. When they called later in the week, I would deal with them harshly, dismissing them before there was an opportunity for a relationship to develop. I had no sentimental feeling toward them. I hardened myself and was unreachable.

  Life carried on around me and I didn’t seem to notice or care.

  One afternoon, Rosie caught me off guard when she said that Grandma had called and would be visiting later that week.

  I was a little shocked. Grandma had never been to see me: I had always been the one to do the traveling so that she wouldn’t have to make such an exhausting road trip. But a rare joy crept in and I quickly perked up, eager for the upcoming visit.

  That following Thursday, around six in the evening, Grandma pulled up in her red Honda Accord. I had been waiting by the front window and rushed out with Marissa in my arms. Grandma wrapped her loving arms around both of us and held on. It was so great to have her there. I felt suddenly childlike again, vulnerable, so I pulled back to regroup. Grandma reached out to hold Marissa and I offered to help her with her things.

  I had planned to cook dinner that evening but Grandma would have none of it. She promptly rolled up her sleeves and started digging through our larder, making herself at home. She thrived in the kitchen and nothing gave her more pride and sense of nurturing than cooking for her loved ones. It was her way of healing, her personal medicine.