“I wonder what he did to make her leave?” Bob asked. “From the way Harry always described it, they were Romeo and Juliet.” Bob had no memory of his mother. As a child he’d often longed for a whisper of her image, the shimmer of her hair, the glance of her smile.
“I’m guessing there was quite a bit that we didn’t know,” Michelle replied.
Laura turned the envelope over and read the postmark: May 9, 1965.
Michelle spoke softly, “That was just a few days before her death.”
“She was killed in a car accident, wasn’t she?” Greg questioned.
“Yes, honey, near the park, not far from here. I’ve told you that.”
Bob stared at the postmark. “Were you and I with her in Denver, Michelle?”
“I don’t remember being in Denver,” she replied.
“Wait, tell me again what you do remember about the accident.”
Michelle closed her eyes. “You were just a baby. You were in the back. I had to be three or four. I don’t remember many details. It was dusk. I remember laughing about something and then the car was rolling over. That’s it. The next thing that I recall, I was playing at home.”
“Do you remember playing in the park before the ride home?” Bob wondered. Michelle looked pensive.
“I can’t say. I thought that I did, since that’s what Dad had always told us, but honestly, I just can’t remember.”
When he or Michelle had asked Harry about the accident, they were always told the same story; the accident occurred on the way home from the park. As children, they’d had no reason to question what their father told them.
“What are you saying Bob?” Laura asked, “Do you think she was coming home from Denver and not from the park?”
Bob shrugged. “I’m not sure what to think.”
“I hope not.” Laura voiced with concern. “I hope that she made it back home before the accident. Harry deserved a second chance.”
“What does the other letter say?” Greg inquired.
Turning it over, Laura could see it had never been opened. “It’s still sealed, and look at the address.” It had been addressed to Kathryn Whitney. Underneath her name, in place of an address, was scribbled the wordHeaven.
“Heaven?” questioned Bob. “That’s crazy.”
“No, it’s touching,” Laura replied. “Look, it was mailed two months after her death—and look at the postmark.” With no proper address, the letter had been returned by the post office with large red letters stamped below theword, Heaven. They read, “Return to Sender—No such address.”
“No such address?” Bob mused. “Like anyone at the post office would know.”
“Should we open it?” Laura wondered.
“Well, I hardly think anybody is going to press charges if we do,” Bob replied sarcastically.
Grabbing a letter opener from the desk, Laura cut open the top of the envelope and let the letter slide out. “I don’t think I can read it after the last one. Michelle, it’s your turn.” Michelle passed the letter to Greg, knowing he’d get through it just fine. He shrugged and began to read.
My Dearest Kathryn,
I know you are in Heaven for there is no other place good enough. I know you must be there, but I don’t know how to let you know that I am sorry. When you died, I died as well. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I can’t continue without you.
How can I find you to tell you that I am . . .
“That’s it—he never finished it. It isn’t even signed.”
“And it still doesn’t say if she made it back,” Laura continued. “And if she didn’t—if she died on her way home—I hate to think what Harry went through.”
Everyone considered the implications.
Greg and Bob searched the rest of the house, just to be sure. They found nothing else. Harry’s shoes were stacked neatly back into the closet; it didn’t feel right clearing them out today. Laura gave Michelle a quick hug and waited in the car; Bob found himself standing on the porch alone with his sister. “It wasn’t as bad as you remember, Bob,” Michelle whispered. “I think perhaps we just missed having a mother.”
“You could be right.” He seemed reflective for only a moment, before he smiled to hide his emotions. “But, hey, it’s over. Nothing we can do to change the past now.”
She looked into his eyes; he turned away.“We can’t change things, Bob, but are they really over?”
He stayed silent. She wouldn’t push any further.
“We can stay another day to help clean out Dad’s things.”
“No reason to, Sis. I’m guessing Greg is anxious to get back. We’ll get everything wrapped up. Just send me a list of the things you want from the house and I’ll ship them out to you.”
Bob knew he didn’t need much—just a few things for Emily—to help her remember.
He hugged his sister good-bye and then waved at Greg, who waited in the car. Before locking the door to Harry’s house, he stepped back inside, wrapped up his gold-framed picture, and carefully carried it out to the car.
EMILY WAS THRILLED WITH THE FIND. SHE INSISTED BOB find a nail and hang her new picture on the wall above her desk. It matched the surroundings perfectly.
After Laura tucked Emily securely in bed with both blankets, she took the first turn to lie down with her. Bob was in the kitchen when the phone rang.
“Bob, is that you?”
“Michelle? Where are you?”
“We’re on our way back home. They had seats on the evening flight. I’m on the air-phone. I’ve never used one of these before. Isn’t technology great?”
“Is there a problem?”
“Not at all. Just found another password. Thought you’d like to know. When are you heading back?”
“In the morning.”
“Are you sure, little brother, you can’t work things out with Laura?”
“Michelle, everyone has their own set of circumstances— things they have to deal with—their own perspectives. It may not seem like it, but I know what I am doing.”
She knew from experience that it was pointless to argue. Bob thanked her again and jotted down the password. After lying down with Emily, and kissing her goodnight, he grabbed Harry’s book and called Laura to the kitchen.
“It’s the parent poem, Laura. Here’s the funny part. There’s nothing hidden really. It’s the phrase that’s repeated at the end of each verse. I can’t believe we didn’t try it before now.”
Laura opened the book and read the poem.
Parents
I love you, will you marry me?
It was“I,”but now it’s“we.”
Romantic nights. Time for fun.
One in the oven, soon to be done.
Could you get me a pickle, sliced on a plate?
We should have stayed home from that very first date.
Hospital bills. New kid to be fed.
Money for fun, buying diapers instead. And time goes by . . .
Mom-ma, Dad-da.First words spoken.
First steps taken. Dishes broken.
A spoonful for Daddy, open wide,
Climb on my back, it’s a horsy ride.
More spilt milk. Try not to yell.
Please don’t pull the doggie’s tail.
Your turn for the diaper. Your turn to cook.
Did you see where I put the Dr. Spock book?And time goes by . . .
Disneyland and Mickey Mouse.
Training pants. Let’s play house.
Potty trained. Oh, Happy Day!
Guess what? Another one’s on the way.
I wet the bed. My goldfish died.
You want to seek, if I go hide?
Kindergarten. Chicken pox.
Go outside, but don’t throw rocks. And time goes by . . .
Did you brush your teeth, and say your prayers?
Tell me the story of the three little bears.
Run and get dressed. There’s no underwear.
I got Mommy’s scissors and cut my
own hair!
Wash your face. Now, no more tears.
But who’s gonna check behind my ears?
Dressed as broccoli for the school play.
President of the PTA. And time goes by . . .
I’ll be at my friends. Did you make your bed?
I got my report card. Tonight, I’m dead.
Lots of laughter, add some tears.
How will they handle pressure from peers?
I have a question, where are babies from?
I’m busy now, go ask your mom.
The dog ate my homework, I still got an A.
Girl Scout leader. Nervous breakdown today. And time goes by . . .
My first date! I’ve got nothing to wear.
Beauty cream. It’s a bad day for hair.
This is Ashley. This is Brad.
Be home by twelve. Don’t listen to Dad.
Paying the bills, don’t ask me how.
Buying hairspray by the gallon now.
You’re awesome Dad. You guys are so mean.
I was elected Homecoming Queen!And time goes by . . .
After you pee, put down the lid!
I’m sorry Mom, I thought I did.
My nose is so big and my hips are too wide.
It’s from Grandma Henry on your mother’s side.
Midlife crisis. Pants getting too tight.
My head really hurts dear, so please not tonight.
Can I have the keys?Did you mow the lawn?
Who’s your new friend?Dad, come and meet Dawn.And time goes by . . .
Graduating from college, a wedding to plan.
Does your friend with spiked hair have to be the best man?
I call with great news, I’m expecting in June.
Isn’t it great, you’ll be grandparents soon!
I’m old, I forget, did we teach them to cook?
Mom, can I borrow that Dr. Spock book?
The house finally quiet, enough of this rhyme.
The kids are all gone. It’s vacation time!
By the time Laura had finished, Bob already had the letter open and printed. He handed it to Laura. “Do you want to read it or do you want me to?”
“I don’t mind.” She started to read.
Dearest Emily,Parents are strange and wonderful creatures. When you’re small they seem bright, shiny, and invincible. As you grow, that image starts to fade. It’s a sobering moment, but the time will come when you realize they are not the heroes you imagined. They are just people struggling to do the best they can, just the same as you are. You will feel let down, betrayed, even ashamed. This is the time, Emily, when you need to forgive your parents for being human. Let me tell you a story that will help you understand.
When your daddy was young, just four to be exact, he loved to climb the trees in the backyard. It was something to behold, watching his confidence grow as each day he would climb higher and higher into their branches. Soon, no tree seemed too high or too scary.
One Saturday I was in the house doing some writing. To my horror, I heard Bobby begin to scream like a maniac. I jumped to my feet, knocking over my chair, and bolted for the back door. I was sure he’d cut off a finger or broken an arm. As I burst through the door, I could see him hanging in the willow on the far corner of the lot. Though it was smaller then, it was still a good-sized tree. He had shimmied out onto a branch and then must have slipped, because he was holding on by his hands, his feet dangling. He was losing his grip andscreaming like he was about to drop into a bed of hot lava. The funny part is that he wasn’t very high off the ground, perhaps six feet or so.
I ran beneath him and reached up to grab his legs, letting him know I was there and it would be all right. The feel of my touch and the sound of my voice reassured him; he let go, sliding down into my grasp. He hugged me so tightly, I thought he would strangle me. At only four, he was still too young to worry about hiding emotions in front of his dad. As he sobbed and sighed with relief, he thanked me for saving him.
At that moment, he believed I could do anything. I was there when he needed me. It was such a simple moment, but one I’ll cherish till the day I die. Nothing seemed impossible; I was a superhero; I had saved my son.
But children grow, Emily. The years pass; children become bigger and the trees seem smaller. Soon they are jumping down from the same branches with ease.
When your dad was twelve, he fell again from the very same tree. This time I wasn’t there to catch him and he didn’t land on his feet. As he hit the ground, his arm snapped in two places. I was out of town on business and when I arrived home the next day, he was sitting on the couch, his arm in a cast. Still in pain, he explained how he fell from the branch I’d saved him from as a child. He didn’t say it, perhaps he didn’t even think it, but he knew that I had failed him. I wasn’t there. I think he felt I’d let him down. I think that day, my shining armor tarnished, even if unconsciously, in his eyes. It was not my fault; it was not his fault; it was just part of life.
There are times, however, when your parents should be standing under the tree to catch you, but they won’t be. Parents make mistakes, sometimes big ones. I don’t think this will make sense to you now, but Emily, there will come a time whenyou will have to forgive your parents for not being there when you fall out of the tree.
The day you do, you will begin to forget their mistakes and their armor will once again shine a little brighter in your eyes. I hope someday that you will understand.
Love,
Grandpa Harry
Laura stared at Bob. It felt like minutes before she dared speak. “Are you okay?”
“You know, it’s kind of funny. When I fell and broke my arm when I was twelve, I remember my cast was so cool. All the kids signed it and I felt so important and brave; and it’s strange, but I can’t remember actually falling from the tree.” She could hear his voice start to falter, but he continued, “Laura, I do remember him catching me when I was just four—isn’t that amazing? I still remember.”
“You want to know what I think?”
“What’s that?”
“I don’t think the letters were written only to Emily.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Bob questioned. “Never mind the fact that each one starts out ‘Dearest Emily’?”
“I’m just telling you what I think. I know what the letters say, but look at the things they say, at the way they are written. If this last letter isn’t written directly to you, then what is? And why are there three books and not just one? I think he was writing to you—and Michelle. I think that if the letters had started out ‘Dear Bob,’ you would have discounted them as words from your crazy old father. I think he wanted to tell you these things directly. I think he was dying to be a good father, to share his feelings with you—the desires of his heart—but he couldn’t. Perhaps, because of losing Kathryn, perhaps for some other reason we can’t understand—I have no idea why, but he couldn’t.”
“Or simply didn’t.”
“Perhaps, but you weren’t exactly easy on him growing up, were you? I mean did you ever consider not getting along could have been as much your fault? Maybe it was a combination of both your personalities—or because men are so funny about letting their feelings show. Honestly, I don’t know why you and Harry didn’t talk, but I do believe these letters are his last attempt to try. Think about it, Bob. He could talk to Emily—she was his friend. By writing these letters to her, he was trying to talk to you. He was trying to have you climb up onto his knee, look into his eyes, and listen to the very best wisdom he could impart to help you get through life, to get through life better than he did. Call me crazy, but that’s what I believe he intended with hisLetters for Emily. What’s more, I think you know it. I think you’re starting to understand the old man, and that bothers you.”
He didn’t speak.
She continued, “He had his problems, Bob, no question about it. He made some bad decisions, and perhaps he wasn’t always there as he should have been, b
ut he was dealing with some pretty heavy guilt, not to mention severe depression. In his own way, he was a terrific father.”
Bob simply nodded. She watched his reaction and wished she could reach into his head and read his thoughts, penetrate his façade, comprehend his anxiety. He glanced toward her briefly, then turned away to continue gazing pensively into the distance.
THEY WERE QUIET ON THEIR DRIVE TO THE AIRPORT AND their good-byes were awkward.
“I appreciate your sticking with me through all of this,” Bob said.
“Emily’s our daughter. Harry’s her grandfather. What did you think I would do?” Laura replied.
“Others wouldn’t have.” He wasn’t sure what to say next, so instead, he changed the subject. “I told Michelle we’d work something out with the will and the value of the house. It’s just not worth fighting about. How do you feel about that?”
“I think that’s kind, Bob. I’m sure it’s the right thing to do.”
He stood silently, trying to decide how best to tell her. “Listen, Laura . . .”
“Bob, if it’s about us, don’t—don’t say any more. Just get on the plane.” She was surprised at the coldness of her words as she spoke them. Bob wanted to speak, to try to explain, but the look in her eyes was devastating. He stared at her for a moment, bewildered and confused. Finally he nodded, then turned and boarded the plane.
Happy or sad, in public Laura’s nature was to wear a smile. Today she couldn’t and it felt strange. The last few days had been great, more than great. She and Bob had not only been civil to each other, it had almost seemed like old times. And yet if she expected, if she hoped—her heart would be broken again. She knew she could not bear it even one more time.
It was a sad moment. Not because Bob was leaving, or because things had not worked out, but rather because she understood that for the first time, she had given up hope. She had spent too many hours curled up in a ball on the closet floor with a towel held tightly over her mouth so that Emily would not hear her sob. Too many days racing to the phone when it would ring, expecting this to be the call to end her pain. Too much misery. Laura stood silent—motionless while the intercom announced the final boarding call, while people hurried by anxious to get to their destinations, while the world continued around her. It was a sad moment, an empty moment, a tearless moment. Reality had robbed her of hope.
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