The Optimist's Guide to Letting Go

by Amy E. Reichert

  “I can’t even imagine what you’re feeling—but I’m here for whatever you need.”

  “I know you are. That’s what makes you the best sister.” Vicky sat up straight and looked at Gina, a smile spreading on her face. “Whatever I need, huh? Care to test that theory?”

  Gina rolled her eyes. “Sure.”

  “What if I call you every day to complain about Jeff?”

  “No problem. You always took my calls.”

  “What if I require extra cash to make ends meet before payments start?”

  “Of course. That’s what family is here for.”

  “What if I need to move into your house?”

  “Too far. You’re on your own.” Gina nudged her sister with her shoulder. “You dork. Whatever you need means whatever you need.”

  “Okay, big talker. I need you to go on a date with Daniel.”

  “Did May tell you?”

  “She may have mentioned an adorable moment when he wiped dip off of your nose.”

  Gina sighed.

  “He’s sweet and cute . . .”

  “And patient.”

  “Yes. But I have to believe when I’m ready, I’ll know it. And I’m not there—especially with all of this about Mom and Joe and May. It’s only pulled Drew closer to the surface. It wouldn’t be fair to Daniel or me if we tried to date right now.”

  The drive to the Washington Mall was short. Vicky and Gina hopped out on the north side of the Lincoln Memorial, the white square building bright against the blue winter sky, where the snow on the ground was still fresh with only a few footprints crisscrossing the grass, while the sidewalks were clear. Gina hadn’t been back to Washington, DC, since that trip with her mom when they were teens. For a cold day, tourists littered the steps, eating their lunches and admiring the view of the distant Washington Monument, World War II Memorial, and frozen reflecting pool. A few brave souls slid around on the slippery surface near the edge.

  “Are you ready for this?” Gina asked.

  “Bring it.”

  They followed the signs leading to the Vietnam Veterans Memorial, tucked into trees that shielded it from the more festive activity around the reflecting pool and the hustle of the nearby boulevard on the other side. Against the fresh snow, the gleaming black walls slashed a harsh line in the surrounding white. It was quieter here, more solemn. The laughter and chatter of the Lincoln Memorial steps was gone and replaced with somber reflection. Gina had always found the long wall difficult to absorb, preferring to not think about the tens of thousands of names—names of men and women who never came home. Today, that was not an option.

  “How do we find him?” Gina asked.

  The long straight lines of the wall were daunting. So many names. Along the bottom, red roses and American flags added color to the stark black and white. Between the sky, snow, and flowers, it was all red, white, and blue—an appropriate setting.

  “Funny enough, there’s an app for that. I downloaded it last night. Here’s the information.” Victoria held out her phone.

  There he was, in an old service photo in which he wore his uniform, not much different from the only other picture she had seen. His short dark hair was barely visible under his hat with not a scrap of hair on his face, lips hinting a smile. She saw their nose and arched eyebrows echoed. Her own chin lacked the same barely-there indent that was on Vicky’s. He was young, too. Not teenager young, but with a full life ahead of him that he would never get to enjoy. A young family he would never see again. Below the photo was his information.

  Wall Name: JOSEPH M. SANDOWSKI

  Date of Birth: 12/2/1947

  Date of Casualty: 5/13/1975

  Home of Record: MILWAUKEE

  County of Record: MILWAUKEE COUNTY

  State: WI

  Branch of Service: AIR FORCE

  Rank: SGT

  Panel/Row: 1W, 120

  Casualty Province: QUANG TRI

  Associated Items Left at The Wall: Color photo of two carved wooden elephants. Inscription on the back, “Hand-carved by Sgt. Joe Sandowski. April 1975.”

  Underneath were pages of faceless people thanking him for his service. A fresh wave of anger sloshed over Gina. She and Vicky should have been visiting this place. Or more importantly, his grave. They had never once put a flag on it, or a wreath at Christmas, or a stuffed animal when his grandchildren were born. They had never expressed their sorrow at not knowing him. She didn’t even know where his grave was.

  “We haven’t visited his grave yet, Vicky. We have to go as soon as we get home.”

  Vicky had been studying the panels.

  “We’ll go.”

  “In the morning, after we see Mom. We’ve never been to his grave. We came here, but not his grave. We’re idiots.”

  “Agreed. But I’m glad we’re here.” She looked around and pointed to their right. “His panel is toward the center.”

  As they walked, Vicky kept flicking through the comments in the app. Gina led them to where the east and west walls collided and counted down the lines from the top. They traced their fingers along the row and . . . there it was.

  JOSEPH M. SANDOWSKI

  She expected it to be bigger, or a spotlight would appear, or at the very least a sunbeam. Something to differentiate it from the names surrounding it. But it was in the same sans serif font, the same one-inch in height. Nothing that told the world this was their father.

  Gina and Vicky touched his name. Gina traced the J in JOSEPH while Vicky’s fingers brushed over the SKI at the end. The edge where the carved black granite met the polished surface was crisp and even. Here was proof the entire, nearly unbelievable story was all real. She traced it over and over again down the line and up the hook of the J then back again, wanting to remember every detail, wanting it to make up for a lifetime of lost moments.

  Other visitors held pieces of paper up to the wall to trace a name they had come to see. Gina opened her purse, digging for her pen and notebook. A few years ago, she would have always carried a few crayons to keep May occupied in an emergency—she panicked that they had come all this way and she didn’t have the proper supplies. They should have paper for something this important.

  A man in a yellow jacket approached them, a volunteer.

  “Did you know him?”

  “He was our dad,” Vicky said, matter-of-factly, like this was something they’d known their entire lives. Vicky set her hand on Gina’s arm that was still up to her elbow in her purse. “We forgot to bring something to do a rubbing. Do you have anything?”

  He pulled a few pieces of paper from his pockets and some pencils. Vicky was always better in these situations, knowing how to ask for help and making it seem so easy.

  “It works best to start out light, then go darker. Try to use the side, not the point. I’ll be over there if you need anything else.”

  “Thank you” they both echoed as he walked away without another word.

  Gina looked down at the pencil—a naked stick of shiny and hard graphite, the size of a child’s crayon, the thicker kind that was easier for tiny hands to hold. One end came to a point, and the body had six flat sides like a pencil. She rubbed her finger on it, and a dark gray streak appeared in its path. Somehow this tiny stick of fake lead needed to create a connection to a man she had never known, who was only letters on a stone monument. That was a lot of pressure for a writing utensil.

  They took turns making their own rubbings. With each swipe of the pencil, Joe’s name became clearer, more real. When they finished, they had three rubbings to bring home on the special sheets of paper the volunteer had given them. Gina slipped the papers into the pages of the book she’d tried to read on the plane. She wanted to make sure they didn’t get wrinkled, then she and Vicky stood there, staring at his name silently, each lost in her own thoughts.

  “Hey, look.” Vicky held out her phone

  It was one of the comments, or Remembrances, as the app called them.

  “Joe was my friend,
” it read. “I left a photo I took of two wooden elephants he was carving during downtime. He made them for his daughter and the second baby. I’ve tried to find them on the Internet, with no luck. If his children or wife ever see this, please contact me. I have the elephants. You should have them.” It was posted on October 7, 2004, by Gilbert Novak—gilnovak449@aol.com.

  “Do you think that e-mail still works? We have to try.”

  “Already on it.”

  Vicky’s thumbs tapped out an e-mail to Gilbert and sent it, fingers crossed. They stared at his name again.

  Gilbert might even have more stories to share, another part of their dad they could cherish.

  “We have to leave something. Should I run and get some flowers? Mom would want us to leave flowers,” Gina said.

  “Hang on. I have a better idea.”

  From her wallet, she pulled out a picture of the two of them and Mom from last year’s Mother’s Day and flipped it over. On the back she wrote:

  Dear Dad,

  Sorry it took so long to visit. We just found out about you. We don’t remember you, but now we’ll never forget. We love you.

  Gina and Vicky (your favorite)

  Gina looked over Vicky’s shoulder as she wrote the note.

  “How could you be his favorite? He never even met you. You were a bump. He didn’t even know you were a girl.”

  “The youngest is always the favorite.”

  Vicky slipped the picture into an envelope she had brought with her, wrote JOSEPH SANDOWSKI on the outside, and left it at the wall below his name. Both women let the moment sink into their hearts; something had changed and they wanted to remember every second to share with their mother.

  WHAT DO YOU NEED ME TO KNOW?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Lorraine was antsy and exhausted. Her muscles ached, her head hurt, and even her cheek muscles twitched from trying to form words. The girls were due to arrive soon, and she wanted to be ready for them. Her occupational therapist had helped her brush her hair so it was smooth and straight, and even dabbed a bit of lipstick on her mouth to brighten up her face. She’d walked to the bathroom by herself and wasn’t even embarrassed when the nurse cheered.

  As she shuffled from the bed to the chair near the window, she could hear voices in the hall. So she moved a little quicker and plopped onto the fake leather recliner—not a bad fake, not like vinyl. It was soft and smooth, a light tan. The morning winter sun had warmed the spot before she sat down. She liked that. Ever since the stroke, she hadn’t felt warm enough for even one moment, intentionally wearing black to absorb the heat as she sat in the sunbeam like a cat.

  “Mom, we’re back.” Victoria set a vase of fresh flowers on the windowsill where Lorraine could see them.

  Regina kissed her cheek and pulled over a small chair so she could sit next to her. Victoria did the same on the other side. Her girls.

  “You look good, Mom,” Regina said. She looked tired, they both did. But they also looked relaxed. “The trip was smooth.”

  “As smooth as an overlong layover in Atlanta can be,” Victoria added. “Even Gina thought it was awful, though she’ll never admit it.” Victoria winked at her sister, and Regina smiled back.

  “Vic and I were talking. We’re going to go find Joe’s—Dad’s—grave after we leave here. Is he in Wood Cemetery?”

  Yes.

  “Did you ever visit after you married Floyd?”

  No.

  Lorraine had thought about it, every time she drove on I-94 past the cemetery where the stark white headstones lined up like alligator teeth. For years, her car had always wanted to get off at the exit, but she worried it would open all the old pain.

  Gina pulled her notebook and book from her purse. She set the notebook on her lap, ready to add to the current list, then opened the book to where a piece of paper lay perfectly unwrinkled. Gina set it on Lorraine’s lap.

  They had found Joe.

  Along the top of the sheet was a black bar that said VIETNAM VETERANS MEMORIAL. So official. His name was formed where the pencil missed the paper, just like their family had been made by the lack of him. He still made his mark, even in his absence.

  With one hand, she touched his name, and with the other, she held the gold cross she normally wore on her neck. The nurse had helped her take it off earlier. Her neck felt naked without it. Holding the smooth gold always gave her comfort, like he was watching over her.

  “It was so special, Mom. We left a photo of the three of us and a note,” Victoria said, her voice sparkling with excitement. Regina leaned forward, still studying the sheet on Lorraine’s lap. “And we connected with someone who knew him, while he was overseas. We can FaceTime later. He wants to meet you. He said Joe never shut up about his lovely Lorraine.”

  Hearing Joe’s nickname for her after all these years gave her tingles—she could feel them going up her right arm.

  This was the moment she’d been practicing for all day. She licked her lips and opened her mouth to speak.

  “You . . .” She took a deep breath. Regina and Victoria leaned in. “You . . .” Regina rubbed her arm.

  “Take your time, Mom. We aren’t going anywhere.”

  She reached for each of their hands, slipping the necklace into Gina’s open palm, then taking in both of their faces. She felt whole and warm for the first time since she’d had her stroke. It had taken her too many years to be content and happy again, so she planned to savor it. She didn’t want to lose this feeling.

  Between her girls, Joe appeared, and Lorraine’s lips curved as they always did when she saw his face, an instinct more natural than breathing. The morning light broke around him, blurring the edges of his body. He grinned at her with the jaunty smile he’d always saved for her. Now the moment was perfect.

  “It’s time, my lovely Lorraine,” he said.

  If only Victoria and Regina could see him, too. Just once.

  She looked at her girls, their beautiful faces. They had become so much more than she had ever hoped they might be. Bright and strong and wonderful mothers, both of them. Regina had Floyd’s business sense, Joe’s relentless optimism, and her stubborn determination was all Lorraine. Victoria had Joe’s humor, Floyd’s pragmatism, and Lorraine’s impeccable style. They would both be fine.

  With another deep breath, Lorraine relaxed enough so she could say the words she had practiced just for them.

  “You’re . . . best parts of . . . all of us.”

  She squeezed their hands and leaned her heavy head against the back of the chair. Joe nodded and the sunbeams around him pulsed.

  The room blurred.

  Lorraine closed her eyes, savoring the warmth and company of her family.

  “Mom?” Regina’s voice whispered, then got louder. “Mom?”

  Behind her eyelids, the sun grew brighter and brighter, until the glow was nothing at all.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Her mouth wouldn’t stay closed. Each time Gina tried to shut it, it would pop back open. Why hasn’t modern medicine figured out a way to keep the mouth closed? She didn’t like seeing her mom sitting there with her mouth gaping open, like a flytrap. As a woman who had strived most of her life to be elegant, Gina knew in her heart her mom would be mortified by this undignified turn of events.

  She pushed Lorraine’s mouth closed and held her hand there. A nurse walked in and out of the room, pausing briefly to observe Gina’s actions. Vicky returned with water cups for them both.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Her mouth was open. I’m trying to keep it closed.”

  “You can’t do that all day.”

  “Yes, I can.”

  Victoria gently pulled her hand back from their mother’s face.

  “Let it go.”

  But what she was really saying was to let her go, and Gina couldn’t do that. They had finally begun to understand each other, and now she was gone. Just like that. She wasn’t ready to let Lorraine go yet. For the first time
that she could remember, her mom had said something nice. She wanted to hear more.

  Lorraine had only been dead for a short time, but her skin was dull and mottled, lacking the vital blood pumping through every cell. This was how she had failed when Drew died—she had never really let go. She’d never accepted that he had gone on. But looking at her mother, mouth wide, hands and feet tinged purple, it was so obvious. Lorraine was gone. Her spirit had moved on, hopefully to be with Joe, finally having the time together they’d been robbed of once.

  Gina looked at the necklace again. Her mom had worn it every day, yet Gina had never seen it up close. There were small scratches and dents from years of daily wear, and on the back was a faint inscription she’d never seen.

  On my mind, over my lips, in my heart. J

  All these years, Lorraine had carried a part of Gina and Vicky’s dad with her.

  Her mom and she had been making the same mistake. They both had tried to navigate life by keeping one foot in the same spot. Instead of getting anywhere, they merely traced the same, one-footed circle over and over. There was no room for anything else—or anyone else—on that path.

  It seemed cruel to discover they had so much in common at the end. Gina had never wanted to let go, worried the pain was all she had left. But she needed to free herself to blaze a new path, one with room for May—and maybe someone else.

  Gina latched the cross around her neck, a reminder to break the circle and move forward.

  Gina sat at the kitchen table, a large shadow box frame open in front of her. Vicky had taken her brood home for a few days before the funeral. She had things she needed to settle. After wiping her nieces’ and nephews’ fingerprints and peanut butter smears off the table, Gina laid out Drew’s old T-shirt in the frame. She carefully pinned it flat, smoothing out the wrinkles.

  “What are you doing?”

  May slid onto the chair next to her, her brow confused.