The Empty Jar

by M. Leighton

  Now Robbie and I are getting older, frailer. We’ve seen children, grandchildren, and now great-grandchildren come into the world. A fuller life I couldn’t imagine. Unless I’d been able to share more of it with my parents. That’s the only gripe I have. I’m happy that they found their peace; peace, for them, was just different than most of us think of as ideal. They showed me some valuable lessons while they were here, though. You never know when the angels will come to take you home. You just pray that you get in as much living as you can before then.

  We love.

  We laugh.

  We hope.

  And we keep filling our jar.

  That’s what we did. All of us in my family. We did while my mother lived. We did while my father lived. And we have since they’ve been gone.

  I don’t doubt that my children will do the same. And their children. And their children’s children. Then one day, we’ll all be a whole family again. In heaven. But until then…

  With great effort, I rise from the chair, my knees creaking in protest. I ignore their groans as I’ve done for quite some time now. I’d much rather be the spry young thing that I once was, but I’m making my way toward the end, not the beginning. So until my day comes, I’ll keep getting up. I’ll keep laughing and loving and living the life that my parents and my handsome Robbie and I always envisioned. Filling my jar. And I’ll keep catching lightning bugs with my kids. And their kids. And their kids, which is what I’m about to do now.

  Because that’s what we do.

  We keep going on until we go on no more.

  I fold the jar into the bend of my arm, holding it against my side like a football made of crystal. I don’t trust my aged fingers to grip it as I navigate the tricky steps. I figure this is the best way to ensure that it—and I—make it back downstairs in one piece.

  As soon as my foot touches the hardwood at the bottom of the last step, I hear the excited squeals of my great-grandchildren. My heart swells to near bursting, and I’m overcome with the gratitude that I get to share this tradition with yet another generation. I hope it never fades, no matter how many kids of kids of kids my line has. I smile, knowing it would thrill my father to no end that I was keeping the chase of the lightning bugs alive. Even more, it would thrill my mother.

  For a few seconds, I see her face. Lena Grant. She’s smiling at me through the flat, bluish screen of a monitor. I grew up seeing her that way. She was my mother, a bright spot in my life, even though I don’t remember meeting her in person. She’s proof that we can live on long after our bodies have given up.

  A different face bursts through my mother’s, this one real. Molly’s sweet, shining countenance causes the image of my mom to tremble and shiver, then disappear like ripples in a pond. My great-grandbaby is who I see as I step out into the backyard, into the waning light.

  At four, she’s the youngest of all my great-grandkids and the spitting image of her grandfather, my son. As she stares up at me, her eyes wide with exhilaration, I see the brilliant eyes of my husband looking back at me. That single trait of his runs strong in our family. He’s proud as a peacock that his genes are so robust. He often teases and clucks about his manhood. Like I have for sixty-some years, I just roll my eyes, but he always makes me smile.

  I look up and see the object of my ruminations sitting in an Adirondack chair, throwing a ball with my eldest. The scene warms me, as it always has. Gratitude runs through me like the crystal clear waters of a mountain creek. I need to thank my Robbie for loving me. I’ve said it dozens of times over the years, but it always needs saying. That man and his love… Well, they changed my life.

  One day, I’ll get to thank my parents, too. When I get to heaven, I’ll go straight and thank my father for staying with me as long as he did. He shaped the woman I am today.

  Then I’ll find my mother. I’ll hug her, for the first time since I was only a few days old. I’ll hug her, and I’ll feel her touch and see her smile, and I’ll thank her for giving her life for mine. For teaching me about sacrifice before I could even spell. For showing me what a woman will do for those she loves.

  Anything.

  The answer is anything.

  A woman will do anything for the people she loves.

  And as long as she has love, her jar will always be full.

  Dear Reader

  As you may have guessed, this story is very personal to me. Although Lena’s tale is her own, it was inspired by events in real life. My life.

  It all began with the love between my parents. Their love was true.

  Deep.

  Lasting.

  Just like Nate and Lena’s. It was real.

  My parents would’ve been married for fifty-three years if my father had lived for twenty-four more days. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. His body just couldn’t make it any further. But that doesn’t mean their love died.

  It didn’t.

  It will live on to inspire and comfort the rest of us until we are long gone, too. Love is like that.

  It lingers.

  My father died on December 4, 2015, of stage four esophageal cancer. While this story is completely fictitious and Lena’s cancer is a slightly different variety than Dad’s, they suffered in much the same ways. We, my family and I, watched my father fight a war he couldn’t win. We watched him struggle to get his food down, battle to keep his disease under control, and all the while he lost more and more weight. We saw the toll the cancer took, how it crept in and ravaged everything it touched. When it’s widespread like this, into the liver particularly, it affects more than just one body system, especially sensitive ones like the brain.

  Several of the scenes in The Empty Jar were directly inspired by events that I personally observed.

  I lived them.

  I stayed up many a night with my father while he rearranged things on the counter and worked on projects only he could see. He, too, was getting his affairs in order. He once told me that he had too much to do to die. I think that’s why he worked so hard in his last days, even though he never left the house and never completed any of those tasks. He wanted to leave everything in good order for those he loved most—us.

  In addition to the confusion, my father suffered the failure of one organ after another until he, too, slipped peacefully into a coma. As long as I live, I’ll never forget those days.

  I cried over him when he wasn’t watching.

  I prayed over him while he slept.

  I told him over and over how much he was loved.

  Like Nate, I spent most of my time by his bedside. I wouldn’t trade a single minute of it, though. I got to hold his hand as it turned from warm and pink to cold and pale. I got to speak to him long after he stopped speaking back. I got to spend precious moments with him right up until the day he died.

  Death is a long, tragic road for those of us left behind, but it can be a blessing for those sick ones who are hurting. As hard as it was to let him go, death was a blessing for my dad. Watching him suffer was unspeakably painful, more so for him, I know. And while artistic license was employed to specifically tailor some parts of this story, the bulk of it is completely accurate, even the horrific parts.

  Especially the horrific parts.

  Cancer is an evil nemesis.

  A killer.

  A thief.

  It tried to take my mother, too, who was diagnosed with cancer in January 2015. She is still with me, though, and I’m deeply, profoundly grateful for that.

  As much as cancer takes from us, it can’t steal our love or our memories. Like these characters, I’m thankful for every day that I was given with my sweet daddy. I treasure those memories like the world’s most expensive jewels. There will come a day when I won’t need them anymore, though. There will come a day when I’ll get to hug him again. Maybe we can even chase lightning bugs in heaven. Who knows? But until then, I’ll just keep writing.

  Knowing him and loving him made me who I was up until December third.

  Losing
him made me who I became on December fourth and every day after.

  Thank you for sticking with this, for reading something that is pretty out of character for what I usually write. Some things in life change you. They affect you so profoundly that it’s hard to remember the person you used to be. That’s where I found myself after Dad died. And that’s why I had to write this book. I wanted to write something that matters, not just to me, but to others.

  This is my heart, my soul, my pain and my healing all wrapped up in a bow called The Empty Jar. I needed to write this book. It was all I could think about for weeks, and now that it’s done, I know in my heart it’s the best thing I’ve ever done. It’s the thing I’m most proud of in all of my works. I hope my dad would be proud of it, too. Proud of me. Nothing would make me happier.

  If you enjoyed this story, if it touched your heart, brought a tear, reminded you of what’s important in life, please tell a friend. I’d love nothing more than for this book to help someone, somewhere, out there in the world. For it to matter. It sure matters to me, and it sure helped me. But there’s only one way that it will make it to those who need it most. And that’s up to you, my amazing, incredible, wonderful readers. You change lives. You may not believe that, but it’s true. You changed mine. And I’ve seen you change others by coming out in support of what you love. So if you loved this and would pass that love along, maybe leave a review as well, I’d be forever grateful. Hopefully someone else will, too.

  Thank you.

  Truly.

  Sincerely.

  Always.

  Michelle

  Acknowledgements

  First, I’d like to thank my sweet husband for bearing with me since 2015 when my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. That set the pace for one of the worst years of my life. She fought her battle and then rolled right into helping Dad fight his. She’s the Lena in my life. I just hope that I can be her Grace.

  But back to my hubby…

  You’ve been patient, loving, kind, helpful, thoughtful, and more understanding than I could’ve hoped for. Aside from my father, you’re the best man I’ve ever met. I’m blessed to have you in my life, and it was YOU who showed me how lost Nate is without Lena. That’s how I’d feel without you.

  Lost.

  I love you, baby.

  Always.

  Next, I’d like to thank my best friend and crit partner, Courtney Cole. How you put up with me, I’ll never know. Thank you for reading this book (more than once) and for your always-valuable input. I wouldn’t have wanted to walk this writerly road with anyone else. I love you like family. You are definitely in my jar!

  I’d also like to thank Kat Grimes. You are like a ray of sunshine. Your kindness and encouragement never fail to brighten my day. You make my life a better one and the world a better place. You are also definitely in my jar.

  My minxes. You girls… I just don’t know what I’d do without you. I’m grateful for every day that I get to have you in my life. You’re in my jar.

  I’d like to thank Marion Archer. You always have the best insight! Thank you for squeezing me in and for being a sister in the ways that matter. You’re in my jar.

  Paige Smith. Thank you for working with me on such short notice. I can already tell that you’re going into my jar.

  Lastly, I’d like to thank each and every reader who embraces this story. You may not know it, but you’re in my jar now, too. Because your love of my work matters to me. You are in my jar. Always.

  If you’d like to talk about this story or connect with others who have finished reading and are filling their jar, please visit our group on Facebook here

  A FINAL WORD

  If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review and recommending it to a friend. You are more powerful than you know. YOU–the words from your mouth, the thoughts from your heart, shared with others, can move mountains. You make a huge difference in the life of an author. You have in mine. You do every day, which brings me to my gratitude, my overwhelming, heartfelt gratitude.

  A few times in life, I’ve found myself in a position of such love and appreciation that saying THANK YOU seems trite, like it’s just not enough. That is the position that I find myself in now when it comes to you, my readers. You are the sole reason that my dream of being a writer has come true and your encouragement keeps me going. It brings me unimaginable pleasure to hear that you love my work, that it has touched you in some way, that it has made life seem a little bit better for having read it. So it is from the depths of my soul, from the very bottom of my heart that I say I simply cannot THANK YOU enough, which I say a lot of in this post.

  COME CONNECT WITH ME

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  Also, if you like music, you might like to know that I do, too, and that it plays a big role in my inspiration. For that reason, I create a playlist for each book I write, adding the songs that inspire me as I go. You can find all my playlists here on Spotify.

  Other books by M. Leighton on Amazon

  All the Pretty Lies ** All the Pretty Poses

  All Things Pretty ** All Things Pretty (part two)

  The Pretty Series Bundle

  Down to You ** Up to Me

  Everything for Us

  Always With You Part one

  Always With You Part two

  Always With You Part three

  Pocketful of Sand

  The Empty Jar

  Strong Enough ** Tough Enough

  Brave Enough

  The Wild Ones ** Wild Child

  Some Like It Wild ** There’s Wild, Then There’s You

  YA and PARANORMAL

  Fragile

  Madly ** Madly & Wolfhardt

  Madly & the Jackal ** Madly Boxed Set

  Blood Like Poison: For the Love of a Vampire

  Blood Like Poison: Destined for a Vampire

  Blood Like Poison: To Kill an Angel

  Blood Like Poison Boxed Set

  The Reaping ** The Reckoning

  Caterpillar

  Beginnings: An M. Leighton Anthology

  New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author, M. Leighton, is a native of Ohio. She relocated to the warmer climates of the South, where she can be near the water all summer and miss the snow all winter. Possessed of an overactive imagination from early in her childhood, Michelle finally found an acceptable outlet for her fantastical visions: literary fiction. Having written over a dozen novels, these days Michelle enjoys letting her mind wander to more romantic settings with sexy Southern guys, much like the one she married and the ones you'll find in her latest books. When her thoughts aren't roaming in that direction, she'll be riding wild horses, skiing the slopes of Aspen or scuba diving with a hot rock star, all without leaving the cozy comfort of her office.

  About Michelle: I love coffee and chocolate, even more so when they are combined. I'm convinced that one day they could be the basis for world peace. I also love the color red and am seriously considering dying my hair.