by Libby Austin
Finally, if you want to read about a mature woman rediscovering love, then I hope you take a chance on through infinity and enjoy it.
Sincerely,
Libby
PROLOGUE
LIFE IS A FUNNY THING. It has many different meanings. Webster’s Dictionary lists twenty-one different definitions for the noun form alone. People describe it in various ways. What constitutes life has been debated and argued over in living rooms, on the streets, and in courtrooms for decades. People have died to save life, and others have killed for the very same reason. I think most people can agree that life holds value, even when they can’t agree what the value is.
Is there anything more valuable than the thing you lost once it’s returned? Is it appreciated more upon its reappearance? When the shininess of its recovery wears off, will its greater significance remain or dull over time?
I’ve pondered these questions and quite a few more over the course of the past months. I’ve had a lot of time to think and a lot of empty space to fill up. I’d like to think the challenges I’ve faced made me stronger, if not a few pounds lighter. There should be something to show for the hard work and dedication we’d all put in.
What I know is that life is a fleeting, precious gift that should never be taken for granted. Didn’t someone important say, ‘That’s why today is called the present’? No? Maybe I read it in a greeting card, but the sentiment remains the same no matter who coined the phrase. Don’t get so caught up in what’s going on around you that you forget to appreciate everything, including the stuff that seems like nothing. You never know when the most mundane occurrence will become the most significant. It’s a lesson I’ve taken to heart, because, to paraphrase Reba, ‘The heart won’t lie.’
I woke up one day and everything I knew had changed, not just changed, it had disappeared into a clouded ether of tangled thoughts and missing pieces. My life had become a puzzle. Unfortunately, all of the pieces weren’t there to put the puzzle back together.
My life began the day I died … Wait, let me rephrase, my life as I know it began five days after I died.
CHAPTER ONE
WHY WON’T SOMEBODY TURN OFF that damn beeping? It’s driving me up the fucking wall! Those were the first thoughts I remembered having upon waking up. They flashed through my mind before I could summon the strength to open my eyes. That incessant noise annoying the crap out of me was probably what drove me back to consciousness in the first place.
Grunting and groaning with the effort it took, I finally raised my eyelids, only to quickly shut them. Certainly I’d had worse hangovers in college, but I couldn’t say I remembered one at that moment. Dear God, I thought as the brief flash of light set off an explosion in my head. The desire to cry flitted through my mind, but it was trumped by the idea of more pain.
“Babe … Babe, can you hear me?” Great, now some jackass is yelling. Doesn’t he realize I have a hangover? Is it necessary to speak at the top of his lungs? “Babe, can you squeeze my hand? Please, just squeeze my hand,” the voice kept pleading. What I truly wanted to squeeze was his windpipe, but if it shut him up, I’d squeeze his hand until gangrene set in.
I squeezed as hard as I could squeeze. That one little squeeze felt like it took a Herculean effort. I heard the voice say, “Oh my God! Oh my God!” Then there was another loud buzz right in my ear, which caused me to flinch and jerk my head, which, in turn, caused me to wince and moan. Another voice, female this time, yelled, “Can I help you?” I wanted to scream, What’s with all the damn yelling? But that would kind of defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it? Plus, I didn’t have the strength to get the words out.
By this point, I was getting really tired. Between the breathing, the wincing, the groaning, and the squeezing, I was exhausted. The beating in my head pounded to the rhythm of some unknown death metal music, so, as the fogginess of unconsciousness called to me, I decided to accept the offer for peace and quiet a little while longer. Just as I was about to slip under into a nice, numb cocoon, I heard the male voice say, “My wife squeezed my hand.”
WIFE! WHAT THE FUCK! I’m not married, I thought and tried to jerk back to consciousness, but the pull was too strong for my weakened body, so under I slipped once again.
thanks for the memories
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THE ‘OFFICIAL’ START OF THE holiday season and I felt like singing “You’re a mean one, Mr. Grinch” at the thought of the days to come. Every time someone mentioned one of our Christmas traditions, I inwardly cringed. I wanted to be excited, but once again, I felt like I was letting my family down because I didn’t remember ‘our’ traditions. Oh, I knew there were traditions that I carried on from my childhood, but what about the ones that began with the family I’d helped create? It shouldn’t be a big deal to ask what kinds of things we did, but I remembered how much I looked forward to the special things my parents did when I was a kid. Guilt filled me that I couldn’t remember a single Christmas with Jason and our children and wouldn’t be able to fulfill their expectations. While I had so much to be thankful for, I found myself dwelling on the loss.
“Oh well, suck it up, buttercup,” I chastised myself. It was time to leave the tranquility of my little sanctuary at the top of my closet for what was sure to be bedlam—my entire family and then some would be gathering together to celebrate Thanksgiving. It was time to put those flash cards to use again. UGH …
Hours later I was worn out from smiling, chatting, and eating. Thanksgiving dinner was fun and entertaining. Because there were so many of us, we rented out the local community center. Dinner was organized chaos. At one point during the blessing, I leaned over and asked Jason how many times Pappy would say “Amen” before we actually got to eat. For the record, he said it five times. Pappy had become even more longwinded than he had been from my memory, and I thought he had rambled back then. The best part of the day was hearing our kids say, “We are most grateful for our mom and dad.”
Jason had already brought down all of our Christmas decorations from storage. This whole weekend would be dedicated to decorating the house. Relief filled me that I hadn’t completely flipped my lid over the past eighteen years and decided I liked Black Friday shopping. I shudder to think, but I finally understood Jason’s dig about my Amazon addiction because I loved shopping online. The specials were already popping up on my phone.
By the time we arrived home, it was close to time to start Dawson’s bedtime routine. I started to tell him to go get his stuff ready for his bath when Jason interrupted me. “Hold up, Duck, we gotta show Mommy her surprise.”
I quirked my eyebrow at him and asked, “What surprise?”
“It wouldn’t be much of a surprise if we told you, now would it?” Jason laughed as he wrapped his arm around my shoulders to direct me into the living room.
On the coffee table there were a bunch of metal canisters of all different sizes. Each was decorated and numbered. Since they weren’t in order, I couldn’t tell how many there were, but there were a lot.
Jason sat us down on the couch and handed me a parchment scroll tied with a ribbon. I glanced up at him as if to ask what’s this?
“Just open it,” he said with a nod of his head to gesture to the scroll.
My curiosity won out. I untied the ribbon, unrolled the scroll, and began reading. It was decorated with drawings from different skill levels, which made it obvious whom they were drawn by.
Dear Candice,
Your children sent me a letter telling me you’ve been worrying about what to do this Christmas. I know how much you’ve always enjoyed Christmas and carrying on your family’s traditions.
This year your family wants to do something special for you. They’ve decided to share their favorite memories and family traditions with you. Each canister contains a memory or tradition, and they’ve been numbered in the order in which they must be opened.
Enjoy your present, and remember, no peeking. I’ll be watching.
Merry Christmas<
br />
Santa
I was speechless and unsure of what to do, so in a shaky voice I said, “Y’all really wrote Santa for me?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Yes, Mommy.”
“Uh huh.”
Wiping a tear from my eye, I tried to keep myself from losing it. “Jou aren’ suppose ta weak, Mommy,” Dawson told me.
I laughed at his innocence. “I know, buddy, but I’m just so happy I can’t keep it in.” Dawson looked over at Jason for guidance. Jason gave him a subtle nod and Dawson dropped it.
“Come on, Momma, open your first present,” Sybany said, bouncing in her excitement. It did my heart good to see her coming out of her shell more and more. She vibrated with energy.
“Okay, okay,” I said laughingly. “Which one do I open first?”
“Ugh, the one with the one on it,” Xavier pointed out the obvious.
I scanned the table until I found the canister labeled ’1’ and reached for it. Holding it up to my ear, I jiggled it.
“Owwww, jou aren’t suppose ta shake da presents, Mommy,” Dawson admonished me.
“Sorry, buddy,” I apologized. “I just wanted to make the surprise last a little longer.” Prying the lid off of the canister, I tipped it over and a thin oval stick fell out. I stared at it because I had no clue what it was.
“Here, let’s plug it in,” Damaris instructed. Relieved to not have to ask, I handed it to her. She walked over to the TV and connected the device to it while Xavier pushed buttons on the remotes.
‘The Christmas Carol Tradition’ popped up on the screen, then it was filled with a toddler aged Bryson singing a very off-key rendition of “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,” which was followed by eighteen years’ worth of my nephews, nieces, and kids performing synchronized dances.
“Wow! I can’t believe y’all do that every year,” I commented. “What are you doing this year?”
“We were waiting on you to make the final decision, but we—well, everybody but Bryson, he doesn’t do it since he got kicked out of the kid gift pool when he went to college—thought ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas’ would be fun to do again,” Damaris explained.
“Waiting on me?” I asked.
“Yeah, you always help us make up the moves, ‘cause you don’t mind looking funny,” Xavier piped up.
I wasn’t sure looking funny was a compliment, especially since I have two left feet, but I decided to take as one anyway. “Okay then, ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas’ it is.”
Coming Late Spring 2015
& beyond …
“DADDY,” SYBANY SAID TO GET my attention.
“Yeah, Bunny, what’s up?” We’d been outside laying the stones through the new wild flower garden I was putting in as Candice’s anniversary present. I was hot and sweaty, even though it was only the beginning of April.
“Why are you putting in Momma’s garden this year? She doesn’t remember it, so why go through all the trouble?”
I thought about how to answer her question. I could see where she was coming from; it was a lot of work for someone who had no clue why it was here. “Well, I guess the reason is because I remember.
“Back a long time ago, way before you were born, your momma told me that she loved wild flowers and one day she wanted to live somewhere she could have a field of them because they would last longer than a bouquet. So, when we moved here, I knew I wanted to give your momma her dream, and I planted a garden of wild flowers that she could see every morning.
“When the flowers started blooming that year, she was so excited. She drug me out to the patio off our bedroom and said, ‘Look! Look at the wild flowers. I have my very own field of wild flowers.’ She would sit out on the patio all the time, even in the summer, because she said it brought her peace. I made a promise that, as long as I was able, I would make sure she had her field of wild flowers. And every year since then, I’ve made sure she had her field of flowers.
“Your momma may not ever know about that promise or even why the flowers are there, but I do. And it’s important to me that I fulfill that promise.” I paused for a second before I added, “I think, deep down, her heart remembers and she’ll love it even more.”
“Like the handprints on her heart and the footprints on her life she used to say we left?” Sybany asked me.
I nodded my head. “Exactly like that. Those never go away.” She nodded her head and went back to picking petals off the flowers nearby, so I returned to the job of laying stones. This year I had decided to expand the garden and put in a little all-season reading lodge as her anniversary present. I felt like her yearly gift needed a new touch to represent our new beginning.
We passed a while in silence. I continued working, and Bunny kept me company.
“Daddy?”
“Yeah, baby.”
“Does Mommy still have all of the handprints and footprints she had us make?”
I thought about it. I couldn’t remember seeing them, but I knew they had to be around somewhere. Candice would never throw anything like that out. “I’m sure she does.”
Sybany pursed her lips. It was a habit she shared with Candice. That, and she stuck her tongue out when she was thinking really hard. “She didn’t make ’em this year.” I wasn’t sure what I should say to that. Those kinds of things had been Candice’s specialty before her accident. “I think we should make some for her and put them out in her garden as part of her surprise. You know, so she won’t ever have to worry about forgetting our hand and footprints again.”
Sybany had taken her mom’s accident the hardest of all our kids. And when I discovered the reason why, it rocked me to my core. I’d never felt like more of a failure as a father as I did when she confessed she felt responsible for Candice’s accident. All because of a stupid joke I made about keeping her mom safe in the kitchen. The two of us had slowly been making our way back from the guilt that threatened to pull us both under. I think working on the garden had helped heal both of us.
“I think that’s a great idea. We’ll get Bev and Aunt Macy to help us. Do you think you and your sister and brothers could think up some special messages to write in the concrete if I get a walkway poured?”
She nodded her head and said, “I think so.”
“Okay, you get with them, and I’ll call Aunt Macy and talk to Bev.
We’ll get everything ready in time to surprise Mommy.”
“Yes, sir,” she said before darting away to find her sister and brothers.
I had better get a move on if all of this was going to get done in time.
There was a lot riding on this garden, more than anybody else knew.