by Deacon Rie
What would the future look like for him? Would he be lonely? Did he know things would have to change?
Stephen had become concerned about how he would take care of his father. He certainly couldn't continue to live in his house anymore, not by himself. What would happen to his father's home? What could happen? There might be an opportunity to sell the house and use the money to pay for a caregiver to help Tom. But Stephen had grown up in that home. He had watched his father build, repair and improve the house of years of labor and skill. He knew how much his father loved the home and to give it up would be devastating to the already crushed man. Besides, being Stephen's home it was a place where Tom crafted life's memories in his more youthful days. A time when his body did what it was instructed and forged hammer and nail to build a porch, a deck, a sunroom. Stephen knew that Tom's house was a part of him that the aging, withering man needed to hold on to. And now, it would be the keepsake for those memories of his wife. Selling the home while Tom was alive was not an option.
Stephen knew what needed to happen. His father would have to move in with them. He wondered how Tom would adjust. Could Tom accept living under his son's roof and authority? What would change in their relationship? Would this ailing man, now only a shell of his once physical greatness, who was stubborn in his ways before the debilitating stroke, tolerate abiding by everyone else's schedules?
Besides a helpmate, nurse and companion, Rebecca was Tom's primary driver for not just appointments but leisure interests Tom was still prone to enjoying. Or rather, those Rebecca had said he enjoyed. Stephen wondered how much his father really enjoyed the museum or botanical gardens and how much his inability to contest made him the perfect companion for Rebecca on various outings. Whether he enjoyed the arts or hated them was simply irrelevant now. Stephen knew that a very real question was whether Tom could adjust to losing a large amount of his independence. Stephen worked from home but they still only had one car. He was already pressuring Sarah to be quick dropping Hailey off at school or to doctor appointments because he needed to be a presence at appraisal sites or client meetings. His mind immediately went to the prospect of Sarah using his parent’s car now that it was freed up. As an added benefit, if she used their car then there was less opportunity for his father, whose license had long since been revoked due to his medical condition, to take off and go joy riding as he was prone to do sometimes.
What a loving son. At my mother’s funeral and I’m already planning the takeover.
Regardless of the house or the car, one thing was for sure, that marathon race that Ray wanted him to run was off the table. There was too much to do, too many logistics, too many details and too little energy. There were bound to be other opportunities.
Sarah briefly gripped Stephen's hand before letting go and quietly slid in next to Hailey. Sadness for his mother and fondness for his wife poured over Stephen. He resolved that Tom had to be aware of the circumstances. While the stroke had left him severely diminished, Stephen felt confident that Tom fully understood the gravity of the current situation. Looking at his father he could see that no thoughts were being given to the future though; no concern for upcoming changes. Stephen knew Tom's distant stare was lost in the singular thought of just how much the man already missed his beloved wife.
Hailey leaned up and gave Tom a sweet kiss on his rugged cheek. Stephen watched as his father appeared unresponsive before he subtly reached over, grasped his granddaughter's hand in the clench of his own and pulled her closer to his own body. Hailey responded by softly resting her head over his large forearm. She then reached over and pulled Tom's disabled arm up, positioning it under her head and began caressing it. "It’s okay, Papi. It's all going to be okay." Stephen wasn't sure if he was proud or saddened by the fact that his eleven year old had such an incredible amount of sympathy and compassion. Compassion, he knew, that had been reinforced by the servant heart of his mother, but which undoubtedly bore its roots from Hailey's observation of the caring people who wore hospital scrubs to work each day.
Tom's face remained fixated on the picture of Rebecca throughout the entire service as though he were a student focused on a lecture. Even as the officiating pastor briefly choked up while giving the family a case for continual encouragement and the hope of reunion in eternity. All the while, Tom's gaze never drifted from studying the peaceful face of his beloved.
Mile 20
The year following his mother's death was a challenging one. Coping with her loss taught Stephen just how much of a support Rebecca had been to his family. Rebecca had always been a significant support to his wife, but he was beginning to realize that he too had relied on his mom more than he had even been aware of. Beyond the assortment of minor household chores he hadn't realized she had engaged in, there was a strength about Rebecca's presence Stephen had unknowingly drawn encouragement from. He had always seen his mother as a happy person but her attractive personality had the ability to enhance the environment so that those around her were lifted up as well.
Stephen felt the awkward void. It wasn't just her passing that left him wanting, he felt his own sturdiness seemed to be lacking. He was unsure of himself. There was something missing; an absence in the room which had left emptiness inside of him. For so long he had enjoyed having his mother in his life without taking the opportunity to appreciate time with her. He knew it was cliché to regret things left unsaid but his guilt, mixed with life's frustrations, opened a spiraling emotional vortex which swirled whenever his mind was idle.
To their relief, Tom did not make a fuss about moving in. Stephen felt that perhaps Tom saw moving in as a way to support his son, even though Stephen would now take on the role of his caregiver. The relocation took several weeks but it was more about not wanting to rush Tom than it was about packing boxes. Though he never resisted, Stephen watched Tom during the moving season as he would walk into a room and just stand there for five or ten minutes; just standing and looking around. Stephen could tell the man's memories were stored in the home so once a week, Stephen or Sarah would drive Tom back to the house just so he could be there and enjoy a bench in the backyard. Tom would rest while they cleaned up garden spaces or tended to trees planted long ago by a firmer, energetic and more able version of the man than the one who occupied the fading wooden bench.
Stephen knew his father loved being at the home. But it was never more apparent than the day Tom went missing. Panic quickly turned to aggravation once Sarah pointed out that Tom's car was conspicuously absent as well. The assumption was spot on as they pulled into the driveway of Tom's house, parking just behind the vehicle that Tom was legally prevented from driving.
It was evident the time had finally come for Stephen to explain the new rules, which included an absolute prohibition on his father driving. When words were finished being spoken, Tom simply nodded with the disdain of a teenager receiving a parental lecture. Tom then walked over to the keys, pointed at them and began adamantly pointing to his own chest.
Taking just a moment to understand, Stephen acknowledged the restructuring of the contract. "Yes, Dad. I understand. The car is still yours." This seemed to satisfy the retired speed-demon and he acquiesced, taking the keys and placing them into Stephen's palm.
The microeconomic challenges in a household are difficult enough without the world falling apart from macroeconomic events. For Stephen's young company, the ongoing economic riles pulsating throughout the country could not have come at a worse time. His company was providing income but it was sporadic and eventually fell below the hurdle of rising expenses. Fears about the state of the commercial real estate market and the overall economy proved to be constant storm clouds hovering over his business. Every time there seemed to be a ray of good news breaking through, it was quickly followed by a thunderstorm of doomsday prognostications which sent potential real estate buyers scurrying to find cover by cancelling planned purchases. Without a buyer considering investment into new commercial buildings, there was no need to hire an
appraiser and Stephen's company suffered from the lack of consistency.
A couple of years into the success of moderate sustainability, business slowed to the point where he could no longer distribute work to other contractors. Instead he yielded to the family's need for cash flow and focused on completing the jobs he already had. This would provide good income for the month but since he had been working instead of prospecting for new business, the next month would have far fewer opportunities and even less money flowing in. It was feast or famine; only the feast was more like trying to enjoy a community potluck with a devotee to the Atkins Diet.
Sarah picked up part-time gigs from time to time but the pay was low and her available hours never matched with an employer's needs. Under a bruised and beaten economy, where it was difficult enough for a full-time worker to find employment, it was a near impossibility for a worker who had the constraints of being the primary caregiver to a disabled father-in-law and a daughter who needed regular precautionary attention; never knowing if a flu was just the flu or if it was a resurgence of the monster within.
The Lantz household found it near impossible to budget from such a haphazard lifestyle. The cost of living continued to increase as soaring gas and food prices placed added pressure on them. Health insurance premiums became so high they dropped coverage on Sarah in order to make payments for a harsh introduction into the world of self-employment taxes. The pie could only be cut so many ways and it wasn't long before bills were being paid late, periodically, and eventually not at all.
The letter from the bank about their mortgage was one Stephen had been expecting for some time. No longer waiting until a crisis hit before mentioning it to his wife, he and Sarah had already discussed the impending financial tragedy. Stephen struggled to accept the reality but Sarah remained calm and encouraging throughout. They talked through options and after a few conversations which took them well into sunrise, they came to the agreement that if it ever came to losing the house, they were prepared with a plan. Sarah also mentioned that she would be praying for him and for their situation. He thought it a bit odd but praying was something she was into nowadays and if it could add an ounce of assistance, he wouldn't make a big deal out of it.
Somebody saying they were praying for him was a phrase of encouragement he had heard often as a wounded warrior. It seemed to be a parting comment people made when they had nothing left to give. It was their way of departing with a sense of contribution as they left his world of torturous surgeries and grueling physical therapy, while they went back to their normal lives and struggles over which reality TV show they would zone into for the evening. While he appreciated the sentiment, Stephen had a feeling that such parting comments mainly served as a way for the visitors to have a way of avoiding feelings of guilt and helplessness. There was nothing they could do for him and providing a promise to pray proved to be a good way for someone to leave with their dignity intact. Stephen never begrudged those flippant words. Despite believing their prayerful intention never made it beyond the double doors of the hospital vestibule, he always gave the obligatory level of appreciation and gratitude. Now, his wife was talking about prayer all the time. She prayed over their finances. She prayed for their daughter, his father. She prayed for their company, and she told Stephen she would also pray for him.
Though he never said anything about it, her constant praying made Stephen incredibly uneasy. It wasn't so much his wife's new spiritual focus, which he assumed was a temporary response of Rebecca's passing, but when Sarah said she would pray, Stephen felt absolutely certain she would. Each time her words left him feeling uncomfortable, as if he should be doing more to contribute as well. Stephen was struggling with a deep sense of guilt. Not just guilt born out of his failed responsibilities, this particular guilt came from a sense that his wife was doing something to help them on another level and he wasn't even trying to be a part of it. All the while, Stephen was left frustrated and confused while his wife seemed confident and encouraged.
He had felt comfort in working out a plan to handle the house with Sarah. However, once the envelope arrived, the comfort left and his confidence crashed with him deep into the recliner. He held the sealed dry white envelope in his fingers. The recliner was uncomfortable. In the ten years they had owned the chair Stephen had never been quite as aware of the pressure points of the seat. The left side was firmer than the right. It caused an unnoticeable but absolutely distinct decline towards the right armrest. The more he thought about the decline the more it pushed back. The throw cushion in between Stephen and the armrest released a terrifying shrill as its seams were stretched from the pressure of the armrest and his unmovable body. Stephen dramatically ripped the cushion out from under his thigh and forcefully flung it across the room with the maturity of a baby's tantrum. He sat there overturning the envelop several times before mustering the courage to tear open the seam and extract the legal-sized paper that would be his financial ruin. Not bothering to look at the paper, he glanced at his father who was fast asleep in the couch on the opposite side of the room.
Stephen knew what the letter would say. The problem began when they had refinanced their home several years before at the suggestion of the bank lender. When all the signatures were complete they had reduced their monthly mortgage payment by several hundred dollars and received a check that covered almost all of Hailey's outstanding medical bills. At the time, it was the breathing room they had needed. In truth, it just helped them stay afloat longer while pushing the problem back a few years. Having no intentions of moving, Stephen had not been overly panicked as the value of their home declined with the bursting housing bubble being experienced by the entire nation. But the call he received from the bank nearly a year before had given him an outright shock. Apparently, when they refinanced the home someone had made an error in the tax calculation. As a result, the Lantz's monthly payment was severely under funding their escrow account, the money which banks hold for the payment of taxes and insurance. In a nightmare version of Monopoly, the bank error did not absolve Stephen of their situation. Their monthly payment was required to be increased to meet the necessary gap in the escrow account. Stephen disputed and complained about the near doubling of their monthly payments but even the supportive pleas of the bank's management couldn't squeeze an ounce of sympathy from a financial institution that was vainly doing everything it could to keep from going out of business. The new bank that acquired their mortgage note from the failed lender was a faceless giant cranking out delinquent notices by bulk.
Stephen opened the envelope to read the bold letters at the top of the page, 'Notice of Intention to Foreclose.' He skipped past all the details of his obligations that he painfully knew by heart. He saw the lateral signature, seemingly scripted by the approving bank officer at the bottom of the page. It was tilted at an angle that wasn't perpendicular with the piece of paper. Next he noticed the entire text of the page was tilted at the same angle. It was as if the signature was an electronic copy which had been printed along with the document but the paper hadn't fed through the printer properly.
"Wow," Stephen whispered aloud, "they're cranking out so many of these they’re having the computers take your home away." Depression set in as Stephen struggled to understand why he and Sarah never seemed to have a chance to catch their breath.
Forfeiting the battle with the recliner, Stephen rose to leave the room when he realized his father was awake and looking right at him. It was apparent that Tom knew exactly what the letter was for. Stephen walked to him with his head bent to the ground, ashamed to meet his father's gaze. Stephen's eyes could only reach Tom's shoulders.
Dropping to his knees at the base of the recliner, he confessed, "I'm sorry, Dad. I wish I could make this work. I really don't have any idea what else I'm supposed to do now."
Stephen struggled to keep his emotions together and maintained a low, firm voice. "I'm sorry," he said again realizing he knew no other words to release. He didn't know how to encourage his
father. The man had no choice but to rely on his only son. A son who was struggling with an obligation to explain that he had failed to take care of his family once again.
"Dad," recognizing the pointlessness of excuses, Stephen's voice cracked and he turned away from his father's face, "I don't think I'm strong enough for this."
Tom stared at him and raised the one arm he could until it rested on his son's shoulder. He tried to catch Stephen's eyes but the broken man kneeling before him turned his head, refusing to look at Tom. Stephen rose to his feet and walked out of the room. Opening the front door, he stepped into afternoon sun, the stale air unmoved. Despising the beauty of the perfect spring day, Stephen stood on the front porch trying to think of a way to tell his wife that her prayers weren't going to be enough this time.
Mile 21
The prospect of losing their home weighed heavy and made Stephen's head feel flush. Sarah wouldn't be home for a couple of hours and his thoughts scampered uncontrollably through his mind like cats locked in a room with a sprinkler. He was burning up, confirmed by a touch of the cheek. Temperatures must have been around the mid-eighties, nothing particularly stressful but the flushness of his skin swelled from an inner heat. He looked about at the empty neighborhood road. Not a car in sight. No children playing basketball in the street. Without encumbrance from the wind, the oversized oak tree in the front yard, overdue for a pruning, held its form as if ready to be framed. Tossed lazily at the bottom of the front porch were his running shoes. With no possibility of herding the thoughts in his mind, Stephen rushed down the porch stairs, took off his loafers and placed his running shoes over the worn cotton socks.
His mind skipped and without fully realizing it, he was beneath the noon sky quickening his pace over the slowly declining road. Leaving the neighborhood, Stephen turned onto one of the old farm to market roads he rarely ventured to. The road, commonly used by cyclists, went on for miles before hitting the next residential community, and signs of development were sparse. He expected the workout to help calm his mind but he felt very much the opposite. Anger and despondency over the foreclosure notice fueled his pace and each mile took a lifetime to reach. He eventually found himself pressing heavy feet into the curvature of a respectable hill, when the rear of a parked gray sedan came into view.