by Marci Bolden
Her train of thought halted as her ears and brain connected. A familiar voice spoke nearby. Forcing her eyelids up, she noticed her mom and Mary talking in hushed tones in the chairs on the other side of the coffee table. Mary’s little living room was filled with seating because her house was the gathering spot. Even though Elijah lived a few miles away and his house was larger, Mary’s home was the hub for the Denmans. This house was all Mary could afford, being a single mother with two boys, but it was filled with love and happy memories that everyone could share in.
So, despite her living room being crowded, this was where they’d all come together to mourn.
Sometime while Carol had dozed off, Judith had arrived. That meant her aunt was somewhere. Perhaps in the kitchen, since Carol had been taking up precious space on the couch. When she’d fallen asleep, she and Mary had been alone in the house, but the sound of muted voices in the kitchen indicated that several people had since arrived.
Carol slowly sat. Her head spun a little. She couldn’t remember taking one of the pills the doctor had prescribed for her, but she must have. Her body and mind seemed disjointed, which would have been an effect of the drug.
“There she is,” Mary said softly. A moment later, she put a soft kiss on Carol’s head. “I’ll make you some tea, baby.”
By the time Carol processed the words, Mary was gone. Sitting back, she looked across the room, and another layer of stress settled over her. She didn’t have the energy to deal with her mother right now. “Hi, Mom.”
Judith frowned, and Carol lowered her face. Undoubtedly, she looked like a mess. She’d been crying for two days straight. Only sleeping when the drugs overcame her ability to stay awake. Not eating enough, according to Mary.
“How many pills did you take?” Judith asked.
“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “Too many, I guess.”
A loud sigh came across the coffee table at her. If her mind hadn’t been so clouded, she would have snapped at her mother. “I don’t need your judgment right now,” Carol managed to say. She would have pushed herself up and walked away if her body had complied with her intention.
“I’m not judging you,” Judith said. “I’m worrying about you.”
“Well, don’t do that either.”
“Because you’re fine?”
She was about to suggest her mother leave, when Judith sat next to her. “Please don’t fight with me right now,” Carol whispered. “I can’t fight right now.”
“I’m not,” Judith answered with her own whisper. She put her arm around Carol’s shoulders, not quite a hug but more than she was prone to giving. “I don’t want to see you using pills to shut down, that’s all.”
“Tobias…” She couldn’t finish. Tears filled her eyes and choked off her words.
“I know.”
Carol ground her teeth so hard that her jaw muscles ached. She hated crying in front of her mother. Her parents had always seen crying as weak. Selfish. But she couldn’t hold back the sob welling in her chest. She was awake now. The clouds were clearing from her mind, and all she could think was that Tobias was dead.
A half cry, half plea left her against her will.
Judith actually pulled her closer and put her hand over Carol’s. “I know.”
Carol dropped her head onto her mom’s shoulder. She’d never relied on her mom for emotional support. Judith wasn’t good at offering emotional support. In this moment, however, Carol was in no position to rebuff anyone’s comfort. Even the stiff half embrace of her mother was welcomed.
Her latest round of tears was disturbed when someone set a cup of tea on the table in front of her. Opening her eyes, she noticed her aunt looking at her with sympathy and concern. That added to the emotional outburst, and she started sobbing harder.
“Oh, honey,” Ellen cooed as she sat on the other side of Carol. Leaning in, she hugged her with much more compassion than her mother. Ellen’s hugs had always been warm and inviting. She pulled Carol’s head close and planted several kisses to her temple. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Carol grasped her hand and clung to her as she gulped for air to try to calm herself.
After a few minutes, Ellen reached for the hot tea. “I added a little kick to help you relax.”
“Not alcohol, I hope,” Judith said, sounding a bit panicked. “She’s been taking some kind of pills.”
“It’s fine,” Carol said, taking the mug.
“Just a little whiskey,” Ellen confessed. “Not enough to—”
“She’s been taking pills,” Judith stated.
“Mom,” Carol soothed. “It’s fine.” She sipped the drink, and seconds later a wave of tingles rolled through her. By “a little” her aunt must have meant a shot or two. Carol didn’t mind. In fact, she appreciated the gesture.
She handed the mug back to Ellen. “I’m a widow.” Her strained voice cracked, sounding as broken as she felt.
Ellen patted her knee. “But you’re not alone. Remember that you’re never alone. We’re here. Tobias’s family is here. We’re all going to look after you.”
“We’ll stay as long as you need us,” Judith said; however, she didn’t sound sincere.
She sounded the same way people do when they say, “Let me know if I can do anything.” Those were fake offers of support. Those people were really saying, “I’ll be here if you need me, but please don’t.” Or maybe that’s what Carol heard because there wasn’t anything anyone could do. Everything sounded hollow. Everything seemed empty.
The front door opened, and dread knotted in her stomach. She wasn’t up for more visitors, but relief settled over her when Tobias’s brother and uncle walked in. They’d been at the funeral home because Carol couldn’t bring herself to go. She thought she should have gone, but she couldn’t.
Uncle Jerry blew her a kiss before heading right to the kitchen. He was Mary’s older brother and the closest thing to a father figure Tobias and Elijah had had most of their lives. He was one of Carol’s favorite people. He’d become like a father figure to her too.
Elijah eased into the chair where her mother had been sitting. He looked as shattered as Carol felt. If she could have stood, she would have given him a big hug, but she feared she’d stumble and cause them all more concern.
“We went ahead and ordered the wreath,” Elijah said. “You can change it—”
“No,” Carol stated. “It’s… Whatever you chose is fine.”
“White roses. And a pink one.”
Instantly, she was a weepy mess again. She put her hand to her face as her lips quivered and more tears fell. “Thank you,” she managed to say around the knot of emotion in her chest.
He nodded. “Need anything else? Want some lunch? I could go get something.”
Carol shook her head. “I’m okay. Thanks.”
“I’ll go check on Mom, then.”
He left the room about the time the soft sound of Mary’s crying came from the other room. Jerry must have told her about the funeral arrangements they’d made.
“We always…” Carol started and then sniffed. “Whenever anyone orders flowers for family gatherings, we add one pink rose for Katie,” she explained.
“That’s lovely.” Ellen put her hand to her chest, and the first sign of tears reflected in her eyes.
“I saw her picture on the wall,” Judith said. “With the rest of Tobias’s family.”
Carol’s defenses spiked. Her mother’s tone was the one she used to share her disapproval without actually stating she disapproved. Tobias and his family had never met Katie, but they loved her. They loved hearing Carol’s stories about her. Mary never forgot Katie’s birthday. She’d call Carol every June fifth to check on her. They had embraced Katie’s memory as much as they would have embraced the girl had she lived.
How could Judith be offended by that?
Carol didn’t want to know. She didn’t care. She had bigger problems than dancing around her mother right now. The image of a large wrea
th of white roses and one pink rose filled Carol’s mind and broke her all over again.
Her grief compounded in that moment. Katie. Tobias. The unborn children Carol and Tobias had lost. “This is too much,” she choked out. “I can’t do this.”
“You can,” Ellen said. “We’re going to be right here, helping you.”
Carol looked to her mother, as if she would reinforce Ellen’s offer. She was staring at the wall, at the picture of Katie mixed in with photos of a family who never knew her. Carol tried to see the wall through her mother’s eyes. The Denman family was a mixed bunch. African-American, Caucasian, Hispanic. In the sea of various-colored faces, Katie’s pale skin and freckles stuck out to those who were looking at the skin tones.
To Carol, to her in-laws, Katie fit. Katie belonged.
Carol was happy she had found this family who accepted her, flaws and all. She had no doubt her mother was seeing things through her black-and-white views, as she tended to do, but seeing Katie’s picture hanging next to images of Elijah’s daughters filled Carol’s heart. Katie was loved, though she wasn’t known.
That was special. That was important.
Carol wasn’t the least bit surprised Judith didn’t understand. In that moment, Carol felt sorry for her mother. Had Judith ever truly felt the sense of family Carol had found with Tobias, she too would have been moved to tears that Elijah had added a pink rose to the wreath.
Squeezing her mom’s hand, Carol released the frustration she’d felt earlier and reminded herself that her mom couldn’t possibly understand because she’d never had a family like the Denmans. She’d never allowed herself to feel that deeply or to love so openly.
“If I’d known about that,” Judith said, “we would have had a pink rose at your father’s funeral.”
Ah. She wasn’t confused that Katie was being included. Her mother was upset that she hadn’t been included in the tradition.
“Sorry,” Carol muttered.
“There was a lot going on,” Ellen defended. “It’s hard to remember everything when we’re grieving.”
Carol nodded, silently thanking her aunt for intervening as Judith continued staring at the picture on the wall. She was likely adding to the list of ways her daughter had wronged her.
“I think I’ll get myself some tea.” Judith pushed herself up.
“I can’t worry about Mom’s feelings right now,” Carol blurted out once her mom left the room.
“No one is asking you to, honey.” Ellen rubbed her hand over Carol’s back.
Carol frowned as she looked at her aunt. She didn’t believe that. Her mother clearly felt slighted, and when her mother felt slighted, funeral be damned, she was going to let Carol know.
Carol couldn’t be concerned about that now. Her world had fallen down around her. Her mother’s bruised ego was the least of her problems.
Carol tried to resist the need to look at the clock next to her bed, but the urge was too great. She glanced over and moaned as the time neared midnight. Her body was beyond tired, but her mind wouldn’t stop and, she knew, wouldn’t stop for hours. If she didn’t get up and distract herself, she was going to stare at the ceiling half the night.
Easing the covers off, she rolled out of the top bed that she’d slept in when she and John were traveling. The main bed, the one she’d shared with Tobias during their adventures, was occupied by her mother and aunt since they couldn’t possibly climb to the bunk above the driver’s cabin.
Slipping quietly down the ladder, she turned on a dim light to see, even though she knew her way around the RV in the dark. She’d always been prone to restless nights like this, but the frequency was increasing. The ability to ignore the storm brewing inside her became impossible when the world grew quiet and there were no distractions. Memories became far too vivid when the lights were out.
Tonight’s flashback was her wedding reception. Tobias held her close as they danced and whispered in her ear how happy he was. She would give anything to go back in time and live that day again. Her tired eyes burned as they filled with tears.
Her options at this point were to read or sit there and relive the past until she was so lonely and depressed, she wouldn’t snap out of it for days. This was another one of those cycles she had to work on breaking.
As she poured water into the electric kettle to make a cup of chamomile tea, she made a deal with herself. She could think about Tobias and their wedding until the water boiled. Once the little machine kicked off and her water was ready, she would be done feeling sorry for herself.
She pressed the button and watched, waiting for bubbles to form over the heating element. By the time the water began to show signs of warming, her heart was heavy and her eyes had filled with tears again. The smile on Tobias’s face when her father handed her over… The way he’d tenderly kissed her when they were pronounced husband and wife… How he’d hugged her so tight she thought he might crush her…
“Are you okay?” Judith whispered as she put her hand on Carol’s shoulder.
Carol jumped and gasped as she turned. “Jesus, Mom,” she hissed so she didn’t wake Ellen. “You scared me.”
“I called out to you. I thought you must have had earphones in or something, but…”
Carol wiped her cheeks. “I was thinking.”
“About?”
Focusing on the kettle, she realized the water was done boiling and the machine had turned itself off. She had no idea how long she’d stood there without noticing. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“Seems to be a running theme for you. Would you like to talk about whatever is keeping you up?”
Carol poured water into a mug and nabbed a teabag from a canister. “The gardens today…”
“Today was…emotional. Tobias would have loved the flowers.” Judith sat at the little table. She smiled at her daughter as Carol eased down across from her. “I remember how proud he was of his garden. He had quite the green thumb, didn’t he?”
Carol nodded as she lost herself in the cup. The hot liquid was starting to burn her palms through the cobalt blue ceramic, but she didn’t ease her hold. The heat kept her grounded in a strange way. “He spent so much time out there. I loved watching him.”
“I used to sit on the couch and watch your father do the crossword puzzle,” Judith said. “I swear I could see his brain working. Whenever something would trip him up, he’d furrow his brow”—she creased her forehead, imitating what she meant—“and scowl.”
Carol remembered that exact scene playing out as she’d grown up. “And then he’d click his tongue when he figured it out.”
They both laughed quietly.
“I miss him,” Judith said.
“Me too,” Carol said. “I never thought I’d feel like that, but I…” She frowned as her eyes filled again. “Damn it.” Grabbing a napkin from the holder on the table, she dabbed her tears. “I get weepy when I can’t sleep. Everything feels so overwhelming. I’m tired, but I can’t sleep. It’s frustrating and amplifies things.”
“Have you talked to a doctor?”
She nodded. “She put me on a prescription, but I didn’t like the side effects. I felt doped up for hours every morning. Don’t start,” she warned when her mom simply stared at her.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You don’t have to, Mother. I can read your face. You’re worried. Aunt Ellen’s worried. Everybody’s worried.”
“Because we have cause to worry. You’ve been through a lot, and you aren’t coping nearly as well as you’d like us to believe. You would benefit from some help, Carol. Whether you want to admit it or not.”
“Is therapy going to bring Tobias back? Will talking about how I feel resurrect my daughter?” She shook her head as she realized she’d snapped unnecessarily. “Don’t talk to me about this right now, Mom. I’m tired and I’m going say something mean, so please don’t. Let’s sit here and enjoy each other’s company. Silently,” she added with a sly grin.
Judith sa
t quietly. For about ten wonderful seconds. “I…I had a hard time after your father died. Ellen convinced me to go to a doctor, and we talked about a lot of things. Not just my grief, but…other things. My parents were… I guess they were a lot like your father and me, too strict, too harsh. I wasn’t comfortable with her suggestion, but I agreed to try something. I had to go through several different medications before the doctor found one that worked for me. It’s not easy, I know, but the alternative is… You don’t have to suffer like this.”
Carol watched, waited for more, but her mother sat with her lips pressed tight as she stared at her hands. “What are you saying, Mom? What kind of medication?”
Judith seemed to consider her words before saying, “I’ve struggled with feeling like this for years, Carol. Before you were even born. I never told your dad because… Well, you know how he was, but after his funeral and you left as soon as you could, I…I started to see that I…”
Leaning forward, Carol put her hand over her mom’s, silently encouraging her to keep going.
“I don’t blame you for running as far as you could after Katie died. You knew I couldn’t support you the way you needed because I never had. I never realized how much that must have hurt you until you left the day after your father’s funeral without even trying to be there for me.”
“I feel terrible about that, Mom,” Carol said. “I didn’t think.”
“That’s not your fault. I’d never been there for you either. Sometimes simply getting through the day took all my energy. I didn’t have anything left to give to you. That wasn’t your fault.”
“Mom, I’m—”
“I didn’t give you the coping skills to deal with all the things you’ve had to face in this life, but that’s because I didn’t have them, either.” She shrugged. “I still don’t most days, but I’m better now. I want you to be better too. Seeing you like this…” Her lips turned down as she shook her head. “You’re breaking my heart. Life doesn’t have to be this dark, Carol.”
“Mom,” she said on a whisper. “I’m still mourning my husband.”
“It’s more than that. This has been going on for your entire life. That’s my fault. I wasn’t there for you like I could have been. I should have intervened when your father was too hard on you. I didn’t know how. I’m sorry, Carol. I’m sorry we hurt you.” She finished quietly, as if she wasn’t sure she wanted Carol to hear her.