by Wade, Ellie
I get that what you’re going through is way worse than what I am feeling. But I love you, and I’m worried sick about you. Maggie hasn’t heard from you, and I don’t know who else to check with.
Please don’t shut me out. Please let me help you.
Please. Please. Please. Please. Please.
I love you, Loïc Berkeley, and nothing will ever change that.
Love,
London
Loïc
London
“I have to focus on what I can control because nothing is more depressing than trying to change what I can’t.”
—London Wright
To: Loïc Berkeley
From: London Wright
Subject: Funeral
Loïc,
The funeral’s tomorrow. Are they going to let you come home for it? Hopefully, you are already on your way. God, I hope so.
I need to see you. I don’t know what else to say besides I love you.
I. Love. You.
Always. Always. Always.
Love,
London
Sitting on the padded bench in the bay window of my bedroom, I close my laptop.
I’m not good at this, this military life. How do wives and girlfriends handle the stress of it all—the worry, the not knowing, the sadness, the anxiety…the despair? It’s all too much. It’s suffocating. I can’t function.
The days since Cooper’s death have dragged on, each one an eternity in itself. I know I have to mourn Cooper, but I’m drowning in my worry for Loïc.
I just feel…lost.
I’ve always been successful at things in life that I’ve truly wanted. Yet, more than anything I’ve ever needed, I want to be able to navigate my days with grace instead of despair. But, no matter how much I try to find the strength, it’s out of my reach every time.
No amount of money can buy feelings. But, if I could, I would cash in my entire trust fund for an ounce of peace. The lack of it is driving me crazy.
Leaning my head against the window, I watch as the wind whips frozen flurries around. The snowflakes travel in a frigid dance through the air. It’s captivating and hauntingly sad. They’re caught in the gusts of the bitter wind, unable to fall to the earth even if they wanted to.
Maybe, on another day, I would have found the swirls of white beautiful. But, today, all I see are flakes that are forced into a frenzy of movement, being denied the peace of the padded ground.
Soft knocks sound on my door before it opens gently.
“Hey,” Paige says quietly.
Lifting my face from the window, I look to her. “Hey.”
“I’m assuming no news?” She looks to me with pity.
“No.” I shake my head. “I just wrote him again but still nothing from his end.”
“He’ll come around. Who knows what happens over there after a death? Maybe he doesn’t have access to his laptop right now.”
“Yeah, maybe,” I say with little conviction.
Her face perks up, and she sings, “The sun will come out—”
“No.” I adamantly shake my head. I am not in the mood for a reenactment from the movie Annie.
“Tomorrow…” she belts out.
“Stop, Paige. I’m serious,” I warn.
“Bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow, there’ll be sun.” She sashays toward me and grabs my hands, pulling me off of the bench.
Before I know it, I’m part of this freak show as we both sing out from the tops of our lungs, “When I’m stuck with a day that’s gray and lonely…”
I hold my hands out to my sides, as if I were a Broadway performer, “I just stick up my chin and grin and say, oh…the sun will come out tomorrow…”
Paige and I dance around my room in our two-woman show, shrieking like a couple of dying cats in our personal Broadway performance of one of our favorite songs.
We pose and extend our jazz hands as we belt out as loud as we can the final note in a key that hasn’t been invented yet.
I finally have to let the last note die when I need to stop to take a breath. I turn to Paige, both of us red in the face and sporting gigantic grins. My smile drops as the plump tears begin streaming down my face. Paige pulls me into her arms, and the two of us stand in my room while I cry.
I don’t know how long I cry, but Paige’s shirt is covered in tears and snot when I finally pull away and wipe my face with the arm of my shirt.
“Feel better?” she asks as she rubs the sides of my arms with her hands.
I nod my head.
“Good. You know what they say. Sometimes, you just need to participate in a grand Broadway performance before having a good cry.”
“No one says that.” I chuckle.
“I do.” She shrugs. “Let’s go get some dinner. I’m starving.”
“Yeah, me, too,” I agree.
Paige leaves my room, and I look longingly at my laptop. I’ve been obsessively checking it ever since I got the call from Maggie. It’s only been a half hour or so since I sent my last message, so I know there wouldn’t be an email from Loïc anyway. For whatever reason, he’s not ready to communicate yet, and I have to accept that.
Using all of my willpower, I walk away from the laptop and into my bathroom to wash my tear-streaked face. I remind myself that I’ll have my phone to check for emails.
He’ll write or call when he’s ready. I can’t dictate his behavior, but I can change mine. I need to change mine. Living in a vacuum of misery while compulsively refreshing my inbox isn’t healthy.
I might not be able to erase the worry altogether, but I can lessen it. I can join the land of the living. I can take showers, leave the house, and go to dinner with my best friend. I have to focus on what I can control because nothing is more depressing than trying to change what I can’t.
Paige is right. I guess all I needed was a cheeky performance and a good cry.
London
“Funerals suck. All of them blow. But this one sucks the most.”
—London Wright
Today’s the day—the last day of February—a day I’ve been dreading for so many reasons. I stroll arm in arm with Paige up the cement walkway toward the church. The salt crystals that were tossed onto the sidewalk are still intact as they crunch under my heels. The frigid temperature is too frigid for even the salt to melt the ice.
My fingers, though nestled in black leather gloves, are frozen. I can no longer feel the skin on my face as it’s assaulted by the bitter air on this record-breaking cold day.
Today is truly miserable. Even the earth is mourning the loss of Cooper.
Once inside the church, Paige and I find a seat in a wooden pew. There’s a casket covered with an American flag at the front of the church. Beside it is a large framed picture of Cooper in uniform, his all-American boy smile gracing his face. Even if one had never met Cooper, they would be sad to say good-bye to the man in that picture. His goodness shines out of the frame, reminding everyone here of the true tragedy of this loss.
The world is a little bit darker without the light that was David Cooper. I know people say that all the time about people when they die. But, with Cooper, it is so true. Everyone who knew him will forever be changed. We’ll all be missing a sliver of joy, one that we’ll never get back.
The first two rows are taken up by Cooper’s and Maggie’s families. The women, who I assume are Cooper’s sisters, are hunched, their backs moving with silent cries, as they bring hands clutched with Kleenexes to their faces.
Then, there’s Maggie, sitting between her parents, and though I can only see the back of her, the heartache in her posture is evident, and my heart aches for her.
Behind the rows of immediate family are military men in their dress uniforms, all sitting up straight, their posture communicating respect.
I scan the backs of the men for the one that I’m desperate to see. I haven’t heard from Loïc since Cooper died. Unfortunately, Maggie hasn’t either. I don’t know if he was given permission
to fly home for the funeral or not. I don’t really know how that works. I’m sure, if a family member of a soldier passed while he was serving, he would be granted leave to return for the funeral. But a friend? I don’t know. Cooper was so much more than a friend to Loïc, but perhaps, with the military, it’s all black and white. I doubt the closeness or level of friendship is taken into account.
But maybe? I’m praying that he’s here. I desperately need to see him.
I keep looking back to the door, praying to see Loïc walking through it, but when the priest starts the service, my hopes fall.
He’s not coming. I can’t believe it. He’s not coming.
Paige wraps her arm around my shoulder and pulls me into her side, as if she knows I’m about to break. I lean my head onto her shoulder, thankful that she’s here with me. My family offered to fly in for the funeral, but I told them that they didn’t need to. They had never met Cooper, but they understood how important he was to me. But I knew I would have Paige here. She loved Cooper, and she is basically my family anyway.
This isn’t the first funeral I’ve been to. I’ve been to quite a few actually—grandparents, great-aunts and great-uncles, and family friends.
Funerals suck. All of them blow. But this one sucks the most.
The other ones I’ve been to, although sad, were for older people, people who had lived a good life. Cooper didn’t live a full life, not even close. He had so much more to do. His life was taken too soon, and the gravity of that injustice is almost unbearable.
I’m so sad, mad, heartbroken, and unbelievably furious that his life was cut short. It’s not fair. I think that’s why it’s such a horrible loss.
Several people go up to the pulpit to say nice things about Cooper. I get it; we’re here to celebrate his life. Yet it just makes me bitter. Hearing about how wonderful Cooper was causes me to be more upset that he’s gone.
Finally, the service is over, and six men in their military dress uniforms walk to the front of the church. They pick up the casket and carry it down the aisle. The first two rows of Cooper and Maggie’s closest family and friends follow the recession.
“I guess we go now,” Paige says beside me as the people in our row begin to stand.
“Yeah.”
Cooper’s family and Maggie stand in the foyer of the church in a receiving line. We follow the line of people as they exit the church. I watch as Cooper’s parents and sisters embrace each person who passes, extending thanks to those who came to celebrate Cooper’s life.
What a miserable thing to have to do—console others when it is your son/brother/fiancé who died. I don’t really understand this part of funerals. We should be the ones hugging and consoling them, not the other way around.
When I reach Maggie, we pull each other into a hug and cry. I didn’t think I had any more tears left to cry, but they’re falling again.
“I’m so sorry,” I say when I finally pull away.
“I know. Me, too.” Maggie nods. “Any news from Loïc?” she asks sadly.
“No. You?”
She shakes her head. “I wish he had been here. David would have wanted him here.”
“I know.” I nod.
“Let me know if you hear anything,” she pleads softly.
“I will. You, too.”
“Of course,” she agrees. “Let’s get together soon.”
“Absolutely.” I pull her into another hug before moving on to the next person in the receiving line.
I shake each of Cooper’s parents’ and sisters’ hands and offer my condolences. When I exit the church, I almost welcome the frigid air, as opposed to the suffocating sadness within the church.
Cooper’s immediate family is going to attend his military burial at the national cemetery and then have dinner together at Cooper’s favorite Italian restaurant. If Loïc were here, I’m sure I’d be going, but I can’t go without him. Truthfully, they don’t really know me. Maggie said I’d be welcome, but I want the family to be able to grieve among those they are close to. I’d feel like I was intruding.
It’s just as well. I don’t know if I can take any more sadness today.
London
“I love him enough to be here when he comes back to me.”
—London Wright
Maggie looks well. I suppose well is a stretch—she looks okay. I haven’t seen her in a month since the funeral. She’s sitting across from me at a local café. She takes a sip of iced tea before smiling weakly.
It’s a little awkward when a friendship that was built because of a common denominator—aka Cooper—attempts to continue after the mutual connection is gone. Yet I really like Maggie, and I want to keep her in my life.
“How are you doing?” I ask.
“I’m good. I mean, you know. I’ll get there.”
Her eyes fill with tears, and my chest aches for her.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know. Me, too. It’s just so surreal, you know? Most days, I can’t even believe it’s real. I feel like he’s still deployed, and he’ll come back. But he’s never coming home to me.” Her voice breaks along with my heart.
She absentmindedly stirs her iced tea with her straw as we sit in a heavy silence. I don’t know what to say to make Maggie feel better. There’s probably nothing to say.
I clear my throat. “How’s work?”
“It’s fine. I took a few weeks off, of course. But I’ve been back about two weeks now, and it’s okay. I like keeping busy.”
“Yeah,” I agree.
“What about you? How’s work?” she asks.
“Good. I’ve had some freelance articles printed in larger publications. I still write weekly articles for the Ann Arbor news outlet, but I’m definitely getting out there more, building my résumé.”
“That’s good. Still no news from Loïc?”
I shake my head. “No. I don’t know what else to do. I drove out to their base in Ypsilanti the other day to see if anyone could tell me something. I practically got on my knees and begged, but they said they couldn’t tell me anything. Some excuse about confidentiality or something. I’m still writing him every day, but I haven’t seen him online since…” I start to say Cooper’s death, but I stop myself. “You know.”
“I know you’ll hear from him. Loïc has always done everything on his own time. He’s been through so much. I’m sure he’s just taking longer to process it all. He’ll come around. He loves you. He’ll be back.”
“Yeah, I know. I just wish he would let me help him.”
“Maybe he needs to do this on his own. Everyone grieves differently.”
I nod my head. “I get that. I kind of assumed that the military would let him come home early. I’m surprised that they’re keeping him over there still.”
“It seems weird to us, but that’s the way the military is. Soldiers lose their brothers all the time over there, but they’re still expected to do their job after the loss. Of course, the loss of David is more difficult for Loïc, but if you think about it, to the military, it’s equivalent to the death of any brother.”
“Well, I think it’s stupid,” I huff.
“I agree.” Maggie cracks a smile, and it’s so good to see her smile again. “Oh, I have news about the house. I used some of David’s insurance money, that he left me in his will, to pay off the rest of the mortgage. We didn’t owe much, but now, the house is all paid for. I put the deed in Loïc’s name, and I moved out.”
“What?”
“I just couldn’t live there anymore. Too many memories.” She stops talking and closes her eyes.
I want to reach across the table and hug her, but I don’t know if that will help, so I stay put. It’s so hard to know what to do.
She opens her eyes and lets out a pained breath of air, continuing, “I wanted Loïc to have somewhere to go when he returns. I emailed him and sent a letter, letting him know this, but of course, I haven’t heard anything back.”
“Where are you living now?”
>
“With my parents. I’ll buy another house someday, but right now, it’s best for me to just stay with them. They’re only a fifteen-minute drive away from the hospital, and it’s nice not to be alone.”
“I get that. I can’t believe you’re not going to live there anymore though.”
“I know. It sucks, but…” Her voice trails off.
“Yeah…” Sometimes, there’s really nothing to say.
We finish up our lunch with only a semi-awkward conversation. Not that talking to Maggie is uncomfortable. But there’s just so much we can say without causing pain to the other.
When I get back home, I open my laptop to write Loïc an email. I’m not surprised that he’s not online or that he hasn’t written me back. Sometimes, I feel like I’m in a relationship with myself. Part of me thinks I’m in some sort of denial—of what, I’m not sure.
I’m going to do what Maggie suggested and give him time. I love him enough to understand that he can’t speak to me right now, for whatever reason. And, even though that hurts, I have to realize that he’s going through something incredibly painful, and he is handling it the best he can.
I love him enough to be here when he comes back to me. And he will. He will come back to me.
London
“There are so many variables, most of which are unknowns. The only thing I can do is cling on to what I hold as a truth, and that’s my love for Loïc.”
—London Wright
“Honey, I’m home!” Paige calls from the back door.
“Hey, love!” I greet her from the couch where I’ve spent most of the day writing. “How was work?”
“Oh, great! Remember the big promotion with the online travel site?”
“Yeah, the one where they are giving away a one-thousand dollar trip voucher each day?” I recall Paige talking about it a few months ago and how bummed she was that the bitch of the office, Stephanie, got the account.
“Yes! That one. Well, Stephanie totally dropped the ball, and we almost lost the client!” she squeals, clapping her hands together.