A work of
fiction. ©Gordon Forbes,
2013
It was wet, cold and miserable - not unexpected for late
December. Just the kind of day you didn’t
want to spend at a cemetery.
‘Jane! Jane!’ he thought. ‘Why did you have to leave
me? The sickness came on so suddenly. We only had a few months to deal with it, and
now you’re gone. 36 years we had each
other. What am I to do now? How will I go on living? Oh Jane!
I love you so. ’
The man looked at the others gathered around the grave
site. There weren’t many who had come
from the church to brave the weather for the internment. He focused on a
handsome couple in their early thirties standing near him.
‘John, my son. Where
did I go wrong? I should be very proud
of your success. You and Kirsten have
made yourselves a very good life, wealth-wise, but at what cost. When you were growing up you had such
wonderful ideas . . . to save the world . . . to help people. But when you went to university, all that
changed. You wanted success as you saw
it. Money, power . . . and apparently
the two of you have got it. Now even a
family is out of the question since it might get in the way of the “plan”,
whatever that is. Maybe if we lived
closer, I could have helped you have more fun.
As it is you are a dull person to be around. All the pair of you can talk about is how
well you are doing and what you’re going to spend your money on. What will it be next? A bigger house? Another car?
More investments? Why can’t you
spend some to enjoy yourselves? How
about a boat or a cabin? I still love
you John, but you’re no fun to be around anymore.’
The man’s attention returned to the committal service which
seemed to be going on forever. He
listened to the minister intone yet another prayer. ‘Jane doesn’t need prayers anymore, she needs
peace. I need prayers . . . prayers
about how I’m going to go on . . . how I’m going to survive.’
His gaze shifted to an attractive young woman across the casket
from him. She was very solemn and looked
like she wanted to cry, but was being very stoic, not allowing herself the
release. The man’s thoughts went to her.
‘Janet, my beautiful daughter. Why don’t you let yourself go and cry. I know you will later when nobody can see
you. You don’t always have to hide your
emotions from the world. I’m the man . .
. I’m the one not supposed to show emotion, not you. But look at me. I’m crying . . . probably as much for myself
as for your mother. You were the one who
wanted to set the world on fire.
Instead, you’ve made a very happy marriage and given us . . . me . . .
two beautiful grandchildren. I guess I
have to start thinking “me” and not “us” now.
It’ll be hard. For so many years we
were “us”. Janet . . . little Jane . . .
maybe we should have spelled it “Janette” in the French manner. You seem to have made a good life for
yourself. Frank takes good care of you
and although you’re not rich, and probably won’t ever be, I’ll bet you’re a lot
happier than your brother in the end. I
would love to have had Frank and the kids here, but you wisely said “No”. It would be hard on them to see their
favourite grandma buried. So Frank stayed home to look after them, and you have
no one to comfort you.’
The man’s attention went back to the service as they started
to lower the casket into the ground. He
wanted to scream, “NO! You can’t take
her! I need her! It’s not fair!” But he just stood there, numb, cold and damp
as his beloved Jane disappeared into the dark, wet hole in the ground. The last earthly remains of Jane Semple
McLeod née Sunderland . He
would never see her again. Never be able to talk to her again. To sit quietly with her. To make love to her.
After the last words were spoken by the minister, everyone
started to leave quickly. It was too
miserable for idle chatter at the grave site.
However, two women did come over to the man. Marilyn Draper and Ginette Joyal. Jane’s two best friends. They said that anything they could do for the
man, he only had to ask. They would be
there for him. But he knew that they
would drift away soon without the presence of Jane to keep them together. He might see Marilyn when he played golf with
her husband, Steve. He and Steve usually
played golf about once a month over the summer, and he might get an invitation
back to their place for a beer and maybe a meal. But not Ginette. Ginette was divorced and on the look-out for
a younger man to try and revive her love life.
He was sure he wouldn’t see her again.
‘Those three were inseparable. They had their coffee party every Monday,
particularly after Marilyn and Jane quit working. Ginette could take that day off after a busy
weekend selling real estate. Should he get her to sell the house? They also went to the movies every week . . .
to all the chick flicks. The ones they
knew us mere men would not appreciate.
And of course, there were the suppers.
Every month like clockwork, rotating between their house and Marilyn and
Steve’s. Ginette didn’t entertain after
her divorce, but sometimes she brought her latest. Some real winners in that crowd. The friendship had been good for Jane. You were true friends . . . up until Jane
became ill. You visited her frequently
at first. But as she got worse you
couldn’t stand it. It was so hard to see
your best friend sinking away . . . knowing you were going to lose her
soon. How do you think I felt? I had to stay. I had to watch her sink every day. Some friends you turned out to be. Maybe I won’t see you in the summer.’
John came over to his father. “Come on Dad, let’s go and get something to
eat.” ‘Eat! I don’t think I could ever eat again. But I’ll go.
At least I can spend the rest of the day with them and have
company. Tomorrow they’ll be off home. Why couldn’t they have stayed here where they
grew up? But no! John had to make his fortune on the west
coast “where the action is, Dad”. And
Janet had to marry a guy who got himself transferred to a strange city half way
between us and her brother. So what will
I do after tomorrow?’
Depression
Eleven months it had been since the funeral. People were starting to get ready for
Christmas. ‘Oh God! How can I think
about Christmas? How can I face it?’ Janet had called last week.
“Hi, Dad. How are
you?”
He mumbled something about being okay, keeping busy.
“Are you sure you’re okay?
“Yeah. I keep busy
and out of trouble. I’ve got my
work. I’m thinking about getting a puppy
for some company.” he answered. But he
was thinking, ‘A puppy? Where did that
come from? How could a puppy replace
Jane? What would he do with a puppy?’
“Look Dad, Frank and I were wondering if you were going to
come here for Christmas. It won’t be
very fancy, but you’d be welcome.”
“I don’t know. What
would I do out there? You and Frank have
your traditions and you don’t need your old, moping Dad around to darken the
mood.”
“Are you sure you’re all right. You sound almost depressed. Have you talked to someone about it?”
Angrily he responded, “I’m all right! Just leave me alone! Your mother and I always spent Christmas at
home, and I intend to do the same.” On
that note, he hung up, knowing immediately he had screwed up, but not being
able to bring himself to do anything about it.
Was he depressed? He
didn’t think so. What did depression
feel like? He didn’t know. He did get annoyed when people kept telling
him to cheer up. Who were they to tell
him how he should feel? He kept going,
but the going seemed to get harder and harder every day. He found himself getting very defensive about
little things, and he was getting paranoid whenever anyone said anything about
him. ‘Why are you saying that? What have you got against me?’ He kept more and more to himself, even at
work. He worked hard to keep his
feelings to himself at work, to keep his emotions under control. But on evenings and weekends he just wanted
to scream . . . scream at someone or something.
He was glad that neither Jane nor anyone else was around at these
times. He would probably have bit their
head of . . . or worse.
John called a few days later. “You were pretty hard on
Janet.”
“Yes, I know.” he mumbled, “I’ . . I’. . I’ll call her and
apologize.”
“Kirsten and I are going to the house in Mexico
“No, John, I still have to have snow for Christmas. By the way, when did you get a house in Mexico
“Oh, I bought it for Kirsten in September. It was supposed to be a holiday surprise, but
I couldn’t keep it a secret for long.
It’s a great place, and with satellite internet and cell phones, we can
run the business from down there for a few weeks. Can’t keep out of touch you know, or business
will go down the tubes. You don’t need
snow. The weather will be nice. We’ll have lots of friends here over the
holiday, so you would have company.”
“John, your friends are all business associates and
clients. You spend all of your time
talking deals and market news. That’s
not my kind of fun. Besides, did you
ever think of taking a bit of time for yourselves?”
“Now, now, Dad, there’ll be time enough for that later on.”
‘Will there?’ he thought.
‘And wouldn’t you just be the most fun couple to be around for
Christmas.’
“Besides,” the man said, “I’ve started to go to a church in
the neighbourhood. A very nice place
with friendly people. I think it will be
nice to spend Christmas there.”
“That’s nice, Dad. I
hope you enjoy yourself.” And with that
the call was over.
The man thought about what he had just told his son. He didn’t know what made him tell John about
the church. He figured that that was the
last thing that John would want or expect to hear from his father. There was no room for spirituality or other
such frivolous things in John’s view of the world. Oh well.
There was a long time in his own life when he thought similar
things. And with what God did to him
last Christmas, he did not understand why he had walked into that church on
that Sunday morning a few short weeks ago.
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