Despair
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 off . . . 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 for
Christmas. Do you want to join us?”
“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
just before last Christmas, he did not understand why he had walked into that
church on that Sunday morning a few short weeks ago.
Light
The first time, it had felt funny being in a church. Jane and he had been occasional visitors at
best. They almost never went to church
two weeks in a row. They had tried
different churches wherever they lived, but none had felt welcoming or
comfortable. But there he was. Sitting in the back pew of a small church not
far from where he lived. He hadn’t paid
too much attention to the actual service that Sunday, although the music
sounded nice. He was too caught up in
his own thoughts . . . why he had come . . . when was the last time he and Jane
had been in a church . . . what did he want to get out of being here. He said a polite hello to some of the people
and to the minister as he left. Later he
couldn’t even remember what denomination the church belonged to.
The second Sunday he had gone back for some reason. Again, he didn’t pay too much attention to
the service. But this time, he did pay
attention to the people that surrounded him.
He noticed young families, older couples and a few lone souls. A mixed bag to be sure. However, the one thing they all seemed to
have in common was a look of contentment; almost universal happiness. The minister announced that next Sunday would
mark the beginning of Advent. The man
tried to remember what that meant. After
the service, he stopped and said hello to a few more people, and actually
talked to one or two of them. The
minister was very friendly and hoped the man would return. Still, he felt lost and alone in that
setting. The atmosphere was friendly and
welcoming, but the man could not get over the feeling that he was out of place
. . . that he did not belong.
‘So this is Advent’ he thought at the service the next
Sunday progressed. This time he paid
more attention to the service and really enjoyed the music and the message.
There seemed to be a lot more people at this service than previous Sundays. When it was over, there was coffee and treats
being served. He found himself standing
next to an attractive middle aged woman who he had seen in the distance at
other services. They began to talk . . .
small talk about the weather and the church service mostly. She said her name was Karen and he gave her
his. She seemed quite nice and said that
she hoped to see him next week. Later,
he felt that he had been cheating on Jane.
He should not be getting friendly with other women. It was disloyal. But it had been nice talking to her and it
was all quite innocent.
The next week, Karen said, “You’re becoming quite a regular
here. Why did you pick this
church?” He said that it was handy and
he had just kind of stumbled into it.
Nonetheless, he was enjoying it and particularly the services leading up
to Christmas. He was finding it a bit
comfortable and intended to keep coming, at least through the holiday. She asked him if he was going to come to the
pot-luck dinner the following Saturday night.
He said he wasn’t much of a cook and hadn’t been socializing much. She persisted and said that she could bring
enough for two. After some more
cajoling, he finally agreed and they agreed to meet at the church next
Saturday.
But again, afterward he felt that he had betrayed Jane. He wanted to ask someone else for their
opinion, but didn’t know who. The
uncertainty lasted all week and made him even sadder about the upcoming
event. He was tempted to call and cancel
several times, but, of course, he didn’t know her last name or her phone
number. He supposed that he could call
the church and ask them, but that seemed like a lot of trouble, so he didn’t
try.
Instead, the following Saturday night found him at the
church, looking for Karen and feeling a great deal of trepidation. She showed up with two big pots of food and
asked which one he wanted to claim as “his”.
Since he wasn’t sure what was in either one, he told her to just pick
one for him. She laughed gently and
thrust one of the pots into his hands saying, “Now we better get these into the
kitchen before the meal starts.” They
sat next to a couple who seemed to know Karen.
He introduced himself, and they all settled into plates full of every
imaginable kind of food. It was all good
and the conversation was pleasant.
“What do you do?” he was asked and he told them that he was
a business man, without going into detail.
They asked where he lived and he pointed vaguely toward his house.
Karen asked him about his family. Suddenly, he had an overwhelming need to open
up and tell her about his late wife, his children and, as the night progressed,
about himself. They talked during and
after the dinner, through the entertainment and on the walk home. It turned out that Karen also lived within
walking distance of the church, but in a different direction. So on that chilly but clear night they walked
and talked right to her door. Then he
took the even longer walk home wondering what Jane would say about all
this.
At home, he sat with a nightcap staring out the window still
wondering. And as the cognac gently
warmed him, he felt at ease and easy with the new relationship. It was as if Jane were saying, “It’s all
right. You were always faithful to me
right up until the end. But you have to
continue to live for yourself. I won’t
mind.”
He saw Karen twice more that week. A movie one night and dinner out
another. But this wasn’t an affair in
any way. It wasn’t a romance. It was more like a bonding of
loneliness. Each needed company and each
wanted someone to talk to. So they
opened up to each other, he more than she when he looked at in hindsight.
Christmas
“What are you doing for Christmas?” asked Karen on the
Sunday before the holiday.
“I don’t know.” he said.
‘What am I going to do? All my bravado with John and Janet have left me
at a total loss.’ he thought. ‘Oh well,
I made my bed and now I get to sleep, fitfully, in it.’ “I thought I would just spend a quiet day
alone. Last Christmas wasn’t a great
experience for me so I have mixed feelings about celebrating. What about you?”
“Oh, I have my Christmas ritual.” she said, “Would you like
to join me?’
‘I don’t want to get wrapped up in any new ritual,’ he
thought, but he said, “I don’t know, maybe.” thinking ‘Why did I say that. Now I’m committed.’
She looked positively thrilled by his answer. “Good!
Can you pick me up about ten
o’clock on Christmas morning.” It was a statement, not a
question. “And don’t get all dressed
up. This is a very casual affair.”
So Christmas morning, he got up and had a cup of coffee,
assuming they would have something to eat at her house or somewhere else. He picked Karen up at the appointed
time. She jumped into the car eagerly
and they wished each other a Merry Christmas.
She then directed him to drive toward town. When they got close to downtown, she again
directed him to proceed through town to the area one would consider the other
side of the tracks. ‘Where is she taking me?
Does she have some poor relations that I’m supposed to meet and
entertain?’ These and other thoughts
raced through his mind. ‘What have I got
myself into? Is it too late to back
out?’
When they got on to a side street in the dingiest part of
the city, she directed him into a small parking lot between two plain brick
walls. They got out of the car, he with
some trepidation, and walked to an old metal door leading into the building
with the highest wall. “I hope you’re
ready to work.” Karen said as he pulled open the door for her. “W…work?” he replied in his most articulate
fashion. “We came here to work? Doing what?”
“You’ll see.” was all she said.
As they entered the door, the smell of food and the sizzle
of cooking held out some promise that maybe they would get breakfast now. Through a narrow hallway, they entered a
large room set up with rows of tables.
To the left there was a large kitchen with a long counter opening into
the room. Several people were working in
the kitchen and several greeted Karen with “Merry Christmas, Karen” and “Glad
to see you again”. A couple of people
wanted to know, “Who’s your friend?” So
he was introduced to assembled group as a new worker. He stood there dazed.
“So what would you like to do?” someone said to him, “Mash
potatoes, stir the sauce or set the tables?”
He opted to work in the kitchen where Karen was already busy. An apron was thrust his way and he went to
work thinking, ‘What is this all about?
What am I doing here?’
After an hour or so of mashing potatoes and stirring gravy,
Karen came and led him to the counter where he was placed in front of a huge
bowl of mashed potatoes and given a large spoon. “Now the fun begins” she said. Sure enough, at noon, the front doors to the
room opened and a large crowd of the most motley people he had ever seen came
filing up to the counter, picked up their plates and lined up for food. ‘My God’ he realized, ‘we’re feeding
Christmas dinner to the poor.’
And so for the next several hours, he quickly lost track of
time, he and Karen worked side by side dishing out food to hundreds of
people. And the people, who looked so
down and out, came with their thanks and big smiles to be served, sometimes
several times over. And somehow the
supply of food kept coming: turkeys and gravy; potatoes and peas; dressing and
cranberry sauce; and pies of all kinds for dessert. And what a bunch he was helping to feed. There was the dishevelled man who ceremoniously
blessed every one of the servers as he passed.
Then came the old woman who looked so defeated when she came in, and so
lively and almost attractive when she left.
Someone came in with a guitar and started a sing-along of Christmas
songs and every person joined in. There
were young men and woman and old, some couples, but mostly people came in
individually. But most left in
groups. They came in hesitantly and
looking lost, but they left looking happy and with a thank you for everyone who
helped them.
Sometime after nine
o’clock, someone came over to Karen and him, and asked if they
would like to eat up some of the left-overs.
When he looked around, he realized that the crowd had left and it was
only the workers who remained. He
realized that he was ravenously hungry.
He hadn’t eaten all day. But he
also realized that he was happy, deliriously happy. ‘I haven’t felt this happy since . . . since
. . . well since before Jane took sick.’
And here he was among a bunch of people who he hardly knew and they had
made other people happy.
Later over coffee and pie, he asked where they were and how
this came about. Karen told him that
this was an old church hall and that the people he was with were volunteers who
had come together over the years to hold this Christmas dinner for the poor and
needy. “Geoff over there runs a grocery
store and he comes up with all the food, mostly donations from different stores. Helen, sitting next to you, used to be one of
the ones who came here for a dinner each year.
When she finally got straight and got a job, she came back every year to
give thanks by helping out.” And what
about you, Karen?” he asked. “After my
husband left me, someone brought me here, just like I brought you” she said.
When he got home after dropping Karen off with promises to
get together the next day (today?) to talk about the days events, he sat down
again with his nightcap looking out the window at the snow fall that had just
started. And he realized that this had
been the best Christmas that he could ever remember. Not once had he thought of himself today. He had found himself smiling at the foibles
of the new friends that he had served.
He hadn’t had time to brood about being alone and away from his
family. Tomorrow he would call John and
Janet, tell them he hoped they had had a good Christmas, and try to explain
what he had done. Tell them about Karen,
even if he did get protests of indignation over “another woman when Mom has so
recently died”.
‘Jane. I hope you
approve.’ But somehow he knew that she
would.
©
Gordon Forbes, 2015
