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 loved 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 we used to do when you were young. 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 MacLeod née Sunderland, wife of JJ
‘Jack’ MacLeod. 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 halfway
between us and her brother. So, what
will I do after tomorrow?’
Strangely enough, he
did get an invitation to dinner with Marilyn and Steve a few of weeks after the
funeral. The meal went well enough until
the talking started afterwards. Then the
discussion turned to what was to become for the man. “What are you going to do now Jack?” Marilyn
asked. He had no answer. Marilyn and Steve pressed on with various
suggestions which all seemed ridiculous: join an athletic club; try on-line
dating; or move closer to your family.
It was far too soon for any such talk, and the idea of dating again
struck Jack as ludicrous. He could never
see himself as dating or having anything meaningful to do with any other
woman. He had loved Jane too much for
any such ideas.
He did go out with
Ginette once a few months after the funeral.
She invited him out to dinner.
But at the restaurant, her manner was perfunctory, and her eyes kept
roaming the room. Whether it was to look
for customers or to find her next date, Jack was never sure. There were no other invitations from either
of them. The friends just dropped away.
Depression
Ten months it had
been since the funeral. People were
starting to get ready for Christmas. Black Friday had just passed, and
Christmas shopping adds were everywhere. ‘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’m thinking of going to a church.
I might meet some people there.”
“That’s nice,
Dad. I hope you enjoy yourself.” And with that the call was over.
Jack 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. Jane and he had attended church sporadically
up until Jane had become sick. 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. After that,
she had not been able to go so he had stopped as well.
Light
The first time, it
had felt funny being in a church. 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 comforting 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 in front of 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 businessman, without going into
detail. They asked where he lived, and
he pointed vaguely toward his house and said, “over the other side of Arlington.”
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 had 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 gave him a little kiss on the cheek,
and he blushed. 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.
“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 that evening, someone came over to Karen and Jack, and asked if they
would like to eat up some of the leftovers.
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 day’s 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, 2019
