What do you say to your children? How do you soften the blow that their beloved daddy is gone from them forever? And why does a mother bear the burden of having to worry about such things when, for once, she should be allowed a moment to feel her own pain?
But this is life.
And so I picked up the phone.
“Are you okay?” Jean answered breathlessly, and, for a moment, I found myself believing that she already knew.
“No, darling.” I heard my voice cracking on the phone. It wasn’t intentional, and it was dreadfully uncommon. I never let my children see me cry, always tried to be the steel flagpole in the asphalt that not even a tornado could blow down. Because if you can’t count on your mother to stand tall and be brave in a crisis, who can you count on?
I took a deep breath, composing myself, thinking of how difficult this was going to be for Jean. “It’s Daddy,” I said. “He’s no longer with us.”
She gasped, as I knew she would, but she surprised me at how quickly she recovered. “No, Momma,” she said. “He may be gone, but he will always, always be with us.”
And that’s when I decided. Then and there. Annabelle may have questions, and I may have been the only living person on earth with the answers, but those secrets would die with me. Because more than answers, more than the truth, every child deserves to have a family. So, so many of us don’t get that, one of the paramount blessings in life, but, oh my Lord, don’t we all deserve it?
My daughter had been unconditionally, indescribably loved by both of her parents and her sisters. And if you asked this old woman, that mattered a hell of a lot more than the truth.
I could hear the tears in her throat when Jean said, “Do you want me to go to the funeral home and make the arrangements?”
I shook my head, though she couldn’t see. “It’s already done, darling.” I paused, knowing what I wanted to say, but wondering if it was the wrong choice. But today of all days, I deserved to do something that might not make every member of my family unwaveringly happy. And so I said, “Could you please call the others?”
“Of course,” Jean said.
And before I could hang up the phone, I heard a key turning in the lock, and Annabelle, tears streaming down her face, ran to me and hugged me so hard it almost knocked me over.
“I’m so sorry, Lovey,” she said, over and over again. And I knew logically that she couldn’t know about her grandfather’s passing and instinctively that it wasn’t his death she was sorry about.
I patted her, my own tears falling down on her bare shoulder and said, “There, there, dear.”
I pushed her away, and I said what I always said to her mother. “The only thing that matters is that we all know how much we mean to each other. We all know how much we love each other.” I could feel those tears clouding my throat again, thickening it and making it difficult to talk. “So if I hadn’t woken up this morning, you would have known that none of the other mess was important.”
She nodded and hugged me again. “We all love each other. We are family and how we got that way doesn’t matter a bit.”
I smiled through my tears. “My feelings exactly.”
I took her hand and led her to the couch.
She sighed and said, “I have so many things to tell you, Lovey. And they aren’t good.”
I shook my head, looking down at my crooked finger, resting on top of her perfectly straight, unlined hand. “Me first, darling.”
I told her about Dan, and we hugged and cried. As we were sitting, the door flew open again, and I barely took notice because I expected it to be Jean.
Before I even saw a person, I heard a voice. “I tried to tell you, Annabelle.” Rob stopped in his tracks when he saw both of our tears.
I didn’t have time to wonder what was going on between them because, not a moment later, Annabelle was saying, “D-daddy is gone,” and Rob was kissing my cheek, saying, “I’m so sorry for your loss, Lovey.”
Then he turned to Annabelle and said, “How could you not tell me?”
“I just found out right this second, Rob,” she said, tears and disdain fighting for first place in her voice. “How are you even here so fast?”
“I followed you, obviously,” he said. “I followed you out of the church and all the way here because I need a chance to explain...” He looked over at me and, as if it registered that something even more important than what was happening between he and Annabelle was happening with me, said, “Lovey, I’d like very much to pray for Dan and your family right now.”
It was as beautiful a prayer as I’d ever heard. I patted his knee when he was finished and said, “That was lovely, dear. I’d like it so very much if you’d assist with the service tomorrow.”
“No,” Annabelle said firmly, standing with purpose. “Rob has to leave now.” She pointed to the door.
He stood too, looking down on her, planting his feet and crossing his arms. “I’m not leaving until you let me say my piece.”
