Mother Of Prevention. Lori Copeland
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showed up, carrying a black bag. I remember answering his questions to the best of my knowledge, though I was operating in a fog. He shook out a couple of pills, and I swallowed them. He gave the bottle to Eva and reminded me to call him in the morning; I had only enough medication to last through the night. At the moment I couldn’t recall if I had a physician. Doctors scared me.
Eventually I stopped crying. The well had run dry. I sat on the sofa in a soggy, wilted lump, blissfully calm. The sedative had started to work.
Sunshine filtered through the bedroom lace curtains. The house had filled up with people, bearing meat loaves and casseroles. A woman I had met—and should have known—went on and on at great lengths in a stage whisper, apologizing for burning a roast.
A bubble of hysteria rose up in my throat, choking me. Burning a roast? When my husband, the love of my life, the father of my two precious children, had burned to death in a high-rise fire?
Neil’s parents arrived, and the situation intensified. Madge Madison threw her arms around me and leaned into me for support. Her tears soaked through my sweatshirt. I held her, rocking back and forth the way I did with my daughters when they were hurt.
His father, Harry, short and broad shouldered with a handsome head of white hair, seemed to have shrunk. His hands trembled as he reached out to touch my shoulder. I released my mother-in-law and went into his arms. He awkwardly patted my back, and for the first time I felt a small measure of comfort. Maybe because he reminded me of Neil. With Neil’s parents on either side of me, I walked into the kitchen where neighbors were serving coffee.
I stared at my kitchen counters, buried under a deluge of dishes. Salads and desserts and casseroles. How could three people—actually two if you counted Kris and Kelli as one—be expected to eat all of this? My ancient refrigerator was working in overdrive anyway.
Sue Carol, from my Sunday-school class, handed me a cup of coffee I didn’t want. What I wanted was to crawl off and lick my wounds and try to deal with the devastating blow, but I guess manners, once learned, go deeper than surface polish. I forced myself to speak to everyone who had taken the time to come and offer comforting words. It occurred to me that friends are one of the greatest unrecognized blessings, and you never fully appreciate them until your world crashes around you.
Eva made up the bed in the guest room for Neil’s parents. She was also the one who insisted everyone go home so I could rest. I stared helplessly around the kitchen at the surplus of food, not sure what to do with it all and too tired to care, but to my relief Sue and Eva managed to put away all of the perishables, then filled freezer containers and stashed them in the deep freeze for later.
I locked the door a little after eight o’clock, and turned out the front porch light. Neil’s parents had already gone to their room, worn out by the day’s emotions. Neil was their only son and the pride of their life. I didn’t see how any of us could go on without him.
Losing him had left a crater in my heart.
The girls followed me into my bedroom. Mine. Not ours any longer. Their eyes were red and swollen from crying. Kelli’s lower lip trembled. “Can I sleep with you?”
“Me, too,” Kris begged.
I didn’t hesitate. “Sure. I’d like that.” And I would. The thought of that empty bed had been hanging over my head like that sword of Damocles. Now I would have company.
I helped them into their nightgowns. We could skip baths tonight. I brushed Kris’s long, straight blond hair, a feature we shared, along with blue eyes, straight noses and peach complexions.
Kelli, on the other hand, was a miniature replica of Neil with her short cap of dark curls and warm brown eyes. I forced myself to concentrate on drawing the brush through Kris’s hair, willing my mind away from the way Neil and I had looked as a couple. My Nordic fairness offset by his dark hair and golden tan. His picture smiled at me from the dresser, held close by the silver frame. But Neil was gone.
I laid down the brush and kissed Kris lightly on the cheek. “Hop into bed, okay.”
The girls were docile tonight, none of the usual begging to be allowed to stay up late or demanding a story before they went to sleep. I averted my face so they couldn’t see my tears, thinking that their lives had changed irrevocably. Whatever happened now, I was determined that the three of us would stay together, and I’d make the best possible life for my daughters.
Kelli hopped up on the bed and sat cross-legged. “You should have been in the kitchen when Mrs. Hutchinson dropped the bowl of fruit salad.”
“She did what?” I turned to stare at her, sure I hadn’t heard right. Ida Hutchinson never did anything wrong, to hear her tell it.
Kris’s face wrinkled in a smile she tried to suppress. “She almost said a bad word, too. And Reverend Joe was standing right there.”
I laughed.
It felt so blessedly good.
The thought of Ida cutting loose in front of our pastor struck me as being extremely funny, although I supposed part of my reaction was due to nerves.
The girls, freed by my laughter, joined me. I sat down beside them on the bed and the three of us had a good laugh. Finally, wiping tears from the corners of my eyes, I said, “Look, girls. We’ve lost Daddy, but it’s still all right to laugh.”
Kris nodded. “Daddy liked to laugh.”
“Yes, Daddy did.” Neil had had a laugh that rang out like church bells. I could be standing on the other side of the yard and hear him and know immediately Neil was enjoying life. That’s the way he was—he enjoyed life, and he’d told me a hundred times, Be happy for the day, Kate. Tomorrow has its own agenda.
I drew my girls close, breathing in their unique, little-girl scent. “We’re going to have sad times,” I promised, thinking how ridiculously understated that sounded. “But we will always have laughter. Daddy would want that. That’s a promise.”
The children hugged me back, then rolled over and crawled beneath the blankets.
I turned out the light and stretched out in the middle of the bed with my clothes still on, holding a precious daughter on each side. “Say the prayer,” Kelli said.
I caught my breath. How could I pray tonight? From the depths of my misery, what could I thank God for?
“Go on, Mommy. God’s waiting.”
All right. I would say the prayer, but other than in front of my children, I would never speak to God again. Never. He had taken the one thing from me He knew I held the dearest. What kind of loving God did that? My praise came haltingly and was brief.
“Thank You for my daughters. Thank You for the years we had their father. Be with us as we go into tomorrow, for we need Your care.”
“Amen,” the girls said in unison.
I lay in the dark, with the girls sleeping beside me, and let my thoughts drift. I was still too numb and keyed up to sleep. Sudden tears scalded my cheeks. Dear God. Neil was gone.
The day of Neil’s service dawned clear and sunny. It had rained two days in succession. I had a feeling that the sky had cried itself out.
My mother and dad had arrived from Kansas. I put them in the master bedroom, and fixed a pallet for myself on the floor in Kelli’s room. My parents and Neil’s had never been what you might call “close.” Armed truce was more like it. They were so polite to each other it set my teeth on edge.
Sally Fowler, my next-door neighbor, kept running in and out, keeping peace and striking a note of normalcy. I had a large black-and-blue bruise on my arm, which puzzled me. When I wondered about it out loud, Sally said the day Neil died I had kept pinching my arm, trying to convince myself I was dreaming. I couldn’t remember, but I didn’t remember much of that awful day. The mental fog had cut deeper than I realized.
My mother was standing at the stove when I entered the kitchen, making her