My Hero's Death Song
The life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living. - Marcus Tullius Cicero
The day was filled of laundry and trying to get the two bedroom apartment clean because it was my only free day to do it. Come Monday I'd be starting back on nights at the nursing home which meant my days would be spent asleep. Murphy had come over wanting to spend as much time together as we could because with our schedules that was going to get more difficult. It was worth it watching him curse at the vacuum cleaner when he had run over the cord and it got sucked up into the bristles. I tried to tell him that the vacuum wasn't needed since the only carpet was a runner in the hallway but he was adamant about fixing it. So there he sat in the middle of the floor with parts of the vacuum scattered around him, dust covering his hands and there was even a smudge on his cheek where he must have tried to wipe away some sweat.
It was a particularly hot day in Boston, the summer heat being relentless in the bustling city, and the box fan in the windows provided little relief. We had already finished a six pack of beer and were starting on our second when my phone vibrated on the table. He begged me to ignore it, that it was probably one of my coworkers seeing if I wanted to pick up an extra shift, but the bright green blinking light in the corner of my screen taunted me until I couldn't take it anymore. Unlocking my phone I saw that it was an email and not a text message like I had expected it to be. Sticking my tongue out at Murphy I told him as much as he went into the kitchen to wash the grime off his hands.
It was an email from my godmother with the simple subject of 'Dad'. My grandfather had been having some medical problems for the past couple of years and just recently he had moved in with her down in North Carolina. It wasn't out of the ordinary to get an update from her so I didn't think anything of it as I took a swig of my beer and opened the email.
There's that one phone call we all dread to get, the one that we wished never came, except this wasn't a phone call at all it was an email. Mere words displayed on a tiny illuminated screen that would forever be ingrained in your mind instead of being able to forget them over the years. It had no greeting, nothing to soften the blow only the harsh truth that it was over. I tried to keep scrolling because this had to be some horrible mistake. I had just talked to him on the phone two nights ago and he had called me his darlin'. He had told me that he loved me and that he would talk to me soon and he was a man of his word so there was no way this was even possible. He was the one person come hell or high water that I could count on over anyone else even my own parents.
The beer fell from my hands, the glass shattering as it hit the linoleum floor, the alcohol splashing onto my bare legs. Murphy rushed back in to see what was wrong and I remember him taking my face in his hands trying to get me to answer but I couldn't get the words to pass my lips. This had to be some horrible nightmare and at any minute I'd wake up wrapped in my Irishman's arms, he'd kiss me until I forgot the dream completely, and I'd fall asleep again knowing that I was safe with him there. Only problem was that this wasn't a dream, this was my new harsh reality, and stating the facts only made it true.
God had called home my protector leaving me vulnerable and alone.
There would be no more Saturday's filled with donuts and coffee where I'd be hiding under the covers pretending to be asleep until he came to wake me. I'd try to keep my breathing as even as possible and though I know the sheets rumbled with my suppressed laughter he always put on a big show about how I had fooled him. There would be no more games of cards where he'd swear I had my nana's luck because there was no way I got dealt two wild cards. I'd smile from ear to ear as I laid my hand down and he'd say that he folded because there was just no way to beat a hand as good as a three of a kind. Thinking back on it now he gave me the courage I needed to play. He built up my confidence so much that even if the nastiest comments were thrown my way I'd still be able to hold my head up high because he had instilled his values in me.
He didn't want any calling hours or a funeral he simply wanted his ashes combined with nana's and spread across the beach in Rhode Island where they had gone on their honeymoon over sixty years ago. The family that had been walking on thin ice ever since she passed away would finally fall apart not having our anchor around. Brothers would ignore their sisters and cousins would fight tooth and nail for a simple picture that was hung in your den. Aunts' harsh tongues would break the spirits of their nieces while uncles wouldn't lift a finger to console their nephews. I'd ignore them all the best I could, I'd plaster on my smile to the world because if I fell apart in front of anyone I would be ridiculed. Tears were a sign of weakness, a burden on the soul, so I'd keep them bottled up and locked away.
The words would forever play through my mind that at five p.m. on a Saturday you told my aunt that you were having chest pains. It didn't matter that she called for the nurse, it didn't matter that I wanted to tell you I loved you one more time, all that mattered was that nana was waiting for you at the table. That was the words you told my aunt, Mom is waiting for me at the table, I hope they're serving something good. Today it brings a small smile to my face thinking about what you'd be having to eat at this table but if I know you, and I'd like to think I did, it would be something completely random that most would turn their noses up to.
I had gone to church with the twins about week after my grandfather's passing and I had kept my tears at bay like a good little solider should. The choir stood as the organist began to dance his fingers across the keys. My chest tightened when the first notes of the song began to play but I wasn't going to break, I was in between Connor and Murphy and I would be alright. When the choir started singing the first verse of 'The Old Rugged Cross' my leg started to shake and by the chorus I couldn't take it anymore. I nearly leapt over Connor to get to the aisle, ignoring the questioning glances I received from the parishioners as I burst through the door trying to get outside. I thought the fresh air would have relieved the weight that had settled on my chest but I could still hear the song, his favorite song that he'd sing on road trips until you thought your ears would bleed if you heard it one more time. Tears burned my eyes and I had to bite my cheek to keep them in.
I couldn't let go of them, if I let them fall like they wanted to I'd never be able to stop. Holding my tears in was keeping the cracks in my heart from completely shattering and if I let them out then I'd never be whole again. I'd rather tear my skin apart with razorblades letting the emotions be released with my blood than for a single tear to be shed. It was easier and honestly it was the only thing I had control over anymore. My thoughts had started to get away from me, thinking about the how good it would feel to drag the cool metal across my wrist just one more time but then his voice would resound it my head full of disappointment. That wasn't the smart, strong woman he loved that was some coward taking the easy way out. Cowards didn't get to go to heaven, cowards didn't get to see their loved ones again, and they certainly had no use in the family.
You never noticed the little things when you were happy. You didn't notice the cracks in the steps up to the church or the way the bench on the sidewalk had three rusted bolts. It was when you felt as if you were a spec free falling through the air that you noticed everything and nothing at the same time. The laughter had been stolen, the deck of cards burned, and the memories sealed in my heart.
A hand on my lower back made me jump in surprise and I turned to see Murphy watching me intently with Connor just a few steps behind him. I wanted to turn and apologize for ruining mass for them, I wanted to apologize for making their lives a mess the last few days, and I even wanted to apologize for being alive but instead I rested my head on Murphy's chest. His arms came around me and all my walls came crashing down around me as I sobbed uncontrollably.
My hero had left me alone in a world I wasn't sure I wanted to live in without him but he had left me in the hands of a saint knowing I would always be loved, always be protected, and forever be held together by their faith.
He had exchanged the old rugged cross for a crown.