"Now instead, you ought to forgive and comfort him, so
that he will not be overwhelmed with excessive sorrow."
-2 Corinthians 2:7
The guest lingered for weeks after the funeral. I suspect some were being polite, some were truly sad, and others were afraid to leave me. Among the latter were my uncle, my cousin, and the King. I suppose they who knew my life story felt pity for me...but what good does pity do? Answer me, someone: what good does pity do?
You cannot bring back a loved one with pity. You cannot truly comfort anyone with pity. It is an empty emotion.
Eventually, the crowd thinned until my uncle was the only one lingering in Ithilien. I must say, I did not exactly wish him gone. It always was easier with him around. But it was Éowyn, if I recall correctly, who truly helped me get over my father and brother's deaths and come back to the real world. Further, she was the one who convinced me that I mattered to someone. Even Imrahil could not do that.
I spent a lot of time, in the weeks following her death, trying to come to grips with what had happened. I will not deceive you by saying that once the funeral was over I slowly came back to the "real world". I did not. There was a funeral always going on in my heart. In my waking hours the funeral music played over and over in my mind, and in my sleep the sight of Éowyn's face haunted my dreams. I was living, but living in hell.
I tried to throw myself into work, which was what had helped me forget in the days of my father, but I found I couldn't concentrate. I would begin looking over a parchment, and an hour later realize I had been staring out of the window the entire time. I was incessantly tired, but I never wanted to sleep. I was wise enough to know what sleep brought. Still, I dozed off in my study often, and sometimes in more public places. Once, after a particularly sleepless night, I felt myself sliding into slumber in the hallway to my children's rooms. I slammed myself against a wall immediately, holding myself up until I could get control again. As I leaned against the stone wall, I heard footsteps coming and straightened, forcing a normal look to my face. It was, of course, Imrahil. He looked at me curiously, but went on when I told him I was just going to my chambers. I then retreated and slept for an hour.
And still, I had not touched the bed.
Sometimes I would go into her room and look around. I had moved all my clothes out to my study (where I slept) and I had left the room perfect. No one but I had been in there since she died, and every so often I dusted and opened the windows to keep it smelling fresh. Once I opened the closet and, on impulse, sat among her dresses for half an hour, just burying my face in them and remembering.
All in all, the weeks went by slowly until the day Imrahil left. I found him in the stables upon hearing of his departure.
"Uncle?" I called, hurrying toward him. "Were you leaving without saying farewell?"
He turned to me with a smile. "Of course not! I was going to come as soon as my horse was prepared." He studied me---something a lot of people seemed to be doing lately.
"Well, thank you for coming," I said, holding out my hand. The next thing I knew he was crushing me to himself in a hug.
"Faramir," he said when we finally parted, "I'm so, so sorry, my boy."
I nodded wearily. "Yes, I know."
Imrahil put a hand on my shoulder and looked me square in the eye. "Faramir, I want to tell you something."
I nodded.
"The best way to conquer your fear and grief is to face it. Remember that, alright? And one more thing," Imrahil paused and shook me slightly. "The answer is not to harden yourself, it's to make yourself vulnerable. Everything happens for a reason. There was a point to this, but you just can't see it yet. Someday you will. Eru works all things out for good."
I barely suppressed a snort. "Eru does not care," I almost said. What I really said was, "You know best, Uncle."
Then for the very first time, I saw my uncle in a new light. Previously he had always been the rock in my life---the steady and predictable one who was always there. I had never thought of him as an old man. But there he was before me, with graying hair and bags under his eyes. And a new thought struck me: I'm not the only one the tragedy attached to my life hurts. It was an odd thought, and I blinked at him for a moment. Then I embraced him again. "Thank you, Uncle Imrahil," I whispered. "I will miss you."
He nodded and we pulled apart again. He squared his shoulders and muttered, "I don't know why it's you, Far. Why you have been singled out to taste life's bitterness, I don't know. I may never know. But I will always be here for you, son. Son..." he squeezed my shoulder as if emphasizing the fact that I could look up to him as a father. Then he pulled on his gloves and swung up onto his horse. "Goodbye, Faramir," he said. "I will return in a few months."
I nodded and stepped aside. "Thank you, once more, Uncle."
And then he rode away.
I stood, staring at my bed. It was late at night, and I had been up, pacing. Three weeks after my uncle left I finally realized I needed to sleep, and accordingly I went to bed at a normal time and got up early. Dreams had plagued me, it's true, but I had trained myself to wake up and weep quietly for a few minutes. Then I forced myself to return to sleep.
But tonight was different. Lately I couldn't get that phrase out of my head, and it repeated over and over again. The best way to conquer your fear and grief is to face it...
I gently touched the coverlet on the bed. I don't know why I was so afraid of it...I could sit in the closet with Éowyn's dresses and live, but the thought of lying in the same bed as I had with her was just terrible. But Imrahil said...
Sucking in my breath, I shut my mind to everything else and slid underneath the covers. It didn't matter if they smelled like her; it didn't matter if the pillows were plumped just the way she liked them. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered.
And it was this way that I fell asleep.
I dreamed of darkness for a while...darkness inescapable, like we had talked of when we were both in the Houses of Healing. I saw fire and ash come to everyone, but I could handle that. I'd dreamed it before.
I dreamed of my children being slain before my eyes, one by one. They cried out to me in frightened whimpers, but that also I could handle. I'd dreamed it before.
I dreamed of Éowyn and her deep blue eyes that were so easy to get lost in. I dreamed of her hands in my own; of her hair enveloping her face and a tear trickling down her cheek that I could not wipe away, but still I could handle it. I'd dreamed that, too, before.
It was the last dream that I could not handle. I sat, in a house, with my family. They were all there: Éowyn, Elboron, Morwen, Feomir, Denethor, Boromir, Finduilas, Imrahil, Lothíriel...it went on and on. No one looked dead---they were all happy and alive. As we chatted I looked out the window into the sunshine and suddenly there was a clap of thunder. I looked back into the room.
It was empty.
Not a soul was there, except for me, and I screamed in shock and fear. Then the roof was ripped off, and I stared up into the heavens as water droplets poured down on me. I screamed again...and then a low laugh started. I saw the clouds gather up and disperse again, and I knew who was laughing at me: Eru. This time I screamed for real.
Whatever you may be picturing about this dream---Eru laughing at me, the tempest rising---you are wrong. It was far, far worse than anything you can imagine. To have the creator laughing at you...it is the scariest thing on earth or anywhere else.(1)
Then I felt myself falling, and I raised my hands to shield myself...
WHAM!
I hit the floor of the bedroom hard, knocking me out of my sleep and into reality. I lay for a minute, gasping for breath, trying to decipher whether this was a dream of not. I could still feel the heat and air pressing down on my body, and the laugh rang loud in my ears. Shadows that looked like people scuttled in and out of the corners of the room. Then the dream wore off and I merely lay, shaking, on the ground. The blankets were wrapped around my legs and arms tightly, and pillows littered the room. My head was beginning to throb, and I realized I must have struck it on the floor when I landed. But I didn't want to move. The shadows were welcome compared to the frightful fury of the dream!
I would never sleep in that bed again, of that I was sure. NEVER.
"Father?"
I drew in my breath, unraveling myself with some difficulty and sitting up. Morwen stood there, staring at me with big eyes. She was wearing a white nightgown, and in one hand she clutched a soft doll. I shook myself somewhat fiercely and said, "Yes, Morwen?"
She ran forward and threw her arms around me. "You're frightened, father! You're shaking!" she cried.
I swallowed carefully and tried to still my body, failing miserably. "Morwen, why are you in here?" I asked.
She pulled back and looked at my face. "I heard you crying."
"But..." I trailed off and raised my eyebrows. "Your room is not within hearing distance, child."
Morwen looked a little abashed, but she lifted her chin and said, "I always come by at nighttime." She was a very truthful child.
"What?" I gasped. "Why?"
"Because," she said patiently, "I heard Sililian saying---"
"What did she say?" I interrupted.
Morwen took my hand in her small one and snuggled up to me. "Promise you won't get mad?"
I nodded. "Of course I won't get mad, darling."
"Well, she said 'I heard it from his old manservant, who heard it from Beregond: he weeps at night. Sometimes he'll wake up screaming, and sometimes he just starts out of his sleep. But he always weeps himself back to sleep. Poor, poor man.' So I wanted to see for myself. I came a week ago for the first time, and sure enough I heard you crying. I didn't come in, but I sat at the door until you stopped. Then I went back to bed. I always come now, at the same time. And most of the time you cry, and I put my head against the door and wait until you're done.
Well tonight you screamed so loud I had to come in and see if you were alright." She looked up at my face and asked, "Why do you cry, daddy?"
My throat suddenly didn't want to cooperate, but I hugged her close. "Morwen," I finally said, "I cry because..." my mind raced to come up with an excuse, but I finally decided upon the truth. "Because I miss your mother so much."
Morwen put her head on my chest. "I thought so." She was silent as she put her hand into mine. "Do you...do you think it would help if I slept in the same bed as you and kept you company like Mother used to?"
I knew that I shouldn't use my daughter as the answer to my problems, and it was on the tip of my tongue to say no, when she said, "I can't sleep nights either."
I kissed the top of my daughter's head before I replied. "You can sleep with me tonight, little one, but not every night."
Morwen threw her arms around my neck. "Thank you, Father!"
I stood with Morwen in my arms, and set her on the bed. Then I picked up all the pillows and blankets and put them back on the bed and crawled in next to her. She immediately snuggled up to me and whispered, "No more bad dreams, alright?"
I smiled to the darkness and answered, "No more bad dreams."
And there were no more than night.
(1)Alright, a small disclaimer here. Eru is laughing at Faramir in his dream...not in real life. God would never laugh at us...he opens his arms to us. The idea of God mocking and humiliating us is purely (PURELY) Faramir's imagination. Please keep this in mind;-)