A Time to Say Goodbye
I stood there by the fire place trying to decide if I was too hungry to sleep, which led me to the thought of where would I be sleeping? I wandered down a short hallway with two doors that lead to the master bedroom. I could see my grandmother's influence here despite her death. My grandfather must have really missed her to build this home with aspects that she would have asked for, or maybe after 56 years of marriage, you just start blending. There were large picture window doors that opened up to a small covered porch with a privet path to the backyard. Just beyond the porch was a small area with a hot house, filled with flowering plants. My grandmother loved flowering plants, and if anyone could make them grow here, it would have been her. My grandfather must have hired someone to care for them, my only memories of his green thumb was him with bush sheers hacking away at his poor overgrown victims; grams supervising in quiet disapproval. I felt oddly lonely in that moment; for all that it was a lovely memory. I lingered there in that room for a little longer, and decided that I would eventually replace the mattress and clean it out a little. For now the guest bedroom would be fine. I pushed the feeling of guilt to the back of my mind. I didn't like the idea of packing loved ones up into a box, and doing what? Selling their belongings, storing them in the attic? I would have to go through it all and decide one by one the best course of action. For now I just needed to rest. On the other side of the house and up a short set of stairs were the guest bedrooms. There were three in total. One my grandfather had merely placed a day bed in, however, he saw fit to store my grandmother's sewing machine and table here as well; as if at any moment she would walk in and take up a project. I felt of jolt of excitement, I loved to sew, thanks to her, and to be able to have this part of her was wonderful! I left that room and went further down the hallway. There was one smaller room, that had a twin bed and smaller furniture; child sized. That thought gave me a pang of regret, Grams always wanted great grandchildren. It just never happened with my husband and me, and then he died. I quickly let that emotion wane. I moved on to the last room, and it stole my breath. Not because it was anything terribly special, although it did have a connected bathroom, but because on the bed was a small envelope with my name on it. I walked over and just looked at it. It was my Gramps handwriting and I was afraid to touch it. After a moment I took a deep breath and opened the letter.
My dear Jessica,
I love you. I knew you would find this letter, because I know you! I imagine the idea of sleeping in my room is hard, but I know you will follow the path that is right for you. I want you to remember what I have taught you about faith and forgiveness but more than that, love, no other thing is greater than love. No matter what happens- trust in the Lord your God with all your heart; lean not on your own understanding, but in His, and in all your ways, honor Him. I know you will mourn for me as you did your grandmother, but do not forget to celebrate! I am with our Heavenly Father, and with my dear wife. I have missed her so much. Take care of this place, and of yourself. Know that you are never alone. Try not to close your heart to possibilities out of fear. There are things in this lifetime that only age can teach you and things that only faith can open your eyes to, enjoy them all, but in Gods grace. I love you. I am proud of you. Trust your instincts, all of them. Trust your heart, the past should never govern your future, it should only serve to make you wiser. I love you, I always will.
Gramps
After I read that letter, I cried for what seemed like forever. My tears soaked the paper I cried so much, then I fell asleep utterly exhausted. When I woke the morning sun was barely peeking above the mountains. I glanced at the antique clock on the bureau and saw that it was 7:30 in the morning. Good Lord, I felt like utter crap. After rummaging through my bag, I found my toiletries and took a shower. It took a long time for the hot water to work out the tension in my shoulders. After I had dressed, I couldn't decide what I should do with my hair. Eventually I blew it dry, in an effort to make myself feel better. I even put on a little makeup. After I made my way into the kitchen, I made breakfast and coffee. I took a seat on a stool at the breakfast bar, and began to eat, trying not to think. I was so successful, that when the door bell rang, I nearly slipped off the stool from the startle. I had totally forgotten that Bran was going to be here this morning to arrange the funeral service with me, although he did say he planned to call. As I made my way to the door, I reached out, as I usually did, to see what mood my visitor was in, and to make sure it was in fact Bran. It was my observation that the front door is the first and last line of defense between you and who ever wanted to get to you; why just throw it open?
It was Bran alright, he was as tired as I was, with an appetite like a bear! I hoped he liked coffee, because I didn't think my grandfather drank tea.
"Good Morning, Bran. Please come in." I said as I opened the door. I was tired and knew it was evident in my voice. "What can I get you to eat?" I asked matter-of-factly, and started towards the kitchen. When he didn't answer, I looked back to him. He had a confused looked on his face.
"What wrong?" I asked. I stopped and faced him concerned. I fought not to reach out to him, the look on his face causing me to hesitate.
"I didn't feel you that time." He said coolly and started forward as if nothing had happened. I knew that tone, a lot of people use it especially when they don't want you to know they are beyond freaked out. It's a default defense mechanism to make things seem like they're not a big deal to them, when in fact it's a huge deal. The root of this type of reaction, at least in my experience, is usually due to fear or shame, perhaps both. I wondered what had happened to him, to be so scared about my harmless ability. It was almost as if he was waiting for the other hand to drop, to be able to finally see the dark side. To my knowledge, besides making people with something to hide a little uncomfortable, I had never caused anyone actual harm. I narrowed my eyes at him, for the briefest of seconds, but I am sure he caught my expression. I decided then it was about time to explain to him how this little ability of mine worked.
"Oh," I said, as normally as possible, "well that's simple. Why don't you tell me what I can cook for you, and I'll explain while I'm at it?" I smiled at him and waited for him to decide. I did my best to relax, inside and out, so he would. Bran looked at me for a little while longer, and then he seemed to relax a little, but I didn't trust his outward appearance. To preserve what little trust I had from him I resisted the urge to reach out and gauge his thoughts. I understood then why people often put their foot in it, it's hard wondering what's going on in someone's head, and not being able to look.
"Alright, eggs are fine. Coffee is fine as well. I think I will be amused by what explanation you come up with." He said as if he thought I was going to yank something out of mid air. That served as my confirmation. He didn't fully trust me, and why should he? We had known each other less than a day, and he didn't have my ability to look and see a person's true colors. I would have to earn his trust, a task I was fearful would be nearly impossible. I had never dealt with someone who could tell what I was doing; I supposed there would have to be some concessions made, and with that, I let out a deep breath and embraced the calm that honest to goodness truth can give you. He followed me to the kitchen and sat down. I retrieved a clean mug and handed it to him full of delicious coffee. "Creamer and sugar are on the tray if you like that in your coffee." I said and vaguely pointed in the direction of a small tray. He took the mug and started for the sugar, I just turned away to retrieve the eggs and frying pan, attempting to hide the scowl on my face. What a crime to ruin wonderful coffee with sugar. "Well" He said "I'm ready when you are." He looked up at me expectantly. "Not before you tell me how you take your eggs, over easy, scrambled?" I let the question die off so he would fill in the blanks. Why was he always so ready to get his way in things? To my annoyance, I was answered with a boyish smirk peppered with the question of why I didn't simply just see for myself. So he noticed that I was retraining myself. "You need to make up your mind Bran Cornick," I said as sweetly as I might, "I have an all access pass or I don't. How do you take your eggs?" That earned me a real smile, and of course it made me blush. "Scrambled then" He said coyly, and examined my face like it was a piece of complicated art that he was trying to understand. I turned my back to him and started the eggs.
"Alright," I said, "well the first thing to understand is that I have been able to work with people in this way, my whole life. That's nearly twenty-five years. While that's a fairly small number in the grand scheme of things," waving my hand in the air, "it's a long time to function a certain way." I looked over my shoulder at Bran to see if he was following me thus far. He nodded, and I certainly could not tell if he was doing so in agreement or in an effort to get me to continue. I raised an eyebrow and continued. "As I gained life experience, I was able to understand what I was doing. In my teens I had a hard time differentiating what was my emotions, and motives from others. Certain things are" I paused circling my hand with the spatula, "louder than others." I looked up from the pan of eggs in order to gauge his understanding. He looked as though he was certainly trying to follow, and possibly failing. "Ok, it's like when you are in a mall, for example. There are people around you having conversations, and doing normal things. A person who would have an extreme emotion, perhaps, would verbally project that emotion by yelling. You can't help but hear it. That's what happened this morning. Your hunger was very loud, I suppose, and I couldn't help but know about it. I didn't have to really try to look for it, I listened and it was there. It was like being hit with a water balloon. I was just able to see it mid flight and get out of the way." I plated his eggs, and handed them to him. I mulled over what I said for a moment, and decided it was a horrible explanation, but it was the best I was going to come up with this morning. "Make sense?" I asked. He took a bite of his eggs, and looked at me. He seemed very amused by the expression on his face. I wondered if the eggs tasted awful, or if he thought I was just funny.
"That was a horrible explanation, but I suppose, in an extremely simplified way, it made sense." He said. I thought he might feel that way, and flushed a little. For a brief moment I pondered why this man caused me to flush so much, and wondered if there was a medicinal cure for such things. I let that thought go, and moved on to subjects I could control.
"So now that you understand, would you like to go over the funeral arrangements with me? Or is there anything else you would like to know. I am feeling oddly generous today." I said teasing just a little. I felt a smile creep across my face at the startled look Bran gave me. I took a sip of my coffee to hide it.
"Generous?" Bran asked. He chucked a little, and then finished his eggs.