Intervention

We all have to deal with death sometime...

   I sit there on the curb, alone. She would have been here, she would have known what to say to make me smile or feel better. If she had been here, then I wouldn't feel sad.

            Her funeral was today. It wasn't a long fight with a disease or some tragic circumstance, it was just an accident. Her tire slipped on the road and she slammed into the dividing wall. The doctor's told me it would have been fast. She wouldn't have suffered. A small solace.

I went to her funeral, surrounded by her family and our friends, and I looked over everyone and I realized I had no idea who these people were.

            Oh, I know their names, where they live, and where they work. But I don't know their hopes or their dreams, their triumphs or their failures. At that moment a crushing sense of loneliness fell over me. The rest of the funeral was meaningless. Some preacher or pastor telling about God's will and how she was in a better place.  Everyone hugging me and telling me they were there for me, but did anyone stay and make sure I was really there?

            Nope, everyone went off to their lives and their pains. And was left alone with what was left of her. I stared at her grave for a long time, not sure of what to do. I'm not a religious person, nor have I been spiritual, I knew what had made her her was completely gone. And yet, I can't leave without saying something. Anything.

            "I love you.. and I miss you.."

            And with that, I turned to leave. I left the cemetery and walked past my car. I just kept walking, not paying attention to where I was going. I didn’t care. All could think about was in a few days or few weeks or even a few months, I wouldn't be able to remember the little sounds she made when she slept, all the noises she made when she was working in the office. Thousands of little things I didn’t notice until she was gone.  I wanted to cry, but it wouldn't help, would it?

            I kept walking, thinking all that until it became too much and I just fell down on the curb somewhere and stayed there. By myself, alone, wishing she would come and put her arm around me, tell me it would be ok and that I was just worrying too much. But I knew that wouldn't happen. It wouldn't happen ever again.

            I would never see her again, I would never talk to her again, I would never tell her about my day again. All the things she did that I loved, how she moved when she was happy or how she hid when she smiled like a schoolgirl because she was self conscious. I would never see any of them again. All because of a damned accident. Karma didn't explain this, what did she ever do that was so wrong? If this was a part of God's plan, then why was he so cruel?

            The anger began to replace the sorrow, why had she been taken away from me? What had we done that had been so terrible? I wanted something, anything to hit, to hurt, to destroy. I wanted to feel my fist hit something and break it, anything, if it would only bring her back.

 

            I didn't notice the man at first. I was too busy lost in my own torrent of thoughts to see him.  He had sat beside me, not too far, but not too close. I don't know how long he sat there waiting for me to say something.

            At that moment, I had my head in my hands and was trying my best not to punch the sidewalk with all my strength, I noticed him out of the corner of my eyes. He was sitting there on the curb, not too far away, happy as could be. As if there was no where better for him to be in the world. He smiled at the passer by that looked down on him and watched the traffic pass with a smile. I couldn't tell what he was, he seemed Hispanic, but he could have been Black or even Native American. I never asked his name and he never offered it.

            After minutes of watching him out of the corner of my eye, he turned directly towards me, smiled and nodded at me, before turning back to watch the traffic pass.

            "Can I help you?" I said, surprised at how broken my voice sounded.

            "I think the question is, can I help you," he said without looking at me. He pulled out a piece of wood from his jacket pocket and a knife from the other.

            "What do you mean?" I asked, although it sounded more like wadda yah men.

            "Well," he said as he began to whittle, "I'm fine with where I am and what is happening with me." He studied the wood for a second and then chopped a piece off "You, on the other hand, seem near the point of breaking down, and as someone who has been there, I thought perhaps I could offer some assistance to you."

            "Why?"

            "Why not," he said with a laugh. He watched me and waited for me to laugh, when I didn't he shrugged and went back to his piece of wood.

            "Because I know where you are and I know..."

            "You know nothing about me."

            He laughed at me again, and at that moment I hated him. All my rage was focused on him and I wanted something bad to happen to him.

            "You are obviously dealing with some grief of some kind."

            "How can you know that?"

            "Well, look at you, you are dressed for a funeral and you look like someone died, like you are lost and without meaning.  If you aren't I apologize."

            "What if I am?" I said looking down at the street, the depression settling in once more. No more smelling her in the bed when she gets up.

            "Well then, perhaps what I can say will help you," he blew some shaving off the wood and went back to it with his knife, "if not, are you any worse for wear for listening to me?"

            "I guess not."

            "So little one, tell me, what is wrong?"

            I looked at him a moment, trying to find the words of what to say. Wanting to yell at him for how smug and happy he was, like he knew some damned secret. But then I began to talk. I told him it all, how upset I was at her dying, about never seeing her again. About how pissed I was about everyone leaving me alone. About everything. And he sat there and listened to me tell him. He didn't interrupt. He just watched, whittled and listened. After I finished we both sat there a moment.

            I felt spent. Numb. There wasn't anything left. Not hate, no anger, no rage, just emptiness. Cold and dark.

            "Why do you think they left you alone?"

            "Because they don't care."

            "That's an adolescent response to the problem. You know they care otherwise they wouldn't have been there, Paul," he said as he whittled. He didn't even look up.

            "That's not..."

            "Yes it is. They were there to support you, but in your grief, you forgot that they were dealing with exactly the same pain you are."

            We sat there is silence as I thought about that. Had I been too hard on them? It was true that her family had lost a daughter, a sister. Maybe I had been too quick in my condemnation of them. Slowly the depression slipped back into my mind and I began to feel even worse. I had probably come across as a complete a*****e to them.

            "So I'm an insensitive a*****e too?"

            "Did I say that?"

            "No... but I only.."

            "Thought of yourself, as anyone in that situation would, as they did. It is called being human, Paul.  Don't beat yourself up for feeling. Do what is right."

            "What's that?"

            "Sort yourself out and then go talk to them. I doubt they are offended by what happened." He cut another piece of the wood and blew on it again. "Besides if they are, do you want to associate with those kinds of people?"

            "What do you mean?"

            "Your fiancé died in a tragic accident, you have no family of your own, so you feel completely alone, and anyone should be able to understand you will shut people out at first. That is the natural response."

            "That doesn't seem fair."

            He stopped whittling and looked at me and then laughed a long deep laugh. He laughed and even though I tried not to, I began to laugh. I didn't know why we were laughing, but it still felt good. I felt the depression and sadness ease a little. It was like a weight being lifted from my head.

            "It isn't fair. Life is never fair. But you deal with it as you can."

            "What would you do if it happened to you?"

            "Good question," he went back to whittling as he thought. I let him think.

            "Well. In my case, I would realize it was just an accident and let go of it. I would be sad I would never see or touch or hear her again, but I would be happy I was able to, if even for a short while. And I wouldn't have had a funeral. Funerals are sad, boring affairs. I would have had a party in her honor, to send her off in the great beyond with a smile and laugh, and not tears."

            "How could you be happy..."

            "It isn’t easy. You have to realize people you love and care about are going to die and sometimes it will be senseless and there will be nothing you can do about it. No amount of rage or anger will stop it or bring them back. You are wasting your time. Spend your time focusing on the living, not the dead."

            "I guess that works, but I could never do that."

            He laughed once more." Probably not. You have to find out what works for you and make it work. But how do you feel now?"

            I thought about the question and looked up to the sky.

"I feel a little better. The guilt and anguish and pain didn't feel like they are choking me anymore. I know it will be a while until I feel completely good again...but now I know it can happen. And that's good enough. I'm not okay, but that's okay."

"Exactly. Sometimes you are going to be sad and sometimes you are going to be hurt. And that's okay. But I think I may have to cut our conversation short, young one."

"Why?"

"As much as I enjoy a receptive audience, there are other places I must be."

He stood up, put his knife back in his jacket and handed me what he had been whittling. I didn't even look at it.  All I could do was watch as this man crossed the street and left my life as suddenly as he had entered it. Maybe he was right. The sorrow and pain I felt because of her death was normal and I should be okay with it, because even though I felt it, I still had loved her and had been loved by her. I felt the sadness coming again, but this time it wasn't overwhelming me. I let the tears come down, but it didn’t feel as bad.

It was then I looked at what he had handed me. He had whittled a small heart.

And that made me laugh.

Reviews

[yinseriv]

What a well thought out and constructed story. I love the direction you took and was touched by the ending.