When I Go Home…

We took the old highway coming into town so that we could stop at Arnold’s.  Yes, I knew it was November.  Yes, I knew that November brings snow to Crystal, Tennessee.  But I grew up on Arnold’s Frozen Yogurt and it had been too long.

As we came into town, I noticed stores that had new looks, stores that had the same old looks, and stores that were gone.  I looked for old neighborhood houses and, in some cases, struggled to even make out entire neighborhoods.  I realized, with a look back at my childhood, the things that had changed and then things that had stayed the same, and probably always would.

Our car pulled up to the curb, and David put it in park.  I looked out the passenger window and across the street to the lit-up living room window on the other side, nestled in between all the other cozy-looking houses in this old, historic neighborhood.

We sat there for a second, both myself and he, as well, before he asked, “Are you ready?”

I looked back at him, with his warm expression on his face.  Having him here made it so much easier.  I contemplated his question before looking back at the house again.  “There’s one more thing I need to do.”  I clasped my hands together, resting my elbows on my knees and then my forehead on my hands. Dear Lord, …help me…Amen.

I took a deep breath, let it go, and opened my car door.  He did the same.

When we got to the threshold, we could hear the soft sounds of people fellowshipping on the other side of the door.  David reached over and pressed the doorbell.

After a few seconds of waiting, the door opened up and there stood my mother, wearing fifty-seven as if it were a new fashion trend.  She would always be that beautiful.

“Well hey!” She exclaimed with that motherly Tennessee tone.  “Look, everybody!  Rebecca and David are here!  Y’all come right on in.”

She ushered us in to the living room where I was nearly tackled by Elizabeth.  “Becca,” she spoke into my ear as we hugged tightly, “it’s so good to see you.”

As Elizabeth grabbed my hand and led me to the sofa, I looked around at the living room: it still had the same wooden floors but with new wine-colored shag rugs, the same coffee-and-crème-colored walls but with more pictures of grandkids and rediscovered snapshots of the past hanging up, and the same high ceilings that somehow added to the emptiness of the room when I would find myself alone in this room.  Except now I felt more alone than I ever had in here.  I looked over to the soft brown recliner in the far corner.  No one was sitting in it.

                Dan and Charlotte were already in the love seat, their girls, Jessica and Faith, running throughout the house.  I could see back in the kitchen, and it sounded like she was sending Enrique to the store to pick up a few more items.  Their two-year-old, Miguel, was pulling the tail of Simba, Mom’s golden retriever.

“…and I was worried that the pumpkin pie would get cool before y’all got here, but it just came out of the oven!” Mom announced to David and I for everyone else to hear, and I hoped she hadn’t noticed I wasn’t paying attention.

                The afternoon continued on, with Mom pulling Elizabeth, Charlotte, Stacey, and I into the kitchen, and David being pulled into whatever football game was on TV.  Dan and Charlotte’s two little girls insisted on helping me make the dressing and cranberry sauce, so I swallowed hard and spent the next two or three recipes fighting the feeling that someone had punched me in my gut.

                It was good being around the family again, though.  It really was.

                Mike walked in the back door while taking off his Home Depot apron just as we were seasoning the vegetables and pulling the turkey out of the oven: a perfect golden-brown.  He and Mom set the table, and I was making my way back to my husband when I heard someone call my name.

“Becca!”

I turned back around and was looking into the eyes of a quirky little Hispanic baby.

“Becca, could you please take Miguel and change his diaper?  I’m sorry, but I’ve got to put the mashed potatoes in the crock-pot for another ten minutes and now slide a frozen cheese pizza into the oven, as well.  Apparently Faith has decided that she doesn’t eat real food anymore.”

What was I supposed to say?

That’s how I found myself in an upstairs bedroom, changing a poop diaper and getting baby powder on my blouse.  After scrubbing the white powder off and attaching a new diaper, I looked down to find the baby staring up at me, eyes just as big as they could be and a smile that spread his chubby cheeks to the sides of his face.

I carried him downstairs and found Enrique in the living room.  After handing him off, I walked quickly to the half-bath underneath the stairwell and wiped the running mascara off my face before taking a few breaths and stepping out to the sitting room in the front.

In here was the most beautiful window of the whole house, so beautifully framing the scenery out front.  I noticed the McGuires moseying across the lawn with a casserole in hand to come join us.  They were our neighbors when I was ten and, to this day, they still lived next door.

Mom answered the door when they knocked, and then moved the three of us into the dining room.  It was time to eat.

As we all sat down around the table, the kids seated at the bar in the kitchen, Mom stood up and looked at us all with that warm, stunning smile of hers.

“Before we begin eating this wonderful meal before us,” a small cheer went out from some of the men, “I wanted to take time to say thanks for all our many blessings.”

That was when I started feeling a little hot.  I gaze accidentally slipped to the head of the table, where Mom was sitting.

Mom began to give thanks for us all being here, but it was a lie.  All of us were not.  She gave thanks for all of our health, but it was a lie.  Sickness has a way of tearing a person’s life up.

And when she went to go say the prayer, I don’t what came over me.  I was sweating on the outside, and crumbling to pieces on the inside.  My palms felt clammy and I wanted to hide my face in David’s shoulder, to beg him to hold me and make the pain go away.  To pick me up and carry me.  To run until everything was truly well and there was nothing but happiness.

There was everything but happiness, though.

I tried to focus on Mom’s prayer, and that was when it happened.

“…and Lord, please remember little Harrison on this day-”

“Mom!” I looked up and yelled.  Hesitantly, I noticed, everyone began to lift their heads to see what was surely a heart-wrenching expression on my face.

“Oh, I’m sorry sweetie,” she offered gently, seeming genuinely apologetic.  “Don’t cry, sweetie.  Don’t cry.”  But I couldn’t stop the tears that were already cascading down my face.

“Well it’s not like he had much of a chance, anyways, with that name,”  Mike offered as a joke to lighten the mood.  But that crude, inconsiderate joke was the very thing that broke me.

I threw my chair back and ran through the hallway, through the living room and into another hallway, and then finally into the master bedroom before slamming and locking the door shut.  I collapsed onto the bed and then curled up into a ball and heaved.

Why me, God?!  Why!!! I yelled in anger and desperation and loneliness and emptiness.  Why can’t it be the way it’s supposed to?!

*****

I really don’t know how much time passed before I felt the hand on my shoulder.  But it eventually registered in my mind and so I pulled my head up to see who it was.

It surely couldn’t be, though!  …Could it?

“Dad?” I asked reluctantly.

“Hey, Carrot.  Did you know that every time you cry, I swear those freckles of yours just get brighter and brighter?  Well I think they’re absolutely adorable,” he smiled and said.

I sat up and embraced him for a few special moments, gripping his shirt and smelling the scent of the cologne he always wore.  I buried my head in body and just let him love me for those special moments, and then I sat back.

“I’ve missed you so much, Dad,” I whispered through my choked up voice.  The tears were coming back again.

“I know, Carrot.  I know,” he offered back as he took out his hankie and dried my tears.

“It’s just…It’s just that it’s not fair, losing both you and…” I stopped, honestly not knowing whether or not I could go on or not.

“Heyyy, sweetie.  You listen here.  You know what’s not fair?  Right now, me and Harrison are up in heaven with no worries, no responsibilities, and y’all are still stuck down here,” he chuckled and winked at me.  “Did I ever tell you that I love his name?”

“Stop it, Dad.  Just stop it!  You died!  There’s nothing comforting about it!”

He looked at me for a moment, and I must have looked a mess, as low and awful as I felt.

“No, no I suppose it’s not…for y’all.  Carrot, I’m going to ask a favor of you.  I’m going to ask you to stop being so selfish.”

He had no idea how much that hurt to hear him say.  I started crying again, so confused and feeling so alone.

“See, you think you’re all alone, that everything is just going against you.  But Harrison and I are in heaven!  I’m here with God and life is great!  I know it’s hard on you, sweetie, but you act like my leaving this earth is the end of my soul, entirely.”

I thought about it for a second and knew that he was right.  But I didn’t want to admit it.

“I miss you,” I whispered yet again, fighting back the tears and not even making eye contact anymore.

“I know, Carrot.  I know.” He paused for a few seconds before he spoke again, “ Say, you remember that place, that fancy shmancy place you used to drag me to, this time of year.”

I chuckled through the tears and wiped my eyes.  “The Hartford Hotel.”

“Yea, that one, the one that had the father-daughter dance and banquet around Thanksgiving every year.  You remember that one time I almost tripped?”

“Almost?  Dad, you did trip?”

“I did?” he played innocent, with a half-smile on his face.

“You fell on top of me, and your face was so red with embarrassment I died laughing right there!” I giggled out, before I realize the disgusting metaphor I had just used.  But he just kept smiling.

“It’s alright, Becca.  You don’t have to be so somber every time you used the word, death.  It was a very funny time, you’re right.”

His words brought me to a place of ease and peace, just like they always did.

“I loved every second we ever spent together, Carrot.  And I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

“I know, Daddy.  I know.”

Just then I heard the door unlock and I turned to see it cracking open and David’s face poking in.

“I was getting worried about you so I kind of picked the lock,” he shrugged his shoulders and smiled that same warm smile.  “Is it alright if I come in?”

I turned around to where Dad had been sitting, but I had already guessed he would be gone.  It was alright, though.  I wiped my eyes and turned back to him.

“Yea.  Come on in.”

He came in and sat down behind me on the bed, wrapping his arms around me and pressing his face into my hair.  We fought and had our disagreements, there were days where I said things that really hurt him and he would say things that really hurt me, and then with my miscarriage with Harrison, our marriage just about didn’t make it.

But there were times like these, times when he would wrap me in his arms and I knew that we truly loved each other and that God had given us each other, not so that we would face hard times, but because we would face hard times.  And God knew that there was no hope of me surviving without him, without David Landon Shores.

I needed him.

*****

I returned to the dinner table without looking one of them in the eye.  Mike apologized deeply, much due to Mom’s insistence, I’m sure, and we ate the rest of the meal in relative normalcy.

The next day was Friday.  Black Friday to be exact.  This was the number one shopping day in America, because crazy families would load every last member up into vehicles and drive to every strip mall and shopping center within a twenty mile radius.  Ours was no exception.

We finished the day at half an hour to midnight, but not for lack of Mom’s trying.  She wasn’t satisfied until she knew every last store looked like a hurricane had hit and left only the things not worth buying.

When we finally made it home, everyone crashed and slept until twelve o’clock the next day.

As the day went by, the guys played a few backyard football games (the snow had melted considerably).  Mom and Stacey had us back in the kitchen, trying to do “fun” and “creative” things with all of the leftovers.

“It’s a Wonderful Life” was on reruns all day, and eventually Charlotte popped in the DVD of “A Charlie Brown Christmas” for Jessica, Faith, and Juan to glue their eyes to the TV for half an hour.

It was when I went to take out the garbage after an early dinner that I found Mom outside by the backdoor.  Smoking a cigarette.

I dropped the bag on the doorstep and walked to the oak tree in the back yard, my hands gripping my head.

She had quit.  She had quit.  I know for a fact that she had quit.  I wasn’t handling this very well.

I sat down at the roots of the oak and just let the tears come in a gentle stream.  My mind went back to last Thanksgiving, where I stood at the table and announced that David and I were having a baby to the whole family.  The tears kept coming.

I remember looking to the head of the table and seeing Dad’s face light up as bright as it could be.  The tears were getting stronger now.

Dad would only be alive for another month before he was hospitalized.  His heart disease would get worse and worse.  Those times where the pain would keep him up at night, groaning and crying and helpless to stop the burning inside his chest were the worst.  He died three days before Christmas.  No one felt like celebrating on December 25^th or like welcoming a new year.

When David and I went looking for names, we wanted something special.  We wanted to honor my father by giving his name to our baby boy on the way: Harrison.

My water broke in March, with a month to go, still, in my second trimester.  David rushed me to the hospital but it was too late.  We lost my baby boy.  I lost my baby boy.

Mom sat down on the old swing set beside the old tree, I could see out of the corner of my eye.  I tried to wipe the floods from my face, pushed myself up, and walked over to the set and sat down in the swing next to her.

We sat there like that for a couple minutes before I finally worked up the nerve to say something.

“How dare you,” I muttered.

I heard her sniffle and, when I looked up, I saw that she too was crying.

“Oh Mom,” I suddenly felt awful for having said something.

“No.  No you’re right, Becca.  I had promised.”

“It’s alright, Mom.  Don’t cry.”

She looked me in the eyes, and I instantly felt awful for her.  In my time with Dad (or whatever that was), he had been right.  I had been selfish.  I never once stopped to really think how hard this must have been on my mom, losing the love of her life.

If I lost David…

And then for us to have named her grandchild after him, and to have lost him, too, well that just left her with an empty home and a broken heart.

They say that it’s nearly impossible, as it is, for a smoker to stop smoking.  They say that stress and worry and depression are like catalysts for dependency and the nicotine is the crutch.  By making my mom promise, had I yanked the crutches out from under her?

“When I made that promise to you, Sweetie, I wanted so badly to keep it.  I’ve been trying my hardest to keep serving the Lord, Becca, I promise I have!”

“I know, Momma, I know.”  I was crying again, too.  But now it was for her.

“Becca…I am sorry for letting my pride get in the way.  I am going to find help and I am going to quit once and for all-”

“Mom, you don’t have to-”

“No, but I want to!  Becca, it won’t be quick and it won’t be without it’s hardships, but I am going to quit… Will you pray with me?  For all of that, and just for God to give me strength?”

I looked into her weepy eyes with my weepy eyes and couldn’t help but laugh.  “I would love that, Mom.  I really would.”  We hugged each other and began praying.

That day, even with all of the stuff going on in our lives, both my Mom and I rededicated our lives to God, right there on that little old swing set.

*****

After Mom’s spiritual renewal that afternoon, she sat the entire family down that night and explained to us that, even though we had all planned on getting on the road first thing the next morning, that we would be attending church together, first—as a family.

We would be going to the one we had gone to as a family all those years ago, she said.

So the next morning we all ran about crazily, trying to get ready for the morning: getting into our Sunday Best, straightening my hair and tying bows into my nieces’.  And as I helped David slip into his coat, I thought about my own relationship with God.

Stacey and Enrique had been strong in their relationships with God, I was pretty sure.  But the rest of the family, as far as I knew, had had our ups and downs.

For a while after Dad’s death, Mike had stopped believing in God at all.  I always knew He struggled with his self-esteem.  He didn’t think a girl would say yes to him, he didn’t think he could make it on his own, and so at twenty-five, he was still single and living with Mom.

But, lately, he had been growing as a person, you could tell, and he had announced this weekend that by this time next year he would be moving into an apartment.  I was so proud of baby brother in that moment.  It had made me so happy to see his face light up as he announced it.

We sat in church, that morning, singing those old familiar hymns and listening as the Preacher’s message wrung in each of our hearts.  He spoke of being thankful for the things that God had blessed us with.  He said that life would get hard and there would be times where we would get to feeling alone.  But all we had to do was remember those people who loved us.

My mind went to my little sister, Elizabeth, who had been my best friend growing up.  And I thought about my older sister, Stacey, and her wonderful husband and child.  I thought about Dan, my older brother and loving guardian.  I thought about Mikey, my baby brother, who I had fought with growing up but loved so much.

I thought about my Dad and Mom.  They had their moments, like David and I, and they weren’t perfect.  But they loved like champions and lived like servants.  Who could say a thing against them?

We stepped out of the church doors after the service to falling snow, and we stopped first to say our goodbyes.  Each of our eyes were misty as we reminded each other how much we loved one another, and that it wouldn’t be long before Christmas came, and then soon it would be Thanksgiving again.

Eventually, David and I parted from the group and made it to our car.

We each opened our doors, but neither of us got in just yet.  I looked around at this little town that I had grown up in, about all the memories, both sweet and bitter, that had brought me to where I was in my life.

“I want to try again,” I heard David say as he, too looked around.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

He took a moment before replying, “A baby.  I want to try having a baby again.”

I turned to look at him, with that loving face of his.  “Yea…yea, me too,” I replied.  And I meant it.  I really meant it.

David climbed into the car and started the ignition, but I kept standing there, trying desperately to remember what it was I should remember.

“Are you ready?” David leaned across my seat and asked.

“There is one more thing I need to do,” and I knew, as I felt my face grow into a smile, what it was.

*****

As the sun sat on the horizon of Crystal, Tennessee, bidding farewell to the world, my husband sat out in the running car for a small amount of time: it was all I asked.

I stepped up to the door as he watched, brushing the snow on my shoulders.  Though it was old and, from the looks of it, abandoned, the door was open and I stepped in.

The entire roof was made of glass, so the golden light of the sunset, casting shadows of the lightly-falling snow, poured into the Hartford Hotel as I found the ballroom.

I walked in, memories flooding back to me has my heart swelled.  I noticed a corner in the room, in particular, that we used to sit at a lot.  I walked up to it and ran my fingers across the spot where only some stubborn old man could have defaced the elegant wooden table.  Etched into the top on the side were the words: “Daddy and Carrot”.

This nearly sent me into tears, so I left that spot and walked to the center of the room.

And, if for only that small amount of time, I imagined I was in my father’s arms once again.  And then we danced.