So Weeps the Willow - 37. Salix Babylonica - 15 - Funeral for a Friend

Salix Babylonica – 15 – Funeral for a Friend

Let’s up and leave the weeping to the willow tree

And pour our tears in the sea

- Owl City -

In Loving Memory of Steven Smith – born February 4, 1977, died March 21, 2018

Steven W. Smith 41, of St. Louis Park, died of complications from cancer treatments.

Steven was a brave man who battled cancer for three years, and showed how courage gives meaning to life.

He is survived by his wife, Twyla, his children Logan and Steve, Jr., his parents, Jerry and Gwendolyn Smith, Ham Lake…

***

Abbott Northwestern Hospital

Minneapolis, MN

Trauma Wing/ICU Section

Patient: Benjamin Miller (33)

Doctor’s Note, March 21^st, 2018

…Miller had a blood clot episode after being treated for a gunshot wound. There was a dramatic blood pressure drop, and heart stoppage, which prompted a code blue alert. The attending nurses and Nurse Practitioner Murphy were able to resuscitate the patient and administered…

Miller was shot in the abdomen and was in stable condition. The episode may have caused some damage to the heart. More tests will follow.

His life partner and foster son were informed of the situation, and responded to confirm further tests and treatments. There will be more…

***

Clay saw Rush sitting on a park bench, under the enormous weeping willow, next to the pond, so close to their home. He was looking straight ahead, not moving. He seemed so alone.

As he neared, the teen got the impression Rush was shrinking and the tree was growing. The viney branches, swaying in the breeze, framed the man, light filtering through the newly sprouting leaves, which in turn brought out the gray in Rush’s hair. The gray was more pronounced now, more evident than it had been. The detective was also more slumped, an unusual positioning, and his posture was bent.

Rush was so sensitive about his graying hair, which made Clay worry. On Rush, gray hair was distinguished, noble, but on the bowed head, it was just sad.

Clay settled gently next to his guardian and put his arm around the man’s shoulders. There was a trembling in his frame and it shook them both.

“Are you okay?” Clay asked, leaning closer.

“Not really,” Rush answered. “He almost died because of me.”

“No,” Clay answered, as he had several times in the last few days. “No. Ben is hurt because someone tried to kill him.”

Rush asked abruptly, “How is Twyla doing?” He was trying to avoid the painful subject, but it didn’t work. He started sobbing again.

It made Clay’s heart ache, and forced him think. He questioned some of his ideas about pain, life, death, and torment. He thought he knew it all. Right now, he realized how very wrong he was. There was plenty of agony in the world. More than he had considered.

The teen turned to Rush.

“She’s doing okay,” Clay answered. “How are you?” he asked, rubbing the detective’s shoulder.

“I’m okay,” Rush answered. “I’ll be fine. As long as he--” He then turned and placed his hand on Clay’s cheek, softly and gently caressing it. “How’re you coping?”

Clay smiled and winced, realizing it was a pained expression, and then nodded his head affirmatively. “I’m ready for the funeral. I think it’s time to say goodbye to him.”

Rush looked up and nodded. The afternoon light from the early spring sun was brilliant, but despondent. The bright green of the willow tree looked buoyant, and the warmth from the sun was invigorating, but the park felt sad. Rush was depressed.

Clay felt lost. Why was he feeling so sad, like he’d lost something?

The willow above them waved its branches like a priest or a pastor, giving them a benediction.

Clay patted Rush’s shoulder, now trembling again with emotion, and looked up at the tree.

The weeping willow bent and nodded at them. It was joining in their sorrow and fear. The seasons didn’t matter either. They weren’t affected by the pain of a loved one. The leaves sprouted in the spring, fell in the fall, and the limbs moved with the weather of the moment.

This tree was wise, in a way that humans could never fathom.

Clay felt his cheeks moisten as the tears began to flow.

They’d almost lost Ben. And then, he and Rush had watched as someone died.

Twyla’s husband was gone. That poor woman and her kids lost their loved one. Clay and Rush were still hanging onto theirs. Rush had his partner, and Clay still had his other dad.

In the end, a selfish woman tried to steal someone else’s art and had almost sent Ben to the grave. She extinguished the lives of two men, in order to protect her lie. Clay tugged Rush closer, glancing at him, and he noticed something.

Clay saw Rush was now trying to smile. He sighed as understanding flooded him. Rush seemed sad as well, like something was haunting him. But his dad’s grin widened and the man’s eyes lit up as the teen felt more pass between them.

The man was now recovering. His breath was still short. Rush’s face was pale, but it had changed slightly. His skin was still blotchy, his chin clenched, and lips pressed thin with determination. He seemed okay for the moment.

“Are we ready to help her through this?” Rush asked. He took Clay’s hand in his and squeezed it tightly.

“Are you ready?” Clay asked.

Rush nodded. “I’m going to be fine,” the man said, his voice now assertive. Clay could smell it on his breath, and knew he was not fine.

Clay helped the man to his feet. He was unsteady, wavering, yet he finally found his footing.

“You know, he’s the one for me,” Rush said softly, his eyes grappling at his foster son’s face. “If I’d lost him…”

“I know,” Clay answered, his voice merely a husk. “He loves you with all his heart.”

“I’m fine now,” Rush said again. He gestured toward the sidewalk back to the house. “Let’s say our goodbyes.”

“Okay.” Clay walked behind him, as the man staggered and lurched quite drunk and stupid with despair.

***

The church was pretty full, and given the man’s relative youth, it wasn’t surprising.

Clay greeted the usher at the narthex and spoke with him briefly. Rush watched as the two men interacted. Well, the teen and the guy in his sixties, but it was noteworthy that Clay seemed pretty self-assured. He wasn’t flinching or looking away or acting nervous. The young man was taking charge and when Rush and the teen were led up to the front of the nave, the main seating area, and he wasn’t sure what had occurred.

Twyla was up front, near the altar, seated in the first row and greeting a line of mourners. Each of them bent down to her and she shook their hands, smiling carefully and deliberately. She looked so confident and in charge. Rush wished he could’ve channeled that kind of spirit. His reflections on Ben’s latest setback involved him melting down and being a disaster. She was stronger than he was.

Clay was at his side, and helping him to their seat. That was a comfort.

At first, Clay didn’t want to come to this funeral. Ben was still touch and go a few days ago, and he was still not well. The teen wanted to stay at the hospital. Rush felt a need to get away. Ben had stabilized and they needed to find their bearings as well.

Rush had coped, somewhat. Clay had struggled, and yet seemed better now. In the end, Rush needed this; to be there for his friend. Hopefully, it would help her as well.

Twyla and Rush had bonded in the hospital, and they found comfort with each other. Rush knew he wouldn’t have survived Ben’s situation without the woman’s shoulder to cry on.

Twyla and Rush had shared so much. The losses were different, but just as acutely felt. They’d talked at the hospital and on the phone. They’d even met at the funeral home and supported each other over planning Steve’s funeral, and weeping with relief over Ben’s recovery.

She was a good friend, sharing difficult emotions with Rush. They were there for each other, and that Clay could understand.

He’d said so. It was so hard though.

Rush wanted to smile and couldn’t, not at this point. He could see by Clay’s behavior that the boy understood. Ben’s unsure medical status was still too tenuous. Though seeing him that morning had helped, or had it made it worse? He couldn’t be sure. His near breakdown at the pond under the willow had surprised him.

Seeing his partner in bed surrounded by machines beeping and wheezing, had been so awful. Watching him sleep under sedation was even harder, because his chest rose and fell, but he looked dead. His waxy countenance and his still, unmoving limbs had been frightening. His partner looked so much like a corpse, sleeping like that.

However, Ben was better now, and the grim fear that he would be taken from him was lifting. That was not easy to accept. Seeing him so incapacitated and helpless, yet getting better, was complicated. Clay and he had talked about it, and the doctors had said he would live, and probably with a full recovery. Though…he stopped that train of thought in its tracks.

Clay tugged on his sleeve bringing him back to the church and the organ music that softly played in the background. Ben survived when Twyla’s husband didn’t, and so he had to be strong.

Rush looked around and his training as a policeman kicked in. He needed to figure out his surroundings and his bearings. He had to make sure things were okay, and safe.

The space was lovely, with vaulted ceilings and even in the closely arranged pews, it didn’t feel cramped. He felt exposed to heaven. That felt weird to his senses.

Heaven.

He wished Ben was there now and he could join them. But, he was still being monitored, on machines, though healing. He was okay, right?

The memory of Ben’s waxy countenance came back to him.

A sickly ache came from deep within his core and spread out over him. It was a feeling of drowning. The large space was crushing him, cutting off his air, and his stomach roiled. He felt his throat close. He was gagging.

“I can’t do this. I’m—” Rush stood up and excused himself to get out of the pew. He hurried out to the bathroom, with Clay following behind him.

***

After the bathroom visit, they stood at the back and listened as the pastor read some Bible passages and people said very nice things about Steven Smith. Twyla watched and tipped her head at appropriate points in the service. Rush found he was watching the reactions of the two little souls sitting next to the widow, their little heads bobbing and yet sometimes they’d turn and look over the pew at the people behind them.

The two boys looked a little scared at first, but by the end, they were bored, roiling around and tugging on Twyla’s arm. At least, that’s how it looked from the back.

Clay stood next to Rush the whole time.

“There are a lot of people here,” Rush said finally, his voice betraying him with a squeak at the end. He sounded depressed again.

Clay wasn’t sure where Rush was going with the comment. “He has a lot of family and small children.”

The teen felt that was inadequate, but he didn’t know what else to say. At the hospital this morning, Rush had barely been there, and had to be led back through the hospital corridors to the car. The whole time he’d been silent, and in pain. Now, he seemed to be contemplating something, finally.

“It’s a beautiful place and there are so many flowers,” Rush said then, nodding towards the funeral sprays arrayed in front and to the sides of the altar. There were a couple of large arrangements on either side of the dark brown casket which was gleaming with the light from the stained-glass windows behind it.

They watched as the final benediction began. Clay wondered what Ben’s funeral would have been like. Was Rush wondering the same thing?

A cough caused Clay to turn and look behind them.

There was a woman there, dressed in dark clothes and sunglasses. She was clutching a large brown purse and poised at the double doors. Her stance was tense, and Clay could see her face was tight and her lips thin and nervous.

“Who is that?” Clay whispered to Rush. The older man turned and looked. “She’s been following us around the past few days. I noticed her,” the teen added.

“Probably Ben’s sister,” Rush said quietly. He didn’t whisper though.

“Ben’s sister?” Clay said, surprised. “I didn’t know he had any siblings.”

“She’s the last of his family. His parents have been gone for years.”

“Why hasn’t he ever talked about her?” the teen asked.

“They’re estranged,” Rush said, again more casually than Clay thought possible. His attention returned to the front of the church and now the pallbearers were gathering around the coffin.

Rush seemed intent on the scene before him, and seemed to forget about the teen.

Clay looked back and saw the woman was staring at them now. She looked like she wanted to speak.

“Should we talk to her?” Clay asked. “If it’s Ben’s sister, we should say something to her.”

Rush didn’t answer. He started following the crowd that was exiting the church. He walked slowly behind them as the assemblage left through a side door toward the cemetery, which lay behind the building.

Clay followed Rush, but also glanced back to see if the woman was coming along. She did, but in fits and starts, as though she wasn’t sure if she should.

***

The service at graveside was short. Clay couldn’t stop crying when the minister said, “Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust.” It was even more difficult as Twyla broke down after tossing a handful of dirt into the hole into which her husband had been lowered. Her sobs were silent, but their boys, her children, had now started to cry.

Rush was rather stoic through it all, though he did put his arm around the teen as he sobbed. The pressure of the past few days had finally come to a head. Clay couldn’t contain his emotions.

They whispered reassuring words to each other that were more sound and comfort than actual condolence.

Behind them, the woman in the dark clothes stood outside their circle and waited. Clay couldn’t stop his backward glances at her.

After the final prayer, the crowd scattered. The pastor invited them to a luncheon in the church basement, and they moved en masse back to the church, but slowly.

Rush sighed, perhaps in sadness, or relief, and turned. Clay did so as well and both men looked at the woman behind them. Rush put his hand on the teen’s arm, making him pause.

“You’re Ben’s sister, aren’t you?” Rush called to her lifting his other hand in a kind of greeting.

She didn’t respond at first, but then nodded. Her face was dark in the shadows of her hat.

“Come with us,” he said, gesturing for her to follow them. He gave her a smile, and then walked up the path towards the nave of the church. Clay had to hustle to follow.

She trailed at a distance. At the open doors, she stepped gingerly up to the entrance and stopped.

“Come on in,” Rush said softly. “Let’s sit and talk.” He gestured to a pew just inside the building.

The woman was slim and short, even in the two-inch heels. “How did you know who I am?”

“Ben told me about you. He even showed me a picture.”

“He did?” she said, pressing a hand to her chest.

“He wanted to call you, many times, but he never had the nerve,” Rush said as he sat. He patted the seat next to him. Clay stood awkwardly next to the pew, turning to watch her response.

“I—I miss him,” she added, “I’ve missed him for some time now.”

“Sit down,” Rush said. “Let’s talk about him.”

“He was so mad at me about the money,” the woman said. “He wouldn’t take my calls.”

Rush smiled and gestured for her to come closer.

“Ben realized he over-reacted. He’d lost his parents, and he was hurting.” Rush added. “Please, sit.”

“Alright, for a few minutes. I guess,” she said, looking more eager than her words suggested.

“Your name is Clare, right?” Rush asked.

She nodded. “I can’t believe he’s hurt,” she said, and began sobbing. “I wanted to go to the hospital, to see him, but I wasn’t sure.”

Rush let the tears flow down his face as well.

It felt good letting go. Clay could see the tension in his foster father flow away.

Was he mourning too? The teen suddenly realized those odd stares, the reactions, the flinches, were so like his own. Was Rush mourning Ben? He hadn’t died, but didn’t that fear infect him, as it had Clay? The boy shivered at the idea, and it gave him a different perspective of his dads.

Clare now settled into the pew and sniffled. She blotted her face with her glove and a shredded tissue.

“I miss him so much,” she said, and she touched Rush’s arm.

“Ben misses you too.”

They started to talk, which led to more tears, and Clay walked away. and watched them cry together, heads bowed towards each other.

Sitting on the pew, arms around each other, they looked like when Ben and Rush were on the bench in front of the pond with the weeping willow as a backdrop. The view of their shoulders and bent heads appeared the same, right above the wooden backrest. Maybe this is what Rush needed, someone who had been close to Ben, and they could feel each other’s pain.

Maybe this was something Ben needed as well. He had a lot of healing to do.

Clay wiped his own tears away, pulled out his phone and called Carl.

Thankfully, his friend answered.

The End.