Jim and Chad, Part 2 - 27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

 

As I expected, the father looks annoyed with my question. He gives me the once over, turns and looks over at Jeff, then turns back to me with a look on his face that questions why either of us would want to get involved. But after a few moments of hesitation, his face finally relaxes into a mixture of indifference and sadness, and he begins to look like he wants someone to take over the situation. "Sure, why not," he responds while taking a quick look at the picture on the camera I'm holding.

 

"May I ask what your boys' names are?"

 

"The older one is Andy. The younger one is Zack." Immediately I get the significance of the first letter of their names. A to Z, the alpha and the omega, the beginning and the end. My broad grin must have caught the eye of the father, because he adds sheepishly, "My wife wanted her mother to know that we were going to have only two kids."

 

I chuckle a little then respond, "Mothers can be that way sometimes. I still think it's cool that they're named that way." Hearing my comment, the father seems to perk up a little, somewhat pleased that someone thinks that way, maybe because he's been teased about it by other people. I pause for a moment, knowing I shouldn't ask, but I do anyway. "What did your wife die from?"

 

The momentary look of pain on the father's face makes me feel extremely guilty for even asking the question. He looks away, takes a deep breath, then quietly says, "Ovarian cancer, about two months ago, just before school started. We didn't see it coming." He looks back up at me and says proudly, "But she fought back and fought back hard. She tried surgery. It was already too widespread. She tried chemo and radiation." He stops, takes another deep breath, lets it out shakily, then quietly says, "But it was just too much and too fast."

 

At the mention of the quickness of his wife's death, tears blur my vision and I get those familiar aches in my stomach and throat. But I quickly pull myself together and respond, "Seems like we never get a good explanation for why people we love so much are taken from us so abruptly, do we?"

 

The other Dad's eyes lock with mine, and I feel an understanding pass between us. He nods his head slowly up and down, then turns away.

 

As I turn toward the boys, I quickly wipe my eyes and take a deep breath of my own to try to calm some of my own emotions. It's then that I notice that Zack has already turned towards us, his eyes showing some interest in the conversation his father and I were having. Andy is still looking out over the canyon, the music now blasting away in his ears. As I walk over to Zack, I say quietly, "I made a hike up to Charleston Peak a couple of days ago. I have some pictures from that hike." As I hand him the camera, I add, "Just press the right arrow button to look through the pictures."

 

After looking at a couple of pictures, Zack looks up to me and says rather bluntly, "These don't look like pictures from the top of a mountain. They look like pictures from here."

 

"Actually those were taken from Echo Cliff, which is a little higher than here." As I point along the same side of the canyon to a point about a half mile from where we are, I say, "Echo Cliff is that set of cliffs right over there. I took these pictures from there about an hour after sunrise. That's why the shadows are so long." I go on to tell Zack that Echo Cliff is about a third of the way to the saddle point, and the next set of pictures should be from the saddle point.

 

When Zack gets to the pictures from the saddle point, I describe the few pictures from the western side of the ridge that runs between Charleston and Griffith Peaks. Then I describe the climb up to Charleston Peak from the saddle point.

 

I can tell when Zack gets to the pictures from Charleston Peak because his eyes open a little wider and he gets a small grin. It makes me feel a little warm inside that he's enjoying the pictures. When he gets to the end of the pictures, I switch to one of the movies so he can see a panorama of the view from Charleston Peak.

 

I know I probably should have stopped after showing the pictures and movie to Zack, but for some reason I also had to say, "You need to make that hike up the mountain."

 

Zack's eyes move from the camera to me, changing from cheerful and happy to squinting and angry in less than a half second. He starts waving his arms around saying loudly, "WHY IS EVERYONE TRYING TO TELL ME WHAT TO DO? WHY CAN'T PEOPLE LIKE YOU JUST LEAVE ME ALONE."

 

While still trying to pay attention to Zack to let him vent about my intrusion, I'm immediately concerned about my camera--if he drops it and the memory card inside it is damaged, I'll lose the memories of this entire trip. However, out of the corner of my eye, I see Andy grab Zack's wrist and quickly take the camera from him. As Andy starts to look intently at the movie, I shift my focus back to Zack and his rantings.

 

After Zack finishes his diatribe and runs down some, I can't help it because something deep down inside keeps pushing me to say what I want to next. So I look straight into Zack's angry eyes and say quietly, "But your Mom really would have wanted you to do it."

 

Zack looks almost stunned for a moment, then I hear the quiet, but very strong anger in his voice. "What the FUCK do you know about my Mom."

 

"ZACK, BE NICE," I hear the father yell.

 

I had expected Zack to be upset with me, but hadn't expected the feeling to be this strong. However, I had made the statement and started this conversation, so I need to follow through with it. I wait a few more seconds, then look over to the father and say quietly, "No, no need to correct him. I'm a person he doesn't know, so he has all the right in the world to be really angry with me for saying what I did." Then I turn back to Zack, my eyes latching onto his still angry ones. "I apologize for butting in, but I hope you'll hear me out. Okay?"

 

Zack glares angrily at me, but nods his head slightly, so I continue. "I don't know how to say all the things I'm going to say, so they're gonna tumble out. Here goes. First of all, losing your Mom has to be the number two worst thing that I can think of."

 

"Number ONE worst thing," Zack counters loudly before I can go on.

 

With a slight nod of my head I say, "Hang on to that thought for a while." After a pause, I add, "Second, people usually handle grief in five stages: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. I'm not a counselor or anything like that, and professionals would scream at me for doing this, but you can find basic information about grief on the Internet. You can even find some decent information by searching for the word 'grief' in Wikipedia if you need it."

 

Still looking at Zack, I say, "From what I can see, you're firmly in the anger stage, which is okay and expected. You're angry at everyone who intrudes, including me. You're angry at the doctors for not saving your Mom. You're angry at your Dad because he can't change the situation. And sometimes you're angry . . . at your Mom for leaving you." Zack's eyes get larger at my last statement like he's just realized something, but he doesn't say anything.

 

I look over at Andy whose noncommittal eyes are now locked to mine. "And I think you're probably somewhere between denial and anger, moving back and forth, which is okay, too. The denial is showing right now. You're kind of aloof and independent from your Dad and brother, but I'll bet that you beat the hell out of pillows on the couch or on your bed at night when no one else is around." Andy's eyes drop to the ground and then come back up to meet mine. It's a subtle signal, which I'm sure no one else saw, but now I know it's true.

 

Then I look over to the other Dad. His eyes are also locked to mine with a pissed off glare, and I can see the defiant stance that he's taken, arms folded across his chest. He's put up his own shield around himself, steeling himself against what I'm about to say. "On the other hand, your Dad is probably somewhere in the depression stage." As I look back over to the boys, I say, "He's already been through denial. If you think back to the time when your Mom was first diagnosed with cancer, he probably appeared somewhat detached from the situation, almost as if he didn't care. Guys, THAT was denial and nothing else. He still cared--he just didn't know what to do.

 

"And he's been angry when things didn't get better, when the treatments didn't help your Mom get better. I'm sure you've seen some random angry outbursts before . . . before your Mom died and continuing now. And I'm sure deep down inside he's still cursing himself for not detecting the problem with your Mom before it got so bad, even though he really couldn't have known that there was a problem at all."

 

I look at Andy and say, "And on a lighter note, I'm sure there are some seriously flatter pillows on his bed, too." Andy immediately grins at what I've said, but quickly gets a serious look again.

 

I look back over at the father as I continue. "And he's been through the bargaining. I'll bet serious money that sometime along this slow and painful journey, he's prayed, 'God, please let her stay and take me instead.' And when that and all the other things he prayed for didn't happen, he cursed and got angry with God. Then an empty feeling, a feeling like there isn't anything he can do, invades and takes over. He's moved into depression and is probably beginning to withdraw from you two some, along with bouncing back to denial and anger occasionally.

 

"But there's something else that complicates your Dad's situation, something that makes it where he can't just give up and withdraw completely." I look back over to the two boys and add, "At the same time as he struggles with your Mom's death, he still loves each of you deeply, and he's trying, I'm sure desperately at times, to keep this family together. He realizes that each of you has lost a key person in your life and, naturally, he wants to become the replacement for that key person. He wants to be as important to you as your Mom was, to be there when you need him."

 

I pause for a second before going on. "And, lastly, your Dad is hurting, hurting deep down inside. He's also just lost a key person in his life, the person he was going to spend the rest of his life with. Someone he could talk and share dreams with when you're both away at college or you've gotten married and moved away from home. Someone he could travel with after he retires. Someone he could hold onto late in life. Someone he could never replace." I look over at the father, and even though his position hasn't changed much, I can see his eyes glisten slightly from tears. I look back to the boys and say, "And even though it will be difficult for him to admit, he needs your help, too. In fact, all of you need to help each other, and let the others help you through this."

 

I look over to the father and motion for him to come over to us. He does so slowly, his arms falling to his sides as he hooks his thumbs into his jeans pockets. I also see that the shield has dropped and the defiance is gone. As he gets to us, I look at all three and say, "So, gentlemen, as I see it, you're at a crossroads. What was once a family built around Mom needs to change if it's going to survive."

 

I take a deep breath and continue, knowing that what I'm about to say will be painful to me but is something they need to hear. "What I'm about to say next I say not for you to feel sorry for me, but to understand why I think it's so important for each of you to support and lean on the other, and to keep your family together.

 

"I once was a part of a very loving family. I had a beautiful, smart wife and two wonderful boys. Unfortunately, about two and a half years ago, all three were killed by a drunk driver. Luckily I had a good friend at work who I could lean on, someone to help me through it all. He was going through a nasty divorce, so he was able lean on me as well.

 

"Then this past July, late July, my Dad died of a stroke. I thought my Mom was going to be okay with Dad's death, but apparently she wasn't. She died of a heart attack in the middle of August. And finally, this last week, the good friend that I've been leaning on these past couple of years surprises me by telling me that he's moving away to a new place. Since we were almost like brothers to each other, I feel like I've lost yet another part of my family."

 

I take another deep breath and let it out slowly while a new peace washes over me. "So I've lost six key people in my life over the last couple of years, all family members, and some were close family members." I now look at Zack more intently. "So when you say losing your Mom is the number one worst thing in life, I'd agree for your situation. But for my situation, losing my family is the number one worst thing in life." Now looking at the father and two sons standing in front of me, I add, "I'd really hate to see anyone else lose his family. No one should ever be forced to go through life without a family."

 

I pause for a moment, then quietly say to all three, but to Zack in particular, "And that's why all three of you have to make that hike up to Charleston Peak. It's because you need to do this as a family, leaning on each other, supporting each other, encouraging each other, and even laughing together as you pull through the pain. And when you get back, the memories of the bonds you make on that hike will be something which no one else, not even death, will ever be able to take away from you."

 

I wait for a moment because I see each of them looking at the other two, something passing between them that makes me feel hopeful for them again. Then I feel a warmth surround me, a warmth that says 'Thank you.' Having felt it before, I know where it's coming from, but this time it's not my wife. It makes me feel happy inside, but I'm also hoping that they are feeling it, too.

 

After the warmth fades away, I turn to Andy and quietly ask, "You want to look at more pictures, or are you done with the camera?"

 

Andy looks at me, looks down at the camera in his hand, then says, "I'm done," and hands it to me.

 

I hold out the camera to Zack and ask, "You want to look at the movies again?"

 

Zack shakes his head back and forth, so I turn it off and put it in my coat pocket. Then I look back at Zack's face. The pained expression there makes my throat and stomach hurt again. I want to help, but something tells me that his Dad is the one who needs help instead of me. So I tear my eyes away from Zack's face, turn to Andy and say, "Andy, when you go on that hike, please leave the MP3 player behind. Okay?"

 

Andy gives me an angry look which almost immediately dissolves into a sly grin. "Once a Dad always a Dad, huh?"

 

For a half second, an intense pain shoots through me because someone called me a "Dad," but the huge grin on Andy's face is so infectious that it makes me laugh out loud instead. Inside my head, a small voice says, 'Smartass teenager.' I turn to and grin at the father next to me, then say, "So you've already been on his case about it, huh?" The big grin and quiet chuckle that I get from the other father confirms it.

 

I turn back to Andy and, because he looks old enough, I ask, "So are you driving yet?"

 

"I get my license in two months, one week, and four days."

 

I make a shivering motion and say, "Eeeeww, another new teenage driver on the roads. Now THAT'S a scary thought." Then I put on my best "Gotcha" look with a big grin, and wait and see what happens.

 

The comment earns me a loud laugh from the other father, along with a rather loud "HEY" from Andy. But the grin on Andy's face gets even bigger, so I know he's taken the comment as a joke.

 

When I turn to walk away, I hear a quiet "Thanks" from the other father.

 

I turn back and see the serious look on his face. "You're welcome," I respond quietly. "And thank you for not stopping me. I seem to get wound up in this stuff all too easily."

 

"So what will you do now?" the father asks. I instantly understand that what he's really asking is how I'll cope with my own situation.

 

I take a look over to Jeff and our eyes lock. While still looking at Jeff, I say to the father, "I have one really good friend left. He's got problems of his own, so we sort of lean on each other and discuss stuff, trying to help each other get through it all." Then I turn to the father and say, "But Jeff's the strong, silent type, kind of like I think you are. For right now, he seems to be content to let me rant about my problems. But I kind of hope that he'll open up soon, and let me listen to his problems for a while."

 

I pause for a second, then say what I'm now thinking to the other father. "It's not a sin or a weakness to let your boys see a grown man cry about something as important as this. And I think they're ready to hear that their Dad is going through the same emotions that they are." Then I take a look over to Zack and see the tears piling up in his eyes. I look at the father and nod toward Zack. When he sees Zack's face, he rushes over to him, wraps his arms around him and holds onto him as I hear the painful sobs start from Zack.

 

When Andy walks over to and puts his arms around his Dad and little brother, I take that as my cue to leave. I walk over to where Jeff is standing and put on my daypack. Because the emotions make it difficult to talk, I wipe my eyes and whisper, "Damn, I hate making kids cry."

 

As I turn to head down the trail back to the cabins, I feel Jeff's big hand on my shoulder turning me back toward him. I look up to his face wondering why, and I see the glistening in his eyes. He says in a shaky whisper while shaking his head slightly, "I don't know how you do it. Losing so much, including your parents, yet still able to talk about it. You made them a family again. You gave the kids back their Dad."

 

Tears flood my eyes as Chad's words float through my mind. I look back at the other Dad and his two sons, a little jealous, but more hopeful for them than anything else. Then I wipe my eyes with my the back of a hand, and choke out a doubt-laced, "Maybe. Hope so. But I hope Zack doesn't have to go into therapy because of me." Then I nod toward the trail and say, "Let's get outta here before I make anyone else cry." I turn and start down the trail, hoping that this is the last of the emotions for the week since I'm tired of having to deal with them all the time.