In Memoriam
On a Saturday morning we gather with our neighbors in the Saint Matthew’s Memorial Garden and Columbarium, a vestige of what was once a small but thriving community of Anglicans before the church was torn down and the congregants dispersed. We huddle in coats on metal folding chairs that want to sink into wet soil.
Father Mike takes us through the liturgy for the dead, which balances the joy of resurrection with the sorrow of those who grieve. He focuses on the love we bear each other in Christ, healing words for people who have been at each other’s throats over annoyances that seem not to matter much in the face of death. Even Carlo and Marjorie attend.
After that awful night, the Santorinis left to spend a month in Italy. The trip seems to have done them good. They have a new puppy they take with them everywhere. A funeral is no exception. Marjorie cuddles her pet through the service, a black toy poodle dressed in a red sweater against the cold. Carlo pretends to ignore the dog, but I see him sneak a hand over to pat its head from time to time. I doubt we will ever see little Piccolo tethered outside.
A surprising number of young people show up to remember a kid who hung around the edges of society. After delivering the liturgy, Father Mike invites anyone who wants to pay tribute to Scott to speak. The young people share memories of a Scott I never knew, the eager Boy Scout, the classmate who helped them work on their cars, just a normal boy before he disappeared behind a dark curtain. Elinor clutches a tissue and looks straight ahead. Walter wipes copious tears from his eyes. These are the kids from the sensitivity group. Father Mike trained them well.
After the service, we go to lunch at the Los Altos Country Club. More people turn out to pay their respects than were willing to gather on a chilly morning in the park. During coffee and dessert, Walter rises to thank people for honoring the memory of his son and announces the family foundation. Checkbooks come out, donations are made, and handshakes are exchanged. As we struggle into our raincoats, a tug on my arm turns me around and I find myself face to face with Elinor.
“We’ve never properly met,” she reaches for my hand, “I’m Elinor Schwartz. Would you have time to sit down with me for a minute?”
I look over at Roger and then scan the room for the kids. They sit at a large table of young people, still enjoying their food. Valerie, jostling the baby, stands by the door with Andy. It’s time for Miren to eat.
“Roger, why don’t you go on home with Andy and Valerie. I’ll catch a ride home with the kids.” I follow Elinor into the bar, a quiet place on a day that’s too wet and cold for the weekend golfers.
A waitress appears and sets the table with coffee cups while I try to anticipate what Elinor’s first words will be. Ignoring the fuss, she begins.
“First, I want to apologize to you for Scott’s behavior. I’m sorry that you and your family had to get involved in what was happening to Scott.”
“Did you know about...”
“...the drugs? No, I didn’t. Did I know he was mentally ill? I knew that.”
The waitress returns with a coffee pot. We are silent as she splashes the hot liquid into our cups.
“Will that be all for you, Mrs. Schwartz?” Elinor nods and smiles the young woman away. Then she returns her attention to me.
“I didn’t know what to do about it. Walter would hear nothing that had to do with any deficiency in his son. He had his own theories about adolescent angst and growing pains, but I knew different. I’d seen this before. Scott was an odd child, just like my brother Oliver was. He went down the same path Oliver did.”
“What happened to your brother?”
“He killed himself when he was seventeen.”
A million questions swirl in my mind but now is not the time to pull stories out of Elinor.
“I’m so sorry,” I say.
“The point is, no one talked about it then and all these years later, still no one talks about it. That has to change. That’s why I want to talk to you.”
“I don’t understand. I recognized that something was wrong with Scott but I didn’t know what it was. Maybe if I had known...”
“Nothing would have been different. That’s the point. You would not have known what to do any more than I did. Dee, I don’t blame you for trying to push Scott away.”
My face burns. How does she know that’s what I did?
“Father Mike came to us. He spent time with us and helped us understand the pain Scott was in, the drugs, the mood swings. Scott was a textbook case, but this is knowledge we had no access to.”
So that’s what Crusader Mike has been up to. While I was missing his comfort he was holding hands with the Schwartzes. I shake these thoughts out of my head and replace them with prayers. God forgive my selfish heart. Help me understand what Elinor needs from me.
Without missing a beat, Elinor goes on. “That is what I want the foundation to be about, making knowledge about mental illness accessible to people, to mothers and sisters who keep silent when they know something is wrong. Dee, I’m not going to let Walter commandeer this foundation. It was my idea and I will run it. I want you to be on my Board of Directors.
“Me? Elinor, I’m not qualified...”
“Yes. You are. You were a business woman in a man’s world. A foundation is a business. You have compassion for young people. You invited them into your home in spite of the pressure your neighbors put on you. You were discreet during the investigation. You know how to handle yourself. Our cause won’t be popular. I need a woman like you.”
I spit a mouthful of coffee into my cup in laughter I can’t suppress. “You need an unpopular woman who knows how to annoy people?”
“Dee, you have no idea what your reputation is, do you. You are a peacemaker. It hasn’t escaped notice that many of your neighbors quietly rallied around you while Gunther and Carlo schemed and carried on.”
My heart is beating fast. I let my breath out slowly. I say no to the voice in my head that tells me I need to protect my time for my art. I say yes to the passion for justice that wells up in my heart. I say yes to Elinor.