The vibration of the cell phone in my pocket creates a welcome distraction from the crippling boredom of this annual school planning meeting. I’ve bitten my lip multiple times for the past two hours to stop myself from groaning out loud while everyone argues about relay races, colored pencils, and whether hiring a hypnotist for the fall carnival is crossing some line.
I slide the phone from my pocket to peek at the screen. “Sunset Ridge Franklin” appears on the caller ID.
Gypsy.
Slipping out a side door, I tiptoe into the quiet hallway. “Y-y-yes? This is Danny Pierce,” I answer. My throat is instantly dry and my heart pounds. Garrison, Kendra, and Tiny Tot appear in front of me.
The gentle voice on the line answers.
“Are you Daniel James Pierce, the son of Elizabeth Belle Nicholson who was born on October 6, 1944, in Cincinnati, Ohio?”
“That’s correct.”
“Hello, Mr. Pierce. My name is Nina Marlowe. Are you in a place where we can speak for a moment?”
“Yes, ma’am, can I help you?”
“Mr. Pierce, I’m the assistant director at Sunset Ridge senior care village down here in Franklin. You probably know that we’ve been taking care of your mother—she has us call her Gypsy—for the last twelve years.”
I try to answer, but only dry air comes out. I clear my throat. “Yes, ma’am.”
She takes a long breath. “Mr. Pierce, these calls are never easy, and I’m sorry to be the one to deliver this kind of news. But I wanted to let you know that Miss Gypsy passed away in her sleep last night.”
Thankful that I’m leaning against the wall, my legs buckle. Bending my knees, I slide down the wall to sit on the floor. Tiny Tot comes to sit beside me.
What am I supposed to feel right now?
“Okay,” I say. “Umm…” No other words will come.
“Mr. Pierce, all of your mother’s paperwork is in order. She had everything taken care of, and everything is already paid for. In her final directive, she gave us all of the instructions we needed to handle her arrangements and cremation. So there’s really nothing that we need from you. We’ll be mailing you a copy of the arrangement details.”
“Mm-hmm,” I mumble in response, brushing away an unexpected tear rolling down my cheek. Tiny Tot sniffs and wipes his face with his sleeve.
“Mr. Pierce, Miss Gypsy did leave a letter for you, but I need to confirm the mailing address that we have on file for you.”
I’m assaulted by disturbing mental images of Gypsy’s long, wavy black hair burning in a fiery coffin. I pound my forehead with the palm of my hand to turn off the horror movie. Shaking my head, I blink hard and push myself back up onto my feet. “Yes, of course,” I say. “The address is 312 Baxter Court, Georgetown, Kentucky 40320.”
Nina Marlowe reads the address back to me and then clears her throat. “Mr. Pierce, I’m not sure if you’re a man of faith, but sometimes we can find comfort by turning to a greater power than ourselves in times like these.”
I mumble something similar to a thanks.
A lot of comfort He’s been for me lately. And now He takes my mom? Some comfort He is!
The jarring school bell and the chatter of students pouring out of classroom doors barely register as I shuffle back to my office with the phone to my ear. Tiny Tot, Garrison, and Kendra follow close behind. Nina promises to place the letter in the mail today and thanks me for my time.
“Mr. Pierce,” she says. “I’m so very sorry for the loss of your mother. We’ve all become quite fond of Miss Gypsy over the years. We’re truly gonna miss her around here. Please do call me at this number if you need anything at all.”
Tapping the screen to end the call and falling into my chair, I drop the phone and bury my head into my hands.
How can I possibly be grieving this mother I barely knew, the woman who abandoned me?
“Mama is dead?” Tiny Tot’s voice breaks as his childlike question sends new pain through my heart. Meeting his gaze, I nod my head and open up my arms. We both start to weep as he climbs up into my lap and I sink into blissful darkness.