Lovey

All of Our Prayers

My momma always said that it isn’t accurate to say that the death of your partner, who has been by your side for more than three-quarters of your life, is devastating. And, yet, it isn’t tragic either, as no one could argue that eighty-nine isn’t a life well lived. It is, most of all, a death of the self. I knew how he liked his toast and what his favorite TV shows were better than I knew my own. His social security number came to mind even before mine when filling out tax statements. And then, with no warning whatsoever, where there had been two social security numbers on those federal returns, there was one.

To say that his death was shocking isn’t quite correct. I’m sure to the outside world a man who had been in a chair for years was a prime candidate for death, the Grim Reaper surely lurking in those odd hours of the night. I could almost hear friends saying, “Well, it was a blessing. He had been sick for a long time.”

But, to me, one minute he was there, breathing, and the next he wasn’t. No cancer. No pneumonia. No heart disease. He was simply tired, and his frail and cumbersome body, which had failed him years earlier, decided to throw in the towel.

And, without even a moment’s notice, the other part of my soul drifted away on the wings of a shooting star.

And someone had to tell my girls.

This is the worst part of being a parent: the honesty. I waited for a while before I called any of them. I made arrangements at the funeral home, scheduled a time for the church service, gathered the sheet music for the songs that Dan wanted played, submitted the obituary that had been prepared for years to the paper, even wrote a part of a eulogy that I knew I would never have the composure to deliver.

I wanted Louise to enjoy a few more sun salutations in the knowledge that her daddy was right where she left him. I wanted Sally to wallow in the decision between Doug and Kyle a little longer, imagining that her choice would be the hardest thing she would face that day. I wanted Martha to practice consonant sounds with her throng of kindergarteners, that cheerful smile that came from a place of true enthusiasm on her face. I wanted Lauren to fret a little longer over the perfect flowers for the pews of the Presbyterian church at the mercy of her latest bride. And I wanted Jean to feel the strength and support of her father—yes, her father, always her father—behind her on this last day of her campaign.

But death, as in birth, never comes at a convenient time. No matter how prepared you are that the moment is nigh, no matter how anticipatory you have been, there is never a moment where the realization that this is it, my life is changed forever, doesn’t come as a bit of a shock.

And then, that’s the thing about having five children. Whom do you tell first? Do you roll the die and see where it lands? Do you go in order of birth? Alphabetically by last name? This time, I decided to start with geography.

Jean.

What do you say to your children? How do you soften the blow that their beloved daddy is gone from them forever? And why does a mother bear the burden of having to worry about such things when, for once, she should be allowed a moment to feel her own pain?

But this is life.

And so I picked up the phone.

“Are you okay?” Jean answered breathlessly, and, for a moment, I found myself believing that she already knew.

“No, darling.” I heard my voice cracking on the phone. It wasn’t intentional, and it was dreadfully uncommon. I never let my children see me cry, always tried to be the steel flagpole in the asphalt that not even a tornado could blow down. Because if you can’t count on your mother to stand tall and be brave in a crisis, who can you count on?

I took a deep breath, composing myself, thinking of how difficult this was going to be for Jean. “It’s Daddy,” I said. “He’s no longer with us.”

She gasped, as I knew she would, but she surprised me at how quickly she recovered. “No, Momma,” she said. “He may be gone, but he will always, always be with us.”

And that’s when I decided. Then and there. Annabelle may have questions, and I may have been the only living person on earth with the answers, but those secrets would die with me. Because more than answers, more than the truth, every child deserves to have a family. So, so many of us don’t get that, one of the paramount blessings in life, but, oh my Lord, don’t we all deserve it?

My daughter had been unconditionally, indescribably loved by both of her parents and her sisters. And if you asked this old woman, that mattered a hell of a lot more than the truth.

I could hear the tears in her throat when Jean said, “Do you want me to go to the funeral home and make the arrangements?”

I shook my head, though she couldn’t see. “It’s already done, darling.” I paused, knowing what I wanted to say, but wondering if it was the wrong choice. But today of all days, I deserved to do something that might not make every member of my family unwaveringly happy. And so I said, “Could you please call the others?”

“Of course,” Jean said.

And before I could hang up the phone, I heard a key turning in the lock, and Annabelle, tears streaming down her face, ran to me and hugged me so hard it almost knocked me over.

“I’m so sorry, Lovey,” she said, over and over again. And I knew logically that she couldn’t know about her grandfather’s passing and instinctively that it wasn’t his death she was sorry about.

I patted her, my own tears falling down on her bare shoulder and said, “There, there, dear.”

I pushed her away, and I said what I always said to her mother. “The only thing that matters is that we all know how much we mean to each other. We all know how much we love each other.” I could feel those tears clouding my throat again, thickening it and making it difficult to talk. “So if I hadn’t woken up this morning, you would have known that none of the other mess was important.”

She nodded and hugged me again. “We all love each other. We are family and how we got that way doesn’t matter a bit.”

I smiled through my tears. “My feelings exactly.”

I took her hand and led her to the couch.

She sighed and said, “I have so many things to tell you, Lovey. And they aren’t good.”

I shook my head, looking down at my crooked finger, resting on top of her perfectly straight, unlined hand. “Me first, darling.”

I told her about Dan, and we hugged and cried. As we were sitting, the door flew open again, and I barely took notice because I expected it to be Jean.

Before I even saw a person, I heard a voice. “I tried to tell you, Annabelle.” Rob stopped in his tracks when he saw both of our tears.

I didn’t have time to wonder what was going on between them because, not a moment later, Annabelle was saying, “D-daddy is gone,” and Rob was kissing my cheek, saying, “I’m so sorry for your loss, Lovey.”

Then he turned to Annabelle and said, “How could you not tell me?”

“I just found out right this second, Rob,” she said, tears and disdain fighting for first place in her voice. “How are you even here so fast?”

“I followed you, obviously,” he said. “I followed you out of the church and all the way here because I need a chance to explain . . .” He looked over at me and, as if it registered that something even more important than what was happening between he and Annabelle was happening with me, said, “Lovey, I’d like very much to pray for Dan and your family right now.”

It was as beautiful a prayer as I’d ever heard. I patted his knee when he was finished and said, “That was lovely, dear. I’d like it so very much if you’d assist with the service tomorrow.”

“No,” Annabelle said firmly, standing with purpose. “Rob has to leave now.” She pointed to the door.

He stood too, looking down on her, planting his feet and crossing his arms. “I’m not leaving until you let me say my piece.”

I looked back and forth between the two of them, so confused that I momentarily forgot my sorrow. If I hadn’t known better, I would have guessed they were having some sort of lovers’ quarrel.

“I did try to tell you, Annabelle. I saw them at your house that day when I told you to go home.” He let his arms fall to his sides. “I couldn’t tell you, but I wanted you to know, and that was the only thing I could think of.”

I could see the sharp points of her body language relax into curves. “Oh.” She paused as though she was thinking. “That is when I found out.”

I looked back and forth between them again, and, though I wanted to ask more questions, when you’re eighty-eight, it doesn’t take too many letters to solve the puzzle. I hadn’t liked that Laura Anne since the moment I laid eyes on her at that party. And I would have bet my last bottle of scotch that she was after my granddaughter’s husband like a police dog on a drug trail.

When I saw both Annabelle’s and Rob’s faces shift slightly from angry to relaxed, it was then that I realized that God really does answer all of our prayers, even if He’s saying, “Not right now.”

Though I had longed, on my knees, for one of my daughters to marry an Episcopal priest, it had never happened. But, I had the sneaking suspicion that God was going to give me another chance with my granddaughter.