A short story offering from Laura Austin - Moving On

I laughed as Jake and Marie fought with the wrapping paper, shoving it at each other and trying to wrap it around their heads. At 4 years old, the twins constantly either played or fought.  “Okay, kiddos, time for bed.” They groaned like I knew they would, but then tossed the mangled paper on the floor and toddled up the stairs. I swiped it up and carried it with me to the kitchen to throw it away and get them their habitual last drink of water before settling in for the night. As I toted the half full glasses up the stairs, I heard them giggling in a conspiratorial fashion. I slowed down to give them time to cement their plans, then casually entered their room, feigning ignorance. 

   “Boo, Mommy!” they shrieked delightedly as I crossed the threshold. 

I played along, yelling out and “accidentally” dumping the water over their tiny heads. They shrieked again then squealed protests at me and laughed. “Come on, get a towel and dry off.” I advised. I loved being a mom. There was always some kind of fun to be had. I had never understood those parents who thought they had to be serious and stern all the time. Kids like to be played with. I disciplined them, sure, but when we were together, we had fun! 

   Once the kids were tucked in, kissed, tickled, and relaxed, I headed back downstairs to see to Roger, my 13-year-old beagle. Roger had his own bedtime routine. Arthritis medication, vitamins, and a quick trip outside to relieve himself, then he was off to his own little bed. I sighed, both enjoying and hating the sudden silence.  

   Bedtime was my least favorite part of the day. My husband Ben had died near Christmas the year before and I was nowhere near ready to see anyone. The kids barely remembered him, since they were so young, and I was reluctant to introduce them to anyone else anyway, so for now, it was just me, the twins, and old Roger. It was fun enough during the day, but the nights were too still, too quiet- and unbearably lonely.  

   I woke up just past dawn and I could already hear laughter and the unmistakable sounds of kids making a mess of my kitchen.  Jake loved cereal in the mornings and I knew Marie would be crushing a Pop Tart and eating it by the fistful. She was an odd duck, my little Marie.  I made my way to them, noticing the spilled Frosted Flakes scattered across the counter top. I raised my eyebrow at Jake and he got up and brushed it into the floor for a drooling Roger.  “Okay, so you two got your gifts to each other wrapped last night, what do you want to do today?” Each day we did something related to the upcoming holiday season. Shopping for gifts, wrapping, baking, or learning new Christmas Carols. The kids picked up songs like dogs pick up fleas. They had learned most of the traditional ones, and I figured they would want to do something else today. 

   “Let’s make some more ornaments!” Marie suggested. “That was so fun!” We had made a few small decorations for the tree the week before, and the kids apparently had a knack for crafting as well. 

  “Oh, okay, let me check online and see if I can find a fun idea.” I started my coffee brewing and scrolled on my phone while I waited for it to finish. “Let’s see, this one looks fun.” I flashed my phone at them and they grinned. “Yeah! Let’s do that one!” 

   “Well, I don’t have everything we need for it. How about we make a trip into town and get some supplies.”

   “Yay! Shopping!” they trilled. My kids love to shop. They are definitely my blood.  We finished breakfast, got dressed, and loaded up in the car. “Seatbelts!” I ordered cheerfully. They buckled into their booster seats and I double-checked them to make sure they were snug and safe.  I pulled out into traffic and we headed to our local craft shop, Kinsley’s. It was locally owned by a close friend, so I would get to socialize with another adult and shop at the same time. 

    Elise Kinsley, my friend and the shop owner, was old fashioned in a fun way. She still had bells on her door that rang cheerfully whenever anyone came in or left. The place smelled of candles and incense, cookies and coffee. It was a craft shop but I always felt like I was walking into a much more spiritual place than a mere store.  “Morning, Elise! How are you?” Elise smiled and motioned that she was on her ear bud, talking to someone on the phone.  I wandered around, casually looing over the shelves for the items the kids needed. They had scampered inside joyfully, comfortable in the familiar environment. We had been coming here a few times a month for the last year and little less frequently before that. Since Ben had passed away, we had done a lot of little activities, using creativity to bond, cope with our grief, and otherwise just have a good time together. 

   I noticed movement at the corner of my eye and I glanced at it, expecting to see Marie or Jake darting through the aisle. There was no one there. Shrugging, I turned to see where they had gone off to and found them perusing a rack of buttons. “We could use these, Mommy,” said Jake. “The pictures showed some of the ornaments decorated with big buttons.” 

   “That’s fine with me, baby, just pick put the ones you like.” The kids immediately focused on the job at hand and I went back to waiting for Elise. I saw a dark shadow, just off to the right, and turned my head to see what it was. Nothing was there. I frowned, wondering if the sleepless nights were getting to me. Maybe I just needed my vision checked. I hadn’t had an exam in over two years. When I’d lost Ben, things like that escaped my attention but I had never seemed to have much trouble with my eyesight before today.  I looked over at Elise, who was obviously still engrossed in her discussion. I overheard parts of it and rolled my eyes. I would bet money that she was talking to Renee, an older lady who was obsessed with quilting and if you got her on the phone she would go on and on about the topic. No doubt it had started off innocently enough with a question about material in stock or whatever. I knew it would be a few minutes more, so I wandered toward the back of the store where the woodworking supplies were kept. Woodworking had been Ben’s passion, second only to his family. He had been able to make anything and make it look professionally done. We still had the wooden sign he had made with our family name hanging near the front door. I couldn’t bear to take it down but there were times I had to keep my eyes averted while trying to unlock the door. It was still so hard, living without him. My eyes had started to mist over, but when I saw motion to the side of me I wiped them quickly and looked up. There was a man there. He was tall, at least 6’5”, with a bulky brown coat and shaggy gray hair. He wasn’t facing me but my heart stopped. It was Ben- I knew it was Ben! I reached out with a trembling hand, my throat too tight to speak. I brushed my fingers against the back of his coat. He was real! I heard a choking cry come out of my throat. “Mom?” I heard Marie call. I shook my head and squeezed my eyes shut, then opened them again. He was gone.          

    I spun around, wildly searching for my husband- my dead husband. Feeling like a madwoman, I didn’t see anyone in the store except Elise and my kids. I walked to where Jake and Marie had been picking out buttons. “Hey, kiddos,” I tried to sound casual but they looked at me and then at each other in a way that suggested I sounded as strained as I felt. “Did you see anybody in here just a minute ago? A tall man?” 

  “No, Momma,” murmured Marie. “But look! We got the prettiest buttons!” I glanced at the buttons in her hand, not really paying attention, “Yes, baby, those are nice buttons, but are you sure you didn’t see anybody?” The man would have had to walk right past the kids to leave the store, or past Elise to go to the back store room, which I couldn’t imagine my friend allowing without a fuss. 

   Jake gazed at me solemnly. “There wasn’t a man here, Mom.” I looked into his eyes, seeing a more grown up, serious expression in them that I was used to. I shook my head, feeling like I needed to shake something loose in there. “Okay, guys, let’s pay and go.” I would have to visit with my friend another time. I needed a nap.

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   The project was a success, and the kids proudly hung their new ornaments on our tree. I played some Christmas music and tried hard to stay in the spirit and allow my kids to savor the joy of childhood. They knew I still grieved for their dad, but they were three years old when he passed and only had vague memories. I grieved harder as their precious memories faded further, knowing I was the only one in the family to really remember poor Ben.  He had been a wonderful father- always taking time to play with the babies and make sure they had everything he could give them. He had been taken from us abruptly, in a car accident. There was no lingering illness, no warning, and no goodbyes- just a phone call to tell me that the light in my life would be infinitely dimmer. Without my children, I would truly have been lost to the grief and sadness. I shook off my melancholy attitude and focused on my joy instead. Marie was dancing to songs of Santa coming and Jake had picked up their worn copy of a children’s’ Bible and was looking at the pictures of Baby Jesus. That’s what Christmas is all about, I thought. Christ and His love. Ben is with Jesus now, not hanging out in an old craft shop, shopping for woodworking supplies. I scoffed at myself and headed to the kitchen to start supper. 

*****************

   It was three days until Christmas. The kids were beside themselves with excitement and anticipation, and it was all I could do to keep them contained. Overwhelmed in moments of gift inspired ecstasy, they went from bouncing on furniture and running like wild horses through the house, or getting into spats over little things that normally didn’t matter.  I had just settled them down in their room for a short nap when I heard a familiar sound. The buzzing of a small saw.  I froze in place, thrilled but scared. It sounded like the saw my husband used to cut large pieces of wood into smaller, more manageable sizes.  I hadn’t heard that sound in over eleven months, but it was a familiar to me as my own heartbeat. Dazed, I slowly made my way to his old workroom, the small addition he had built himself for practicing his hobby.  I had never changed it. Everything was still there, covered in a fine layer of dust, the room unopened for months. When Ben had first passed away I had sat in that room and cried, grieving him in the one place he had spent so many happy hours creating works of art and the occasional functional piece. I came to the door and simply stood there, listening. The sound of the saw was just on the other side of the door. Shaking and breathing like I had just run a mile, I reached for the doorknob. As soon as I touched it, the sound stopped. The sudden utter silence was deafening.  A burning sadness rushed through me and left me feeling empty and alone. I was imagining things again. I was torturing myself with thoughts and hopes of seeing my Ben once again, of hearing him in the house. How could I do this? It was the day before the anniversary of his death, but it was also close to Christmas and I couldn’t give in to my grief and pain. I had two very young children who needed me to share their happiness. I had to be present- physically but also emotionally. I turned away from the door and quietly went to my own room. 

     As soon as I woke up, before I even opened my eyes, I knew. This was the day.  It had officially been one year since I had held Ben, spoken to him, or even seen his face. I wasn’t counting the funeral. Seeing him like that had been surreal. My husband had never been so still and lifeless. He had been full of joy and energy, his face lighting up at the sight of his children or me.  The emotional turmoil of the day before when I had thought I had heard him working in the house had drained me to the point I didn’t want to get out of bed. Didn’t want to face yet another day with him gone.  The easy laughter down the hall changed my mind.  I headed toward the happy giggles, wondering what the twins were up to. I tried their door, only to find it locked. Odd. I rapped on the door and the giggling stopped. “Kids? What are you doing in there? I’ve told you not to lock this door. Let Momma in.”  I heard scuffling sounds and a few last chuckles and then the door was unlocked and swung open. I glanced around the room uneasily. I didn’t see any sign of destruction, mayhem, or mischief. “What’s up guys?” I asked. 

   “Nothing Momma,” whispered Marie, “just playing with Daddy.” Jake shushed her. My eyes widened and I felt like I’d been sucker punched in the gut.  “Um… what? What are you talking about baby?” Marie eyed Jake warily. She firmly closed her mouth and looked away. “Jake? What are you up to? Are you playing some kind of trick?”

   Jake looked hurt, “No, Momma!”

   “Well, then, tell me what you and your sister were doing in here with the door locked?” I carefully didn’t mention the comment Marie had made about Ben. 

    “We were playing,” he mumbled.

I kind of felt like a heel. It was probably normal for kids to pretend their lost loved ones were still around. Maybe it was a coping mechanism. “Okay, guys. It’s fine. I was just worried and I don’t like for the door to be locked. If one of you got hurt it would slow me down getting to you. I don’t carry the key in my pocket, you know.” 

    The kids stared at each other for a minute, then glanced shyly back at me. “Okay, Momma,“ they agreed.

  The rest of the day passed in relative peace. The kids were more subdued than usual, even though I finally coaxed them into a game of hide and seek just after supper. We played and laughed and I tried not to think of the one person that was missing from the picture.  

   At bedtime, the kids hugged me and kissed me and settled down in their beds.  Tomorrow was Christmas Eve. It would fall a year and a day after the loss of Ben. I doubted I would even pass a Christmas without the memories haunting and taunting me.  I trudged to my own room, anticipating a sleepless night.

    Surprisingly enough, I didn’t remember my head touching the pillow. I was dreaming, and in my dream, Ben and I were together. I was singing Winter Wonderland along with a CD, he was humming along, and the kids were making ornaments at the kitchen table.  There was such happiness! My chest no longer ached with a hole where my love had been. I felt alive and at peace with myself. I walked over to Ben and gazed into his warm brown eyes. He kissed my lips and murmured that he loved me. My eyes welled with tears and they trickled down my cheeks, but only for an instant before Ben swiped them away. “No time for tears, Gloria.  This is the happiest time of year, remember?” I nodded mutely and kept my eyes on him as he wandered over to admire the kids’ work. I couldn’t look away from the man whom I had missed for twelve whole months. It was so odd that in my dream he was real, yet I knew that he had been dead.  My dreams of him in the past year had all been about him not having died to begin with, but this was a welcome change. In this dream, I could fully appreciate what was in front of me. There were no trivial concerns, no grudges, and no distractions. This was life. This was joy. This was a gift that I never could have anticipated and I never wanted to wake up.  As soon as that thought crossed my mind, Ben swung to me with an alarmed look. “This won’t last sweetheart. Just enjoy it but you can’t stay. This isn’t real.” Frustrated rage overcame me and I opened my mouth to argue but he rushed back to my side and kissed me again. “Just enjoy it,” he repeated.

       I resisted his words with every beat of my heart until I noticed a change. As I focused on my desire to stay, to remain in a dream where my family was whole, I felt a little lighter, a little less than what I had been. My heart was beating slower and my breathing grew shallow.  I felt insubstantial, as though I was drifting as weightlessly as a ghost. Ben looked at me and paled. “Honey, I told you no! You can’t stay here! I tried to come to you, to comfort you, but your mind struggled so much that I knew it wasn’t safe. The kids are so much more open to new experiences that it didn’t harm them but you were going to break down. Honey, you have to listen to me! This is both real and unreal. I’m here but if you try to remain your body will fail. You’ll die, baby,” he ended in a whisper.

    I didn’t want to believe that. I didn’t want to think that this was real but that I couldn’t have it. I didn’t want to accept a temporary comfort. I wanted my husband back! He watched me in silence for a moment, then reached out and took me by my shoulders. He turned me very gently to face the twins. ‘”There is your life now. They need you more than you think you need me.” I turned to glare at him but he put his thumb under my chin and carefully turned my face back to them.  “You have to stay here. You have to live your life and raise these babies. I would have done that if I had been given the choice. I can’t imagine how hard it’s been for you. I would never have left you on purpose- you know that. But Jake and Marie need their Momma. I’m fine. I’m at peace. You need to make peace with that and just go on living.” I stared at Marie and Jake. They didn’t seem to hear our words or notice my tears, which were streaming down my face and dripping off my chin. I didn’t have to strength to sob. Finally, I reached up and grasped his hands as they held my upper arms. “I love you, Ben. I miss you.” I felt him kiss the back of my head softly, and then I felt him begin to fade. I tried to spin around- I needed one last look at him. As I turned, I felt a heavy weight plot down on top of me, knocking the air out of my lungs. My eyes popped open and I Jake was sitting on me. “It’s Christmas morning, Momma! Wake up! I wanna open presents!” The sun was peeking through my curtains and Marie soon joined her brother on my bed, both of them jockeying for a position sitting on me and at the same time, pulling on me to get me out of bed.

   “Okay, okay! Come on, kiddos. Let me up and we’ll go eat some breakfast. After you brush your teeth we’ll read the Christmas story, then you can open your gifts.” They cheered and jumped off me and scampered off to the kitchen to spill cereal and crush Pop Tarts. I wiped the tracks of tears from my cheeks, and then I got up and followed my children.