March 17, 2022
I glanced back at my boys as they dutifully followed me single file toward Stew and Joan's front door. My youngest son Jody tried to lighten the moment with, "I think skipping lunch might be in order today, what do you think, Dad?" Having seen and smelled death before in war, I knew that this up close and personal encounter with a dead body killed by a gunshot wound would forever change my boys. There was nothing I could do about it. I needed their help. Stew was someone they both knew very well. He was like an uncle to them. "You guys need to prepare for some really bad shit" as I walked onto the porch and approached the door. My oldest boy Justin exhales a nervous reply, "We are as ready as we will ever be."
The screen door was unlocked and the entry door was partially open, so I walked right into the house with my boys in tow. The smell hit our noses immediately. It was the unmistakable smell of death. I heard a muffled "shit" behind me as we walked into the living room. Sparks started to bark. He had a little dog area next to the laundry room at the end of the kitchen. A child gate kept him confined to the area but he was able to go outside through a doggy door that Stew had cut into the wall for him. As I walked out of the living room and toward the kitchen I quietly told my boys to "Hang in there guys, I have to let Sparks out."
Sparks was of course excited to see me and jumped into my arms immediately. "Hey buddy, how are you doing?" I asked as he furiously licked my face. "Where is Momma, Sparks? Is she in the bedroom?" I hoped that Joan had not spent the night in that bedroom with Stew. But if that is what she wanted to do, I would understand her desire to spend one last night with her husband. With Sparks following close behind me, I walked back to the living room where my boys were waiting. "Ok guys, we need to go into the bedroom. I am assuming that Joan is still in there. I will do what I can to comfort her while you two roll up Stew's body into some of the bedsheets. We will then exit and you guys will carry Stew out to the backyard".
With Sparks finally settled down and attached to my leg with an invisible tether, the house suddenly seemed really quiet. It was disturbingly quiet because I had expected to hear Joan making some kind of noise that we could hear. Hardwood floors in the house made the slightest noise carry to other rooms. I pivoted around the room to listen; nothing but silence punctuated by the brush of windblown branches on the siding from a tree that needed pruning. “Beware the Ides of March”, I silently mouthed out of my boys' line of sight, that I immediately followed up with, “Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.” This was indeed outrageous fortune that had befallen this couple. I could still see their young happy faces introducing themselves to me across the backyard fence as their children ran through a sprinkler atop freshly laid sod.
Glancing back over my shoulder at my boys, I quietly said, “Ok guys let’s do this.” They instinctively lined up behind me like we were heading into a hockey rink at the start of a big game. My right hand grabbed the doorknob and my right shoulder pressed against the door like I was entering a sleeping child’s room. I opened it and peered inside toward where Stew’s bed was located. Stew looked very much like he did two days ago. But this time he was lying on his back among clean white sheets. There was no blood anywhere. His eyes were closed and his face was ashen colored; his hands were crossed just below his heart. Stew was dead but not from a gunshot wound. Joan was sleeping soundly on their fainting couch that had been pulled up next to the left-hand side of the bed. The last thing I wanted to do was wake up Joan. She was sleeping soundly. My pistol lay on the nightstand next to Joan, alongside an envelope with Uncle Lar written on the outside of it.
I motioned to my boys behind me to just stay where they were, as I silently moved toward where Joan was sleeping. A couple of gentle nudges on her shoulder and a soft "Joan, Joan wake up dear" made her open her eyes and look at me. "Uncle Lar, Stew is gone. I couldn't use your gun. He begged me to use it but I couldn't even pick it up. He was in so much pain. He pleaded with me to shoot him. I couldn't do it. Then all of a sudden a smile came across his face and he said, 'It's all right honey, the pain seems to be getting better, I love you, Joan.' " "And then he just died" burst from Joan's lips followed by a cascade of withering tears. By this time, I was sitting next to Joan on the fainting couch with my arms around her as she cried her eyes out on my shoulder. I glanced over at my boys on the other side of the room. Jody was unsuccessfully holding back tears and Justin was just staring at this horrendous scene like he had the start of a thousand-yard stare.
I turned my mouth close to her ear and softly said, "How about you and I go into the kitchen and get some tea?" She didn't say yes or no but she got up from the couch with me and turned to look at Stew. "That is not Stew anymore Joan, Stew is gone, let's go." I pocketed my pistol and the envelope as Joan and I slowly moved toward the door. Both of the boys touched Joan's shoulder as she walked by, but said nothing to her and she said nothing to them. As we passed my eyes met their eyes. I motioned with my head in Stew's direction. It was time for them to take care of Stew. They knew what they had to do now.
For some reason, I could hardly wait until the whistle of the tea kettle announced that it was tea time. Ordinary sounds in extraordinary times seem like such a blessing. What was once "normal" doesn't seem to exist much anymore. Getting out of that bedroom seemed to brighten Joan a bit but she looked disheveled and worn out. Her second cup of tea seemed like it worked wonders. I looked across the table at her and said, "How are you doing kid?" "I'm better Uncle Lar" she replied. "Good, should we look at what is in that envelope now, or do you want to wait"? She shook her head and said, "No I can read it to you. Stew dictated it to me a couple of hours before he died." I shoved the now slightly crumpled envelope toward Joan's hand:
Dear Uncle Lar,
Thank you so much for everything you have done to help Joan and I over the years. Thank you for helping me get my ticket punched. I wouldn't wish this stuff on my worst enemy. You were smart not to get the goddamn vaccine. I just pray that Joan doesn’t get sick too. I have just a couple of things left that you need to help me with. Please take Joan and Sparks to your house until we can find my boys. They don't seem to be answering their phones right now for some reason. I don't want Joan to be alone in the house. Also, see what you can do to contact the boys for Joan. She doesn't have much patience for the phone or the internet thing.
I love you man! See you on the other side.
Stew
Joan pushed the envelope and the unfolded letter back toward me. I looked intensely at Joan and told her, "I will find your boys and get them here, one way or another. Are you comfortable with staying at my place?" She looked at me, "It's what Stew wants or wanted and it's kind of what I want, I guess." Glancing out the window I replied, "Very good, when we finish our work outside, all three of us are going to my house. I can come back tomorrow to pick up your clothes and anything else you might need." We spent the next couple of hours talking about everything under the sun. We both had a passion for history which led to an interesting conversation on the rise of the Third Reich in Germany. Her grandparents had both spent time in a concentration camp. Their stories made it hard to imagine how anyone could actually survive such conditions. She said that they had been deeply affected by what they had gone through. They said their visions of the dead still haunted them 40 years later.
Joan excused herself to use the restroom. Our tea was starting to look for an exit. I got up and went to the back door to see about the progress of our grave digging. For a small house, it had a fairly big backyard. The last owners had built the house originally and had spent 30 years creating a beautifully landscaped paradise of sorts. I opened the entry door to see through the glass that was now in the screen door. There was a large raised flower bed bordered with railroad ties in the middle of the yard. It was large enough for three graves at least. It seemed like the perfect spot to lay Stew to rest. We didn’t have to worry about severing any utilities and Joan could easily plant flowers on Stew’s grave. A large pile of black Illinois topsoil now loomed over a sizable hole in the flower bed. As Jody helped Justin climb out of the freshly dug grave, he noticed me standing at the back door. He gave me a thumbs-up sign. It was time to bury Stew.
Joan finally returned after what seemed like a long time. While in the restroom, Joan had worked on her appearance. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and her freshly washed face looked smooth and bright. The Joan that I knew was slowly coming back to life. As she sat back down in the chair across from me, I nervously said, “All right young lady, the boys tell me it’s time to lay Stew to rest. Are you ready?” “I’m ready” she replied. Ten minutes later we were standing over Stew's freshly dug grave. Stew lay at the bottom wrapped in white sheets with the ropes that were used to lower him laying off to one side. Joan stood next to me with Justin and Jody on my right hand side. I reached into my back pocket and pulled out a folded-up piece of notebook paper. I unfolded the paper and began to read:
Beneath this now hallowed ground Lies a husband A father A son An uncle A brother And my dear friend. This good and righteous man Who blessed our world Who blessed his family Who blessed me With his love, actions and deeds Has been taken from us, far too soon. Oh lord, accept Stew into your loving arms. Know that he followed the words and deeds Of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Give him back the love that he so unselfishly Gave to the world. Accept him now into the Kingdom of Heaven. Amen.
to be continued….
Where is 3??? Damn you're good.
It's strange perhaps but I envy that Stew got to be laid down in a grave that the boys had dug, that family had dug, not some random graveyard gravedigger. So much of life gets done for us in the city.