Love By its First Name Page 23

  Rebecca could see Sy smile a little, nod his head, and cry. She could picture the scene but would never have thought to call it a ‘passionate’ encounter. She guessed she still had a lot to learn about love.

  “But Alice just chatted away as Sy continued to take care of her in such a cherishing way.” Jerry gazed at Sy for a long moment. Rebecca could see tears in the eyes of both men. “Sy, my heart and the hearts of all of us here are with you. Thank you for helping this wonderful woman become the great gift she has been to all of us.”

  Sy mopped his cheeks with his handkerchief as Rebecca wiped away her own tears.

  Rebecca stiffened as Jerry said, “Alice has asked Ms. Rebecca Brady to read a note and poem she had composed some weeks ago. Of course, Alice was too weak to write, so she dictated it to me.” He looked at Rebecca and extended his hand.

  Nervously, she stood, stepped past Marge, and unsteadily made her way to the podium. With trembling hands, she unfolded the paper and smoothed it out on the small platform. She had given many speeches at various gatherings but none of them prepared her for such an emotional experience. She looked out over the congregation, saw Rene and Denise watching her intently, and finally focused on Marge, who was giving her a smile of encouragement.

  She began, “I’ve given talks to groups before but never had to worry about breaking down in tears.” Tears were already streaming down her face. “So please be patient with me when I have to pause at times. I am very pleased and honored that Alice asked me to read her words to you. When I said ‘yes,’ I thought it would be rather easy. I’ve only known Alice for a few weeks, but had never before met anyone who touched me so deeply. Here are her words for us.”

  I have asked Miss Rebecca Brady to read the following to you for two reasons. One is because there are so many wonderful people in and around Paris whom I would be very pleased to have read my poem. But if I choose one, others would be left out. Rebecca lives in St. Louis, so she won’t mind if you get upset that she’s the one. Secondly, and more important, I have gotten to know and love Rebecca in a very short time and, well, she just seems right for the part. I hope you agree. Thank you all for coming to celebrate my passing on. I do hope that the Good Lord has a nice place for me.”

  Rebecca wiped tears from her face and looked out at the crowd. Nearly everyone was weeping. In as steady a voice as she could manage, she continued to read:

  “God has blessed me in so many ways

  To give me the ability to see

  The morning sun, the rain, the wheat, and a tree

  More importantly, to see

  The sparkling and loving eyes of my children,

  My grandchildren,

  My friends,

  My beloved Sy.

  To hear kind, honest and even sometimes angry words

  Of the dear people I have loved.

  Hearing God’s voice in every word

  To hear ‘I love you’

  To touch and be touched

  By the breeze, leaves, the earth

  By babies, children, friends, life

  All is being touched by God

  To feel love, joy, sadness, elation,

  Even the pain that has allowed me to have time

  To reflect on the wonders of my life and my loves

  To be thankful to everyone who has come into my life

  Old and young, near and far,

  Especially to Sy Peterson - my dearest love,

  My children and grandchildren

  Thank all of you for being with me in this world.

  I’m looking forward to meeting you in the next.

  Rebecca looked down at the poem, tears falling, hoping her many pauses didn’t destroy the beauty of Alice’s words. She raised her eyes and looked at Sy. He raised his eyes to her and she was sure she saw a certain radiance through his tears. She continued to cry as a granddaughter and grandson haltingly, but beautifully, read meaningful poems that Alice had selected. She wondered if she was crying more for herself than for Alice and her family. Alice had never done any of the so-called “glamorous” things that she herself had done, yet Alice seemed to have had a more meaningful life. Rebecca felt a kind of emptiness within herself that was nearly overpowering.

  To Rebecca’s surprise, Jerry announced that Alice asked Kathy Olson to sing a few words that she, Alice, found meaningful. Kathy approached the sanctuary with her guitar under her arm and turned and faced the congregation. She looked beautiful in a black dress suit with a gleaming white high-collared blouse. Kathy adjusted the guitar strap on her shoulder and addressed the crowd. “As most of you know, I have been visiting St. Patrick’s since September to help the young people with their music. Most Saturdays, I have arrived early enough to spend a little time with Alice.” Kathy stopped for a moment and took a deep breath. “Three Saturdays ago, she asked me to sing a few songs that I particularly liked and that might be appropriate for her funeral.” Kathy again took a deep breath and seemed to be holding back tears as she said, “Alice chose two songs that I truly believe express her. I hope I am able to sing them in a way that captures Alice’s wonderful spirit.

  As she began, “Who has touched the sky…,” Father Jerry nearly fell off his chair.

  Knowing the history of that song for him, Rebecca could understand why and was surprised no one had told him of Alice’s selections. When Kathy was finished, she said, “I believe that Alice, more than anyone I’ve ever known, knew love by its first name.

  And with that love, she was the wind beneath all of our wings.” She then began, in her beautiful voice, You Are The Wind Beneath My Wings.

  * * *

  Jerry followed the pallbearers to the small cemetery behind the church. Most of those present in the church came with them. The sun was bright but the day chilly because of a stiff breeze from the north. He kept the graveside service brief. In place of one of the Scripture readings, he inserted a poem Alice had selected.

  Do not stand at my grave and weep

  I am not there, I do not sleep

  I am a thousand winds that blow;

  I am the diamond glints on snow;

  I am the sunlight on ripened grain;

  I am the gentle autumn’s rain.

  When you awaken in the morning’s hush,

  I am the swift uplifting rush

  Of quiet birds in circled flight.

  I am the soft star that shines at night.

  Do not stand at my grave and cry.

  I am not there...I did not die.

  Jerry saw that Rebecca and nearly everyone there had not heeded the poem’s words, and he, too, cried, but his tears were internal.

  At the buffet dinner served in the church basement, he noticed many people came up to Rebecca and complimented her on her reading of Alice’s beautiful poem. He was glad that Rebecca was accepted as a member of the community.

  He waited until everyone had been to the buffet before filling his own plate and heading to the table where Rebecca and Kathy were seated with Denise and Rene. The four were seated across from the Gaffin family, and Jerry pulled up a chair at the end and sat between Rene and Kenny. Rene smiled at Kenny and said, “You mean, you let this dude throw you out of the church?”

  “I didn’t let him, he just did it.” Kenny smiled somewhat sheepishly and added, “If I hadn’t had a coupla beers, I’d a cleaned his clock.” He puffed out his chest and gave the priest a light punch on the arm. He looked back at Rene. “I really deserved it, ya know?”

  Joe Gaffin, sitting next to Kenny, added, “You certainly did!” He turned to Rene. “They’ve become friends since, though.” Addressing Rene, Joe asked, “Did Kenny tell you that he helped Father Jerry subdue that guy who was shooting up the church?”

  Rene punched Kenny on the arm. “Hey, man, that’s awesome!”

  Jerry thought he would never see Kenny swell up with so much pride, justified in this case.

  Joe went on, “You know, Padre, that has to be most meaningful funeral I’ve ever attend
ed.”

  “Thanks Joe, Alice did a wonderful job, just like she lived her life.”

  “You might make a Catholic out of me yet.”

  “Just be a good Methodist, Joe, that’ll be just fine.”

  * * *

  Rebecca attended Marge’s father’s funeral on Saturday. Kathy had to hurry back to western Kansas right after Alice’s funeral because of her mother. Rebecca felt herself relax a bit when she learned that Kathy was leaving. Although Rene and Denise were very impressed with Alice’s funeral, they did not want to attend another. Mr. Woerner had never been the friendly presence in the community that Alice had been, but his funeral was well attended, as was the reception afterward. Marge told Rebecca several times how much she appreciated her support and companionship.

  On Sunday morning, before the Spanish Mass, Rebecca and the girls stopped at the rectory to say good-bye. Rebecca had planned to leave on Saturday after Mr. Woerner’s funeral, but the girls begged to stay another day.

  Kenny had spent Saturday showing Rene around the countryside, even taking her out to Marge’s place where she rode a horse for the first time in her life. Denise stayed with little Karen. Sue Gaffin said she would like to have Denise with them all the time— Karen had never seemed so happy. Both teens enjoyed the Youth Mass.

  Jerry invited Rebecca into the small rectory office. They stood near the desk and he took both her hands in his. “I’m so glad that you joined us and that you brought the girls. Joe said that they gave a new life to Kenny, Sue, and little Karen. And, of course, you always bring light into my life.”

  “Thank you, kind sir, it has been a wonderful experience for me, too, “especially Alice’s funeral and my time with Marge. I’ve spent more time with her than with you.” She knew she sounded a bit sad as she added, “I guess that’s how it has to be, huh?”

  Jerry looked at her quizzically and in silence for some time and then said, “I’m going to go over to St. Louis sometime in December as soon as this shoulder gets to feeling better.” He seemed to want to say something more but, again after a silent pause, said only, “I’ll see you then, okay?”

  “Sure, I’d like that. Just let me know when.” They gave one another a brief hug and then rejoined the girls in the living room. Rebecca thought Jerry looked sad as he stood in the driveway and waved as they drove off.

  * * *

  They were a few miles out of town when Rene, again in the front seat, saw tears streaming down Rebecca’s face. She looked concerned and in a surprising gentle voice, asked, “Rebecca, the funerals are over. Why are you crying?”

  Rebecca was sure she was crying for herself, and had no idea as to why she was feeling so completely empty. She said, “I’m not sure, Rene, I guess I was thinking of Alice and what a wonderful person she was. I’ll miss her.”

  “Ever’body seemed to like her. Ain’t never seen so many people at a funeral. What did she do that was so important?”

  “She didn’t DO much, I guess you’d say. But she knew how to love.”

  “I think my Grandma down in Mississippi was like that. Ain’t known anybody else.”

  An unexpectedly strong voice came from the back seat, “Rene, you’re full of shit. You’re sitting next to someone like that!”

  Rene looked back at Denise and then at Rebecca. “Ya know, Midget, I think fer once, you got somethin’ right.”

  Rebecca got even more choked up as she said, “Thank you both. I ... think... that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

  CHAPTER 17

  If we take happiness from God’s hand, must we not take sorrow too?

  Book of Job 2:9

  The windshield wipers vigorously swept snow from the glass as Jerry drove, below the speed limit, toward Omaha, Nebraska. It was Christmas Day. As had become usual for him over the past eight months, he felt divided between duty and adventure, responsibility and freedom, from what he “should” do and what he wanted to do. One of the “shoulds” was attending the Haloran family reunion. He was not looking forward to it even though it was the first one in twelve years, the last being at his own ordination to the priesthood.

  When he visited St. Louis in mid-December, Rebecca was on assignment in New York. He had lengthy talks with Angela and Julie as well as the attorney friend of Rebecca’s. They were “okay” temporarily at St. Claire’s but Angela’s health was not good.

  Rebecca had called him the Sunday before Christmas and invited him to join her and Helene in San Francisco at Christmas time. The magazine owner had given Rebecca two airline tickets and four nights at the Hyatt. She said that she had thought of him first but knew he would be committed for Christmas Masses and the family reunion, so she had invited Helene. Jerry was sure that Rebecca would know that it would have been inappropriate for him to join her alone in California. The very thought of sharing a hotel room with her definitely did bring on a rush of sinful thoughts.

  Rebecca had added, “If you get tired of that family of yours, you could join us on Christmas Day.” Joining both of them? He wasn’t sure. It was tempting but she was probably only kidding anyway. Knowing it was impossibile, he told her he definitely would rather be with them but “being a dutiful and responsible child, I better join the family.” He didn’t tell her that most of the adults would probably spend the bulk of the days drunk or nearly so.

  The Aberdeen radio station began to fade and he fiddled with the knob until he heard a DJ from Omaha announce, “I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of all this Christmas music. I’m going to play some of my own nostalgic favorites, starting with Lara’s Song from Doctor Zhivago. I think it’s appropriate for this wintry day.” Jerry turned the radio up a bit. “Somewhere, my love, there will be songs to sing although the snow covers the hope of spring / Somewhere’s a hill covered in green and gold and there are dreams more than your heart can hold...”

  He sang along with the tune until he got so choked up, the tears turned his singing to a murmur and then stopped altogether. Damn! He got irritated at himself for feeling self-pity again. He rarely cried before Melanie died, now it seemed he would cry at the drop of a hat. What the hell is wrong with him? His thoughts turned to Rebecca and Helene and what they might be doing right then in San Francisco. He dug into his pocket and retrieved a handkerchief and dabbed at his eyes and face. If he had allowed himself a cell phone, he could call Rebecca, but that would just have made feel worse.

  The DJ seemed to be reading his mind as he played, and Jerry sang along with “Unchained Melody”, and several more nostalgic love songs, all of which he had memorized as a boy. As he sang, he thought of his father. Their happiest times together were the Sunday trips in which dad would sing show tunes and folk songs as they drove through the countryside. Jerry had never figured out why his dad had memorized so many love songs when his life seemed so loveless. He wondered what his life would have been like if his dad hadn’t died when he did. A chill ran down his back as the thought that entered his mind said: “If you hadn’t killed him.” He admonished himself for thinking that thought again. It was an accident, dammit!

  As he drove along and accompanied the radio, he reflected on Wayne’s comment that not long ago, Jerry had talked like he’d had breakfast with God. No, he didn’t have breakfast with God, more like breakfast with Epectitus, the Greek philosopher of Stoicism. Thinking of the family chaos he was headed into, he thought that he had become a natural stoic to survive the turmoil around him as he grew up. Better not to feel anything than to get engulfed in the drunken anger and hysteria of the family. Now, he was afraid of feeling too much. Could he go back to being a stoic after months of finding his nerves on edge? He wasn’t sure if he could or even if he wanted to. In many ways, he felt more alive than at any time in his life, even if many of the feelings were of the sad or, maybe worse, sinful variety.

  The radio DJ started playing modern, unfamiliar songs. He turned down the volume. His thoughts refocused on his work at the parish. At the Midnight Mass, the church wa
s packed with all segments of the congregation, young people, Hispanic farm workers and their families, along with the older folks. He had divided the music between the youth band and the Mexican mariachi group. Even the old timers commented that St. Patrick’s had never been so lively. Even the Mass that morning had been attended by several dozen people. He was most proud of involving the large Hispanic community in the parish. Getting the church repaired and painted, although something to be proud of, was mainly something to keep him busy. In December, the Sunday collection more than covered all the expenses for the first time. It had been a good five months’ work. Why, then, didn’t he feel better about it? During the fall, several people asked him about becoming Catholics. When he asked them if they would continue to be Catholics after he left the parish, they hesitated. He encouraged them to think about it and, in the meantime, to feel free to participate in the services and, more importantly, do their best to live Christian lives of love, compassion and justice. He smiled grimly as he thought that the Bishop would be impressed if he brought several families into the Church. But he wasn’t interested in impressing the Bishop.

  The snow stopped falling by the time he reached Interstate 80 near Lincoln and he made better time into Omaha. Six children were working on a snowman as he pulled into the driveway of his sister Gladys’ suburban home. It was a sprawling ranch house on half an acre. The expansive front yard looked like a small army of munchkins had fought a battle there. The kids abandoned their project and rushed to meet him.

  “Uncle Gerard, Uncle Gerard, we’ve been waiting for you!” One freckle-faced ten-year-old hollered. “Will you play football with us?” Jerry had introduced himself as “Jerry” to everyone since he was sixteen but the family persisted on calling him ‘Gerard,’ the family and the Bishop.

  “He can’t play football with us, dummy, he’s been shot.”

  Derek asked, “Is that true, Uncle Gerard?”