The walk home from school was quiet along Lakeview Blvd., and the spring air was cool and bright. Railroad tracks to the left that ran parallel to the road, were mostly blocked from view by the thick trees and untrimmed underbrush. On the right, sturdy high-end homes hugged the lake’s edge. Further up ahead, I could see the entrance to our driveway, and as I approached I saw something unusual. Dad’s Buick Riviera was parked in the carport, half-hidden behind a line of shrubbery. This was curious, to say the least, maybe even worse than curious. He was never home from work this early. Something must be wrong. My first thought, of course, was that he’d found out about Gloria and me. If that was the case, I was dead meat. My heartbeat began to accelerate as I considered the possible punishments a fifteen-year-old boy might incur if convicted of having an illicit love affair with his married, ninth-grade art teacher. Jail? Prison? Banishment of some kind?
But how could they have found out? We’d been so careful. Maybe I was being overly dramatic. Maybe there was some other explanation. Maybe Dad had had a fight with his new wife, Pat. Maybe they’d had an argument of some sort that required immediate attention. Yes, that was a more probable speculation. Plus, it warmed my heart to think it might be true. Pat hated my guts, that was obvious from the very first day she and her seven-year-old son had moved in with us two months earlier.
So, I hoped it was a domestic dust-up that brought my father home early from work, not the discovery of my clandestine affair. I strode across the carport and descended the switchback stone steps down through the trees and bushes to the front door. Once there, I hesitated for a moment in the shade. It was very quiet.
Reaching out I grasped the doorknob, turned it quietly, and gently pushed open the front door. On the far side of the living room, Dad and Pat stood together looking at me, silent and serious. Closing the door behind me, I stepped in a bit. I could see Dad’s eyes were bloodshot. Nobody said anything for a moment and I, of course, assumed the worst. They knew.
Then Dad said, “Son, I need to talk to you.” He turned and indicated the master bedroom, a room I never entered. I crossed the room, passing close by Pat, who hadn’t said a word. Once inside, Dad gently closed the door behind us, turned to me, and said, “I think you should sit down.”
Still having no idea what this was about, I did what he asked and sat down on the edge of the bed. Then, sitting down beside me, Dad put his arm around my shoulder. “I have some bad news”, he said, and I could feel him begin to tremble.
“What?” I asked.
He began to quietly sob. “Your mother is dead.”
I was suddenly numb and in utter disbelief asked again, “what?”
Dad repeated, “Your mother is dead. They found her in her bed today and Bob said he thought she was just taking a nap, but when he tried to wake her she wouldn’t wake up.” And saying this, Dad let go of all restraint and his sobbing became loud bellows of pain. He rolled me back onto the bed, clutching me in a desperation I had never witnessed before.
I began to feel a paralyzing panic because I felt nothing for my dead mother. Nothing. Yet, here was my father, who never cried, wracked with shocking anguish. I felt I should match his pain and do something to protect him, but I didn’t know what to say or do. I just let him hold me until it was over. Several minutes went by and Dad’s cries began to even-out and his arms began to release their hold on me. I still hadn’t spoken a word. It was like I was trapped at the bottom of a well so deep below the surface, suffocating darkness choked off my ability to speak. After a few more moments, we sat up, Dad wiping his eyes with his shirt cuff. He gave me one last embrace, and then I went downstairs to my room.
Sitting on my bed, I stayed quiet for a long time. Six months had passed since I’d last seen my mother. She’d swooped in for a few hours to visit and say “Merry Christmas.” Before she left that day she gave me a gift. It was a black and white portrait of herself, in a simple wooden frame. The photo conveyed her beauty and a deep sadness both at once. It took me many years to pry open the mystery behind this gift, and many years to cry so deeply because of what I found.
stories of mine
The title of the chapter is misleading and rightfully so. Being caught off guard as you were by “why is dad’s car home?” The short read held several chapter’s worth of emotion. Yet, you felt none for you were loved by another deeper than you wished your mom had gifted you. And that photo of your mother is stunning. Thank you for sharing.
Such beautiful writing and story telling Larry! I love it!
Beautiful and so measured. Not a word too much.
Can’t wait for the next episode!
Wow! That was very intense. I can’t imagine losing my Mom at such a young age. Your writing is very haunting and intense. Keep it up Larry!
This was piercing & peaceful for me to read. Larry your powerful writing captured the feelings I felt at the moments I witnessed seeing my Dad cry uncontrollably as we accepted my mother’s death. Your writing is brave. Thank you.
Oh my god Larry – your writing just grabs me from the very first word and does not let go for a second. And such an innocuous title for so horrific an event; no warning of what’s to come, which makes it all the more gut-wrenching. I am so sorry you experienced all of this. Your mother was beautiful.
Loved this latest chapter…
Your writing is pure and so honest.
I remember when this happened Larry,but your writing brings me to tears. You are an amazing writer and an amazing man! Love you my friend.
Love reading your stories buddy. However this one is of course beyond sad! After I read each story, I tell myself I should have been a better friend and been able to help you through these tough times.
Bob. Bob. Bob. Bob. Bob. !!!!!!!! The picture tells a very big story. Where is Bob? Why isn’t he in the photo with your Mom? Why does your Mom look so haunted? So sad? So troubled!!!!
I’m so sorry you lost your Mom at 15! More so for the pain you could not experience because you were so obviously removed from her and she from you. By no fault of either of you.
Your poor Dad. He obviously still loved her! I always wonder, if not for your other brother would your parents have made it?
Death is always a shock. Especially when there are unresolved and mixed feelings for the person who has died. Whoever they are. Shock is a weird entity. It can numb us, make us overly emotional, shut us down completely, more than the numbing. I think you shut yourself down. And I think you did that to protect yourself.
Straight to the heart Larry. Beautiful. I remember this feeling when my mother died so many years ago. Love you my brother from another mother.
Oh my! Again…I was right there with you. Brilliant.
Your father’s anguish spills off the page and grabbed me as it did you except I wanted to cry with him. I was so moved and, while feeling the distancing you had for your mother, I was willing to leave you to that and wanted to console your dad. That takes good writing, giving the three of you your space and allowing me mine.
Thank you for writing this. I experienced the same emotion when my mother died in 2010. I’m very sorry for your loss.
Your Mother was beautiful. Your Father still loved her. Such a heartbreaking moment when you lose your Mother (at any age). You write so beautifully, Larry. Thank you for sharing your stories.
Larry, again you have succeeded in bringing us deeply & intimately into your story and my heart broke for all of you…your dad, Bill & you. Thank you for sharing your personal journey.
Always written with such intense emotions that I can feel it when reading your story! As always left in complete suspense……
Oh my gosh, how heartbreaking! It sounds like your dad was not over her, and still loved her. Your stories are riveting, Larry. Thanks for sharing them with all of us.
Very well written, you capture emotions extremely well. This piece stirs anticipation for a future read. Thanks for sharing your stories Larry!