Dana's Valley (6 page)

Dad didn't answer right away. He took a few steps toward the table but stopped behind Mom's chair and put his hand on her shoulder. He seemed to take a big breath as though to gather his wits—or his emotions. He had everyone's attention by this time. “It's Dad,” he said at last. “He's had a heart attack.”

“Grandpa?” Brett's disbelief was evident in his voice.

Mom grew even paler. She reached up and curled her fingers around Dad's hand. “How bad?” she asked, her voice shaky.

Dad swallowed. His hand started up to his brow again, then stopped midway and returned to hold on to Mom. “He's gone,” he said, his voice low.

A little shock wave traveled all the way around the table. How could that possibly be? We'd seen Grandpa Walsh such a short time ago, and he was just fine. How could he be
gone?

“Oh, David,” Mom said. She hardly ever called him that. Tears started to fill her eyes and then spill down her cheeks.

Things were a blur from then on. I don't really remember all that happened. I do know we completely ig~nored the school bus. I guess no one was even thinking of it. I also remember being assigned the task of looking after Corey. I was to read to him to get his mind off what had just occurred and keep him busy while Mom and Dad made phone calls. It didn't work. He kept wanting to talk about it. Asking all sorts of questions that I couldn't answer.

“How did he get dead?”

“His heart stopped working.”

“Why?”

“I don't know. Maybe it was sick. Or tired. Maybe it had worked too long.”

“Did it hurt?”

“I don't know.” I didn't want to admit that I suspected it had been very painful.

“Why couldn't the doctor fix it?”

“I don't know. Maybe there wasn't a doctor in time. Maybe there wasn't anything he could do.”

“When can he come see us again?”

“He won't be coming again, honey,” I said as gently as I could.

“Never? Why?”

“Because when people are dead they aren't here with us anymore.”

“Where do they go?”

That was a tough one. I knew that if people loved God and had asked Him to forgive their sins, they could go to heaven when they died. I didn't know—for sure—if Grandpa Walsh had ever done that. I did know that my folks had taught us to pray for him—and Grandma. Corey's question troubled me. What if—? What if Grandpa Walsh had not taken care of this very important matter before he died?

“Do you want to hear the rest of the story or not?” I asked a bit sharply. I don't think Corey really wanted to continue, but I started to read again anyway.

Mom came to rescue me before too long. “I'm sorry, Erin. But Daddy and I had things we had to take care of. I'll look after Corey now.” As she spoke the words she lowered herself to the sofa beside Corey and scooped him into her arms. I could see that her eyes were still puffy from crying, though she tried to force out a smile.

“Maybe you should go see Dana. I think she needs some company.”

I didn't even ask where. Dana would be in our bedroom. I headed there, sort of in need of company myself.

I found Dana stretched out on her bed. She'd been crying, but now she just looked sad and lonely—and maybe a little bit scared. I wondered if she too was thinking about whether Grandpa Walsh had asked God to forgive him. When I walked in the door, we looked at each other and then we both started crying again. I crossed to Dana's bed and flopped down beside her. We entangled our arms around one another and sobbed rather noisily.

We didn't cry for long. I guess we both knew we had to talk. We sniffed and snuffled and reached for the tissues. We still didn't know much about what had happened. We only knew that we'd just lost a grandpa whom we loved. We were going to miss him.

“Poor Grandma,” said Dana. “She'll be so lonely.” I nodded and blew my nose.

“I didn't know he was sick,” I said.

“I don't think anyone did.”

We both thought about that for a little while.

Dana spoke again. “I didn't know you could die like that—so fast. I thought you had to be sick first. I thought …” But she didn't finish.

“I'm gonna miss him,” I said and almost started to cry again. Dana nodded silently.

We were still in our room trying to comfort each other and sharing our thoughts and our grief when Dad knocked on our door. First he just held out his arms to us, and we scrambled off the bed and went to meet him. He hugged us both. I felt him kiss me on the top of the head. “How about coming down to the kitchen,” he said at last when we had stopped crying again. “Mom made some hot chocolate. We need to talk.”

By the time we entered the kitchen, Mom and Brett and Corey were already there. We all took our regular seats at the table while Mom poured the hot chocolate, adding lots of cool milk to Corey's cup. She had sandwiches and cookies on a plate, and in spite of feeling so sad we all were glad for the snack. Somehow we had missed out on lunch.

I was on my third cookie when Daddy said, “I've been on the phone with Uncle Patrick. He and Aunt Lynn have already gone over to be with Grandma.”

Dana and I exchanged glances. Both of us knew that Grandma Walsh and Auntie Lynn often had differences of opinion. It wasn't discussed at our house, but Grandma often made little remarks during our visits, and when we were with Aunt Lynn we heard the other side of the stories. Mom refused to speak about it when we kids were around, but I once overheard her and Dad talking about what a shame it was that family members couldn't get along.

“Your mother and I want to leave as quickly as possible,” Dad was continuing. “We've asked Mrs. Joyce to come and stay with you.”

“Can I come?” Corey put in quickly. “I want to see Grandpa too.”

Poor Corey. He still didn't seem to have things figured out.

“We will only be seeing Grandma now,” Mom said patiently. “Remember. I explained about Grandpa.”

Corey wrinkled up his face in concentration. “Oh yeah,” he said and leaned up against Mom. She put an arm around him, and her fingers reached up to brush the reddish hair back from his forehead.

“I think you need to know how it happened,” Dad went on. “Grandpa and Grandma had gone to bed, and for some reason she awoke in the night. She couldn't hear Grandpa breathing, so she turned on the light. That was when she discovered that he was gone.”

“Where'd he go?” piped up Corey. “I thought you couldn't walk when you got dead.”

In spite of the sadness we all felt, I saw Dad smile just a little bit. “That's right,” he said, reaching out his hand to Corey's knee. “He was still there, but he was dead. Grandma didn't know he was dead—for sure—so she called an ambulance. They took Grandpa to the hospital, and the doctors there said it was too late. Grandpa had already died.”

I was about to start crying all over again. I looked over at Dana. She was already in tears. For some reason that made me determined to hold my tears at bay. I had done enough crying. I fought back the lump in my throat and blew my nose hard on the tissue I was holding.

“Your mom and I will be back home tonight. We need to meet with Grandma and Uncle Patrick to arrange the funeral service. But we will be back tonight. It may be rather late because of the three-hour drive. We want you all to mind Mrs. Joyce. Go to bed at your proper time. There will be school for you tomorrow.”

That last remark did not come as a surprise to me. Daddy had commented before, when other families had gone through similar sorrows, that he thought it was best to keep as much of the familiar routine as possible. So it seemed reasonable to me that we wouldn't miss another day of school tomorrow. In fact, I decided that I didn't want to sit at home the next day crying every time I looked at another family member's teary eyes. But by the way Dana's face twisted, I gathered she would have preferred to stay home one more day.

I looked around the table. Everybody looked very sad—though I was sure Corey still didn't have too clear an idea what death was all about. Dana certainly did. She looked ready to burst into tears at any moment.

Then my eyes moved on to Brett. I didn't see any tears on his cheeks. He didn't even have puffy eyes. He just looked—strange. Angry—or frustrated. I knew he'd been counting on the fishing trip that he and Grandpa had been planning for almost two years. Now there wouldn't be one. I wondered if Brett was thinking about it while he sat there staring hard at his empty hot chocolate cup. His fist was curled up into a hard knot, almost as if he were hiding something in it. But when he opened his hand to push his way up from the table, there was nothing there.

He looked in a big hurry to leave, and when we all went our separate ways Brett just went to his room, closing his door behind him firmly. It wasn't long before Corey was peeking in our door. “Will you play with me?” he asked, looking from Dana to me and then back at Dana again to see which one of us might respond favor~ably. Neither of us felt much like playing a game. Dad and Mom had already left to go see Grandma, and Mrs. Joyce was down in the kitchen opening and closing cupboard doors, probably searching for dinner fixings.

“Brett won't play,” said Corey, spreading a favorite game out on the edge of my bed. “He just turned on loud music and buried his head with his arms when I asked.”

I looked across at Dana. She didn't seem up to entertaining Corey either. In fact she looked pale and tired. I picked the red game piece and handed Corey his favorite yellow. Neither my heart nor my mind was in it, but Corey likely wouldn't notice.

We all went to the funeral. Even Corey. Mom had talked with him to let him know what would be happening. By then I think he had a general idea about the finality of death, but every once in a while he'd say something that didn't quite fit the reality.

The funeral was not held in a church. The funeral home had a large room with rows of seats filled with important-looking dark-suited business people and ladies in smart clothes and huge hats, some of them even veiled. Grandpa and Grandma Walsh moved in social circles to which our family was not accustomed.

Dana and I nudged each other when one particularly fashionable woman was ushered down the aisle. Her hat was black, with a swept-up sea-wave type of brim and a huge bow. The whole affair was perched on a fancy red hairdo. The lady wore the highest heels I had ever seen in my life, and over her shoulders was draped some kind of animal skin that still had a nose and mouth and eyes that looked rather beady. I don't think they were real. Her husband, who may have been as tall as she was if he'd been wearing equally high heels, wore a dark suit with a white scarf hanging loosely from around his neck. A hankie with a fancy fold stuck just so in his breast pocket. I didn't dare look at Dana or I'm sure we both would have giggled—but you don't do that at a funeral.

The organ played some mournful tunes. We didn't sing much. A woman with a high trembly voice sang a song I hadn't heard before about a beautiful isle of somewhere. It was kind of a pretty song, but I didn't really understand it. Was Grandpa supposed to be on an island someplace?

A minister—I guess he was a minister, though he seemed far different from our pastor—spoke words about life's journey being over for Grandpa and that he could now take his well-earned rest. I couldn't feature Grandpa Walsh being much enthused about resting. The whole thing made me feel sadder than ever.

When it was finally over, we drove together in the van to a big hall where we had a lunch. By then we kids were ready to eat. But we finished long before the grown-ups, who lingered over their coffee cups, chatting. We didn't know what to do. So we just sat and occasionally talked in hushed voices. It was quite boring, really—especially for Corey, who had been continuously fidgeting. Finally Brett took him outside. I think they were both glad for a break. Dana and I endured as long as we could and eventually dared to follow.

At last Dad came out to speak to us. “We're going to take Grandma home with us for a few days,” he told us. “She's not ready to go back to her empty house yet. That means you'll all need to remember that she is with us and is still adjusting to Grandpa being gone. We'll need to be extra thoughtful and considerate.”

Brett looked alarmed. I wondered if he was afraid he wouldn't be able to play his music. Or maybe he just wondered how it would work with an older person in the house.

“It will mean someone will need to give up their bed,” Dad was saying.

We all looked at one another. Dana was the first to speak. “She can have mine.”

Dad nodded his thanks and put his hand on Dana's shoulder. “I think she should be in a room of her own,” he said. “We haven't worked out how we'll do that yet.”

We all knew there were no extra rooms in our little house.

“Why doesn't she go to Uncle Patrick's?” asked Brett. “He's got lots of room.”