Date: Sat, 21 Jul 2012 01:39:24 -0400 From: Jesse Jesse Subject: Being Seen, Pt 8 Christmas was gone for another year, exchanging the evenings filled with the warm glow of lights and music, trees and food, for the long, bitter days of January and February. Winter was always particularly depressing for me, being constantly trapped in a house wracked by the bickering and warring of two parents at odds, but that winter brought more depression at times than I'd ever known. It's amazing how dependent we become on those around us, most especially those that bring us security and happiness. How I loathed those long winter days when I sat by the bay window of our kitchen, just waiting for that moment in the evenings when Seth's truck would come rumbling down the snow-covered road from work. Though many kids welcome those snow days when school is canceled, for me they were torture. I couldn't quite put my finger on what I felt was really going on, but it had seemed for some time that my friends, those few that I had, had been treating me different. I'd grown accustomed to the pointing and snide smirks of those in the social crowds of town who were in the know about the truth between my parents, but with my few friends it was different. Maybe it was the times when I'd stumbled upon them whispering behind my back, feeling sure I'd heard them call my name and mention something about "a guy," or maybe it was the way their parents suddenly didn't want them coming to visit me any more. Kyle McLachlan had been my best friend for teen of my almost sixteen years on this earth, even with my parents constantly fighting, spending many nights over with me, and I going to his house for pool parties, but lately it seemed he didn't have much to say any more. The last time I'd invited him down to the river house for some fishing he'd shook his head and mumbled something about "his mom wanting him to come home and help her in the yard," or some excuse. Perhaps it was all my imagination, but more and more I began to feel totally alone, with the exception of my family and loved ones at the farm. So it was that I spent those lonely winter days by the window, nothing but the local radio DJ to keep me company, waiting for Seth to come stumbling in the door from a hard day's work. Though my heart ached to be with him, I tried desperately not to allow Seth to see how depressed I truly was. It was his fault, after all. Jeb had been taken ill with a dreadful bout of pneumonia just after Christmas, and Seth had had to help bridge the gap of chores done by the missing overseer of the farm and business. This, in and of itself, caused another pain to form a vice around my heart; Seth and I had no time for intimacy any more. It was not an uncommon thing for Seth to stumble through the door on those snowy evenings, so tired that he could not stay awake long enough to eat supper. Many evenings I would chatter away to him from the kitchen (I'd been trying to spend some of my time studying cookbooks and recipes), only to find him sound sleep on the sofa. All in all, though I loved Seth with all my heart, being only fifteen and still very immature, this proved to be one of the most distressing times in my life. But it was not the worst of winter's gloom. I was awakened that bitter morning extremely early, so early that Seth had not even woken to prepare himself for his still ever-growing list of work to be done, by sharp raps on the door. Though my mind was groggy and in a fog of being awakened from a sound slumber, it instantly cleared in a swirl of horror by the look on the farmhand's face. He didn't even have to speak for me to understand the news that had brought him so early in the morning. Tears stung my eyes as I tried to speak. "Is she gone yet?" The young farmhand appeared to hardly be any older than me, his voice shaking as he spoke. Tears streamed down his own face. "No sir, but the doctor say's if you want to see her alive, you should hurry." My mind began to swirl and rush. Should I wake Seth? Should I take anything to her, keepsakes or anything? Finally I regained enough concentration to find my way through the dimly-lit house to roust Seth from his sleep. "Seth........Seth......" "Mmmm?" "Seth it's Gram. Seth, she's dying. I don't know what's happened yet, but the doctor's up at the house. We've gotta go." He was up in an instant, his eyes wide with fear. The short ride from the river house to the main farmhouse seemed an eternity, my heart jumping and breaking at the same instant. Would she still be alive? Would I be too late? What would I say to her? Seth drove in silence, stealing an occasional worried glance at me from the corner of his eyes. Finally we pulled up in the yard of the main house. Feeble light from one upstairs window fought weakly against the early morning darkness. I couldn't even wait for Seth to bring the truck to a stop, jumping from the cab and rushing into the house, but stopped just short of the door at the sight that lay before me. The elderly Doctor King sat glumly by the beside, his hand holding Gram's. Mustering every bit of courage I could pull, I allowed myself to pass through the open door into the room. Upon seeing me Doctor King stood, attempting to halt me before I reached Gram's bed, but his face told me everything I needed to know. Fresh tears flowed freely down my cheeks as I brushed past him and said down to take Gram's hand. I stared at the lifeless face. Gram's eyes were closed, but there was something different about her face, something that I'd never seen before. It was as if, though barely noticeable, her face seemed somewhat disproportionate, almost ever so slightly twisted. "How long?" I was surprised by the emotion in Doctor King's voice as he replied. "Just a moment ago." I turned to face the elderly man. "How?" Doctor King heaved a great sigh. "Jessie, son, there's something I have to tell you, something your grandmother made me swear to keep from you until she was gone." A lump formed in my throat. What new and more dreadful news could Doctor King be harboring. "What is it doctor?" "Jessie your grandmother did have early stages of dementia, but that was not her cause of death. She............your grandmother died of a stroke. This was not her first." "Not her first? You mean there've been more?" The elderly man's blue eyes moistened. "Yes. Your grandmother has had a series of strokes throughout her life. Before her death, the last one was about three years ago. She's had dangerously high blood pressure and cholesterol for years. I pleaded with her and begged her to do something about it, to just change a little something about her diet, but she wouldn't hear of it. Jessie I'm so sorry about this. I hope you'll believe me when I tell you that I've tried desperately with your grandmother, but she was a strong-willed woman, and when she made her mind up, well......." Though my heart broke at the sight of my petite grandmother's form lying in the bed, a surprising laugh arose at Doctor King's words. "Yes, yes she was very strong-willed." It is amazing how, though certain moments and experiences during a death linger with us for the rest of our lives, the days following, the viewings and funerals seem to fly by in a blur of surreality. That is just what happened with Gram's viewing and funeral. Though I spent many a sleepless night mourning Gram's passing, the days immediately following her death rushed by in what seemed one continuous blur of condolences, phone calls, and services. Finally came the day after her burial, the day when life "started moving on." Though Jeb was still not quite capable of performing all of his duties again, Seth insisted he stay home with me. It seemed fate had played some cruel ironic joke as I'd bemoaned to myself the fact that he was constantly away before, and now that he was home with me, it was because of such a tragedy. How wonderful Seth was to me during that time of grieving and mourning! Though even I knew he had work and duties he should have been performing, he would not be forced out of the house, spending countless hours simply holding me tightly and securely in his arms. Not a morning went by that I was not awakened to a steaming hot breakfast on the table. My clothes were laid out, even my bath water drawn. It seemed as if, though he could not take away the pain in my heart, Seth was determined to do everything else possible to make life a little less painful. But though I grieved and missed Gram terribly, my grief eventually morphed into something far worse; resentment. It wasn't that I resented the fact that Grandma was gone. No, my resentment had been spawned over something I considered far harder to release, something I considered unforgivable; the fact that once again neither my parents had bothered to pay their respects. I suppose I was naïve, but even with everything that had transpired between my grandparents, myself, and my parents, I still believed they would attend Gram's funeral. After all, my father was her own flesh and blood child! How could a son not be bothered to attend his own mother's funeral!? Damn them!