Monkeys and the Chair

In your heart So Gwen and I were driving to her junior high school one morning. It was early, the first week of school and my brain was still thinking about the pillow. There had been no time for coffee so I was less than optimal. I was nowhere close to being in the zone. During my time with God I had prayed for my kids to have mental clarity. After all, that was a problem I faced every day. Gwen says, “Mom, I miss Joe.” This came as a surprise because Gwen is not the kind of child who blurts out random thoughts very often. You must understand. Gwen may be a teen but her mind, and her cognitive skills are limited to that of a six year old. She often mispronounces words, has trouble using proper grammar, and mixes up her vocabulary. It can be frustrating, for her and for us, when she gets flustered because the thoughts she has in her head sometimes remain misunderstood. I asked her to repeat what she had said. “I really miss Joe, Mom.” “So do I, honey. So do I.” Since mornings are the times when I miss him the most I started to cry. As we drove there was the most amazing sunrise and the clouds were particularly beautiful nestled around the Bookcliff Mountains. She was far from done on this morning. “When someone dies they are never really gone, you know. They live in your heart.” I let those words sink in. So profound. So pure. “I bet Joe is up in heaven with Grandpa, Mocha (our dog) and my Uncle.” The grandpa and dog part I got but I was not aware of any uncles that had passed. “What Uncle is that Gwen?” I asked “Uncle Gary, Mom, You remember him.” She was very matter of fact about it. To Gwen everyone who is a friend of the family is connected by blood. She does not see the separation. Uncle Gary was a dear friend of Mary, Jan’s mother. There was a day, many years ago, when he asked her to marry him. I would have thought it to be a perfect union since they were very much alike. He was caustic and grumpy and very boisterous. She could be that way as well. But she did not want to share her personal space with anyone, she was very set in her ways and after her divorce from Jan’s dad she never dated. So she and Gary were best friends. They talked frequently on the phone. I could always tell when it was him on the other line because she smiled a lot and her voice took on a sing-song flirtatious quality. She enjoyed their chats. He ended up moving to California to live with his son and family as he got older. He wasn’t wild about the idea but he went. A few years back Gary and his son came back to town for a visit. Gary had lost so much weight I didn’t even recognize him when he knocked at the door. He did not look well. A month later, Mary received a call from Gary’s son. Her face went white and she covered her head with a magazine as she listened. She would not speak. She cried and wailed. She hung up the phone and hid her eyes within the pillow. At first the kids were alarmed but being kids, they thought it was best to act like nothing was happening. The next morning as I grabbed my purse off the kitchen counter I saw a yellow sticky note sitting on the top. The note read, “Gary Died. I don’t want to talk about it.” She never did and we never asked her to.