It didn’t happen.
As the sun was beginning to set, he took a long, ragged breath and then released it slowly, along with his life. In those final seconds an expression of peace and recognition spread across his face. He didn’t bid me farewell in any sense that I could understand, but I knew that the one he had been watching for had come for him at last and that was enough for me. The peace granted to Jamie lighted and lingered upon me as well. After so many months of struggle, we were able to rest at last. And then he was gone.
I couldn’t explain it to Mrs. Babcock, or to anyone, but it was the most intimate, sacred, and precious moment that Jamie and I ever shared.
“Well, that’s a mercy at least,” Mrs. Babcock said. “For both of you, I should think.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m just saying that it had to come as something of a relief. You’ve been so brave, Grace, but it had to be a burden. I mean, first the cancer and then this?”
I felt my jaw clench. “Jamie was never a burden to me. Never.”
“No, no,” she clucked, “of course not. But now, after all this time, Jamie is at peace and you can move on with your life, poor darling.”
She shifted her weight in my direction, as if she were about to hug me again. I took another step backward.
“Excuse me. But I think my in-laws need me. Thank you again for coming.”
“Of course. Of course,” she said. “I just wanted to say hello and tell you how sorry I was. You run along and take care of your family.” She reached out and grabbed my hand. “But, Grace, can I just say how wonderful you look? It’s amazing, the way you’ve been able to keep the weight off for all these years. When I think about that fat, little girl who used to sit in the back row of my classroom, always dressed in black and too shy to speak, working so hard to be invisible even though she was as big as—”
“Mrs. Babcock, I really have to go.”
“Oh, yes. Sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you. It’s just so good to see—”
I pulled my arm from her grip and walked away.
The crowd was starting to thin out and I was glad of it. I couldn’t ever remember being as exhausted as I was at that moment. My encounter with Mrs. Babcock had sucked up the last drops of energy remaining in me. How in the world did the tradition of post-funeral receptions ever begin anyway? As if funerals weren’t draining enough, somebody decided that the bereaved family members should host a party after?
It wasn’t all bad. I hadn’t been home in almost two years, so it was nice to see my little brothers, Tommy and Skip, and my cousins. And it was good to talk to some of our old classmates and share Jamie stories. Until Mike Zimmerman sought me out, I’d never heard the one about how he and Jamie had driven Mike’s beat-up, goner of a Chevy, a rust bucket he’d named Captain America, into the river one night just to see what it felt like to escape from a sinking vehicle.
“Teenage boys are such a bunch of knuckleheads,” Mike said. “But Jamie was the worst of all—thought he was invincible. But I’ll tell you, after he beat the cancer and then survived that fall, I kind of thought it might be true.”
“Me too,” I said, smiling wetly but keeping my emotions in check because, by that point, I didn’t even have enough energy to cry. But Mike did it for me and hugged me even longer and tighter than Mrs. Babcock had. I let him.
That was a good conversation, a story I would treasure, and there were many more besides. But I also had to endure a number of less lovely exchanges with people who, though less directly than Mrs. Babcock, hinted that Jamie’s death must have come as a relief. They had no idea what they were talking about.
And though I love my in-laws—Jamie and I lived in an apartment over their garage for six years before we moved to Portland—it was hard to see them grieving. Penny was a wreck, had sobbed through the whole service. I felt terrible for her, and for Jerry.
After surviving cancer, Jamie worried about what he might be passing on to a potential child, so we put off the idea of having kids for a few years after we were married. Considering how young and broke we were, it was probably just as well. Later, we were so busy working and going to school that we put it off again. With Jamie only a year away from finishing his paramedic training, the time finally seemed right to think about starting a family. We’d discussed it just a couple of weeks before Jamie’s accident and decided to start trying for a baby in the fall.
I’d thought about that a lot, especially in the last few days. If we’d never gone on that camping trip for our anniversary, if it hadn’t been raining so hard, if Jamie hadn’t tried to be a hero, if, if, if . . . I might be the mother of a chubby-cheeked one-year-old.
How would I feel if that baby, my only son, was taken from me? What special brand of grief accompanied the misfortune of outliving your child? I didn’t know. But as I thought about the baby and what might have been and now never would be, I could imagine.
Accepting brief condolences from the few remaining guests along the way, I crossed the room to check on my in-laws. When I sat down next to her, Penny looked at me with tear-stained cheeks and hollow eyes.
