Our Heart (49 page)

Chapter 29

The house was deathly still. I reached down and picked up the manila envelope from between my legs on the bed. I turned it over in my hands and scanned it for any signs of writing; there was none. Taking a deep breath, I unwound the string holding the flap closed. I peered inside at the missing pages from Grandpa’s journals. There was also an envelope inside. I pulled them all out together. It suddenly dawned on me the leather-bound journal I had given my grandfather was not in the manila envelope, nor had I seen it amongst the journals in the front room or in the safe down in the basement.

I held the contents in my right hand and, with my left, I tossed the manila envelope on the floor. I laid everything on the bed in front of me. The envelope from inside was on the top of the stack. Only one word was written there and in a handwriting that was so familiar: “Jason,” in my grandmother’s script. I felt a lump rise in my throat. It was going to be a long night.

To find hope in the future you sometimes have to face the burdens of the past. What we are is so much of who we were, and to deny that correlation is to pretend to be something we are not. Peace can only come when we accept who we are and then find ways to grow and be a better person. This was an understanding it had taken too long to mature in my own heart and mind, but had brought me back to this place where my past and future seemed to be one and the same.

It was surprising to see that my Grandma Sarah had left me a letter. The thought crossed my mind, “I should have gotten it long before this moment, so why now?” Knowing that I hadn’t, didn’t bode well for what the contents might hold for me. I hashed over whether to read it first or start on some of the missing journal pages. The letter won out, and I opened it. I began to read,

Jason,

I made your grandfather promise to set this aside for a time when he felt it would be the most appropriate. We both so very much want you to be happy. When we talked the other night on the phone, and I told you that my cancer was progressing, I could tell by the sound of your voice you seemed weary with life’s struggles. When your mother died, I didn’t just lose a daughter-in-law, I lost a trusted and special friend. Your mother had the ability to make those around her feel better just by her presence. When it came to being there when you needed someone, she was. In all ways, she was a special person. I say this because you have much of her inside of you, and you have been missed since you left. Not many men have the ability to feel the hurt of others and be willing to go the “emotional mile.” For some reason, the Owens men found strength in their empathetic abilities, and it makes them special.

You also have a stubbornness that is inherent in the Owens men, a drive that motivates you to sometimes ignore the reality of the moment. I will never condemn this attribute, because without it, you and your father would not be here. I love your grandfather more every day of my life, and I thank God he had the fortitude to save me. He could have let his strong will…I’m not going to go there because I think you understand.

Things are not always as they seem, and time has a way of uncovering the mistakes we have made. Sometimes you do get opportunities to correct them and walk once more on the path to where you should be. There have been some decisions made in the past that have impacted you in hurtful ways, I hope that maturity and time will lessen the pain and allow you to move forward and give you a chance to find happiness. Things aren’t always lost forever; sometimes, they’re just out of sight, waiting to be rediscovered.

I am proud of the success you have found in California, but life is more than accomplishments, because it is nothing without spirituality, love, and family. You are a part of a family that loves you and needs you too. Remember, I was lost and your Grandfather found me!

Search your heart and let it guide you to where you should be!

Love,

Grandma

I had to put her letter aside to
regain my composure and fortitude
. I could sense she somehow knew I had drawn parallels between her and Grandpa and Allison and me. I felt awful, because I missed the one thing that was the most important. My grandfather fought for his love, I left. It took too long for me to understand that, but it was always there, nagging at my soul and stopping me from finding happiness. The guilt was mine alone and the blame was internalized until I had nowhere left to go, but home.

I didn’t understand all of what Grandma had alluded to, but I got the feeling it was much more than just a comment about Allison, when she spoke of decisions in the past. My grandma had tried to convey to me that it wasn’t too late in her final words of wisdom, and I planned on putting it to the test. I shuffled through the missing journal pages. I looked at them, but I didn’t really see them. My mind was so full of everything that had taken place in the last few days
.
I could only see the writing on the journal pages
, not what they had once kept hidden and now revealed
. Without comprehension, they were just words. Add in all the memories I’d been reliving, and it made for a jumbled mess inside my brain. It’s funny how six years can mature someone. Maybe it’s not the age as Grandpa Jake once told me, nor the time that has elapsed, but the realization that you can’t hide any more and must face the truth. Hiding was what I’d been doing for too long.

More serious this time, I pulled a page at random and read what it said. It didn’t seem important to me to have had it torn from a journal. The only mention of anything relevant was a note Grandpa had written on Allison. He stated that she had begun to show her pregnancy and worried what school was going to be like for her during the rest of the year. For an instant, I was torked at Nick again,
blindly
sure he was the father. I forced the anger aside and concentrated on what it must have been like for Allison to be pregnant and in school at the same time. I was also hurt by the knowledge that Allison hadn’t really taken much time to get over me and to move on with her own life. The guilt began to creep up at the base of my neck, all the “what ifs” playing around in my subconscious.

I placed the sheet back in the stack. This time, I noticed that Grandpa Jake had actually placed them in order from oldest to newest. I wondered if he did it so it would make it easier for me. I figured I should start at the beginning and, for the next four hours, I read and reread several of the pages, until I finished the last one. I was no longer tired or even exhausted; instead, I was mad and determined. By the time my head had solved the mysteries of the journal pages and comprehended the implications of what had been written on them, it was nearly six a.m. on Friday. In a little over twenty-four hours I would be paying homage to my grandfather. With clarity, I now knew what my eulogy would be. Grandpa had laid it all out before me in the missing journal pages. I covered the spectrum of emotions as I read his entries, disbelief, anger, frustration, and then understanding to be followed simply by hope.

I lay on my bed for awhile, running patterns through my head, wondering at all the signs I had missed. It all seemed so clear to me now
and what and idiot I’d truly been
. There were many things I needed to do, but first and foremost was my last goodbye to a man who had been a second father as well as a grandfather to me. I understood him even better today, even if I didn’t agree with all of his methods. It was like enduring a lesson from the school of hard knocks, sometimes you just had to live it in order to rise above it. One thing was very clear to me; had I known all of what was written in Grandpa’s journals, my life would have been immensely different. It is hard to reconcile the actual events in life with the perception of youth. Where did I start to bring sense to the clutter that is my life?

There were two major revelations within the pages of my grandfather’s writings. If I had known even one of them, my life would have taken a different road. In hindsight, that road might have been even worse. I can’t say what my grandfather did was right. He wasn’t the only one involved, either. Several people bore the responsibility as they worked together to cover up the events of the past.
One phone call, one letter, anything at all could have changed my course the last six years.
Yet, s
itting here on my bed, I wondered if I might not have done the same things; maybe with maturity comes a better understanding of how life really is.

When my mom passed away, it was no secret my dad couldn’t come to grips with her death. His life became a mess, and he fell into an endless hole he kept digging deeper and deeper. It didn’t matter. I loved him…I needed him. My grandfather was responsible for him leaving. It wasn’t my father who had abandoned me. He really had no choice. Grandpa Jake had taken matters into his own hands. Because of my grandfather, I’d spent many sleepless nights
praying
for my father to come
home
until I eventually began to hate him for leaving.

According to the entries in my grandfather’s missing journal pages, when my dad started being more of a drunk than a father, Grandpa decided I needed to be protected. My life had been hell during that time. Looking back now, I can step away from the pain and see the signs I didn’t see then. I understand the motives behind my grandfather’s decision, and it was not his alone; my grandma and even my dad had also been a part of what transpired back then. At first, it was an ongoing argument, which became a focal point between my father and grandparents. It was always about what his responsibility was to me and the effect his drinking was having and going to have on me down the road.

What I didn’t know, or maybe refused to see, was how much my grandparents had shielded me from the worst of it as it was happening. There were two times when my father spent time in jail for public intoxication; I never knew about either time. I remembered when he had bought the used truck. He told me he wanted something different and that’s why he got it. I didn’t know he had wrecked the other one and broke a couple ribs in the process, when he passed out and ended up in the ditch. He could have been killed. There were other incidents Grandpa had written down, yet in everyone single one, he wrote only with compassion for my dad and his resolve to help him through his problems. In all the years I lived in Cedar Junction, no one had ever made a mean comment to me about my dad. This demonstrated the respect that my father, even my grandfather, held in the town. It also showed the greater understanding and compassion that sometimes comes with a being a part of a
small-town
community.

When the threat of losing his job became nearly an absolute, my grandfather stepped in and convinced his boss, and a long time acquaintance, to wait; he did. My grandfather hauled my dad to a rehab clinic in Minnesota, and my dad fought him all the way. I remember him being gone for a couple of weeks, but Grandma had told me he had been sent out of town for new training at work. I had strong hope back then that just maybe Dad was going to be Dad again. The program should have lasted nearly two months, but my dad left after two weeks to come home. He was better for awhile, but it was only the calm before the storm.

When the end came, even my grandfather couldn’t save him, so he did what he thought was his only choice, to save me instead. He laid it all out for my father with one very simple term: leave. They argued for hours, but in the end, my dad succumbed to the wishes of my grandpa. Emotionally, he had fallen to the point where all self-destructive people had to get to. He was faced with the total loss of everything and everyone who was important to him. He was no longer welcomed here. My dad asked if he could say goodbye and my grandfather told him it would only happen if it was with a clear head and steady hand.

I ended up hating my father so much that day. When he came home after being gone for a while, I was hopeful, but not without caution. He looked better than he had in a long time, and I remember feeling maybe things were going to get better. I’ll never forget how awful it felt when he said he was leaving to start over and I’d be staying here. Today, I understand how hard it had been for him to say it. I knew a little something about guilt and what it does to you; I could only imagine the suffering my father had endured.

There were a few other pages where Grandpa had kept tabs on Dad’s progression or lack of it. I remembered the phone calls to me and how he wanted a chance to start fresh. They had all been included in the written pages of Grandpa’s journals. My father had been alcohol free for nearly two and a half years. He found his low and started building his life again and, like me, it was too painful to come home. There was something else I read between the lines in the journal. My father and grandfather had come to terms, so to speak. They shared a secret and, between them, they believed in the value of the pain enough to keep it as such.

It would take time for me to comprehend what I had learned. I didn’t have the time to dwell on it now; the other revelation from Grandpa’s journals was far more important. I needed some sleep. As I laid my head down on the pillow, I fell into dreams of what might have been.

Chapter 30

From somewhere deep inside my dreams, I began to walk the streets of Cedar Junction as they had been when my grandparents and Mom were still alive. I laughed with them and I cried with them. The memories of long ago playing out like a slide show of my life. When it got to the part about Allison, it froze on the scene from the bus. Only this time, Allison turned to look at me from the window and her eyes locked on mine. In those eyes, I could read all the feelings she had kept inside. I awoke, drowned in sweat and totally drained from the emotions of the past night. I could smell the aroma of coffee wafting up from downstairs. I fought the urge to go back to sleep. I was still dressed in the clothes I had worn up to the tree. One look in the bathroom mirror said I desperately needed more sleep. The four hours I had gotten was not nearly enough. It was a luxury I just didn’t have time for. I splashed cold water on my face and brushed my teeth to get rid of the acidic taste in my mouth. It was time to face the music, so I headed downstairs.