Andrew's Legacy

Andrew's Legacy

Emma sat on the porch of her mother's house in early April.  Hugging her knees, she looked at the most amazing sunset and all she could think of was how dare spring come today, how can things go on like they always do.  Doesn't God know I'm grieving.  She wiped the tears from her cheeks in time for her aunt to walk out. 

Really, it was her aunt and uncle's loss more than Emma's but it didn't stop the hollow feeling in her chest, the burning eyes, the anger that life could go on without skipping a beat.  She went to work after Andrew died in March and for weeks couldn't figure out why nothing seemed to matter like it did before; why people at work kept pushing and pushing for her to do better or get it together, snap out of it.  They said it was not as if it were her parent or child.  But Andrew's death just four months after her grandfather's unexpected death was just too much all at once. 

For a month, she kept going through the motions.  But lately, something just kept nagging at her.  A flower blooming, a warm breeze blowing her hair in her face, a storm ending that brought to the trees and grasses an almost irridescent and unreal shade of green. It was like spring was trying to tease her out of a bad mood and, frankly, it was getting pretty irritating. 

April was here now, there was no holding it back.  The wind blew a rain of white petals from the hydrangeas her step-father planted and the pool cover was off of their pool.  Spring was trying to catch summer and she wasn't even ready for spring.  These thoughts were bouncing around in her mind as she sat on the metal gliding chair beside her aunt, just slowly rocking back and forth as Emma's aunt spoke.

"Did you know he tutored a five year old at school?  I never knew that.  The kid's mother called me the other day to tell me how much he meant to her son." 

"He was a good kid, you know.  Pretty mixed up sometimes but he was a good kid."  Emma reassured her aunt, though her words felt as hollow as her insides. 
In her mind, she was shouting, What he did was so senseless and rediculous but how can you be mad at a dead teenage.  Where do you put that anger?.  But she knew where they all put the anger.  It went to those who blame themselves, to their family, and to the world for continuing when you want it to stop for a minute and let you off the ride till you get your bearings. 

When she was alone again, Emma found some paper and a pen and went back out to the porch.  It was almost dark but there was a full moon shedding enough light to see the paper.  She did the only thing that ever worked to get her past the doldrums and back to her old self again.  She wrote.  She wrote what she wanted to say to spring, to april, to God, to Andrew, to whoever would listen.  Her tears, mixed with pollen, foromed little circles on the glass patio table. 

Emma stopped midway through her poem, having formed into words and into poetry what had burned her up inside for four long weeks or more.  She walked down the stairs to the driveway, then down to the street and on further to the cul-de-sac. She thought of her cousin tutoring a little kid, teasing his big brother, the prom he was missing this week, and the future he almost had. Two months shy of graduating from high school.  Emma let her anger flow through her one last time. 

When she reached the dead end, she let go of the anger and resentment she had been hoarding for the past month.  It was time.  Everything has a season.  It was time for winter to go to sleep and for her to welcome spring.  It was time to start healing.

On her way back to the house, She forced herself to look at rose bushes in front yards, feel the wind's gentle teasing on her hair, and soak in the warm humid air that came early in Alabama.  She knew that, someday, Andrews death would make sense to her, have a purpose.  She knew it wouldn't be anytime soon but it would happen.

Walking into her mother's home, Emma went straight back to the porch and finished her poem.  It was a journey only she could take. What she wrote was a testament to a life that would not be forgotten and to a grief that hopefully would subside in time.  She folded the paper and took it upstairs to her old bedroom and placed it gently in the fold of the book she was reading.

After dinner, we all joined in the living room so the men could watch television.  Emma's grandmother started chattering to no one in particular about a man in her church who was buried the other day and what a shame it was that the cemetery was so unkept.  Then she went on about a shoe sale at Parisian's.  An hour ago, this babbling would have infuriated her.  But now, she just smiled as she looked at her grandmother playing the part of April in this little drama; babbling them all out of their grief.  This time, however, Emma welcomed the chatter with open arms. 

Twelve years later, while cleaning a bookshelf, a folded piece of paper fell out of a book.  Emma recognized it at once and sat on the front porch stairs of her own house she shared with her husband and children.  As she read words of her poem, she realized just how far she had come since that day in April after Andrew died. 

Loved ones have come and gone but that one April was the turning point, the day that death no longer tore her apart.  She had learned to let spring in, no matter what season it was.  Death itself was merely a season, not to be mourned but to be savored then let go while welcoming the next; the next season, the next birth, the next day. 

Emma copied the poem carefully by hand, feeling the emotions once again.  She added her copy to the other poems she had written, poems that will someday be given to each of her sons when they move out on their own.  They are poems of wisdom, mistakes, lessons learned, amazing discoveries, grief and hope.  And with any luck, her sons will learn a valuable lesson.  There are other ways to handle their grief, less permanent ways.

With care and deliberation, Emma took a final look at her poem and replaced it in her book.  Maybe someone else will find it someday and it will come at just the right time.  With a little work, Andrew's life and the lessons learned through his death will continue to help others. This will be Andrew's Legacy.

April, When I Find You

How dare you disturb my winter
A grief I didn't care to let go
When you bounced into my life
With daisies wrapped in a bow

I wasn't ready for your sunshine
My clouds still hung about
You chattered on not noticing
My soul's silent shout

Someone stop this carousel
I pled, get me off this ride
I wasn't ready for spring to come
I still wasn't able to cry

But you loosened my hair with your wind
You soaked me with your rain
Your heat forced me outside my cell
Then you drenched me yet again.

Stop your insistant badgering
Your timing is all wrong
I need a few more days of winter
To write my mourning song

Then you can tug me by the sleeve
Like a dog begging to be let out
And I promise I will join you
And together we'll laugh and shout

Just give me a few more days
With my silence and my gloom
And I'll promise to say a final goodbye
To my dreariness and doom.

For I do have faith you'll get me through
The pain that I have known
When I'm ready, I will search for you
Amid petals you have strewn

And when I find you, wrap me tight
With your warm and humid air
Let your wind blow me back on course
For I've left some loved ones there. 

In my solitude and sadness
I grumbled and complained
I threw their caring words about
And drenched them with my pain.

But they deserve my sunshine
Not my stormy wind and rain
Please help me make a trail of love,
To bring them hope again.

By Emma      April 1995


SWPoet April 2008


Although this is a fictional story with fictional names, what happened and the feelings felt afterward are based on an actual event.

1498 words (above this line only- does not include info below)

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FOR INFORMATION ABOUT SUICIDE AND DEPRESSION,
PLEASE CHECK OUT THIS LINK

http://www.metanoia.org/suicide

WHAT YOU CAN DO TO HELP YOUR OWN CHILDREN OR GRANDCHILDREN
WHEN THEY ARE YOUNG, TO GIVE THEM OTHER OPTIONS.

ID: 1420653   (Rated: 13+) Title: Resources and links  Description: Links to resources for various social issues mentioned in the folder By: SWPoet

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