Hardships with Lonely Sorrows

Chapter 1

“Ella, honey, can you come here please?” My mother was always hollering for me. Ella this and Ella that; almost to the point of exhaustion. But, being the obedient daughter that I am, I made my way down the back stairs.

         Our house was different from a lot of the others around town. My father, who was an architect, loved to be different from everybody else. My family and I live in a five bedroom old-Victorian style house, which was made to look restored from the olden days. There are two sets of stairs ascending to the upper-level of the house, one staircase leads from the kitchen.

         “Yes, mother, what could it possibly be now?” I tried to make it sound as if I was joking to mask my irritation, but my veil didn’t lower fast enough.

         “Why do you take such tones with me, Ella? Honestly, can’t a mother call for her daughter once without being trampled on?” She sounded hurt, but I knew she’d be over it in a few minutes.

         “You’re right,” I agreed, this time hiding my irritation well, “I’m sorry. What was it you needed?”

         “Well, your birthday is coming up and I thought you should know that we have something very special planned.” I can remember squealing with delight and immediately throwing my arms around her.

         “Yay, where are we going?! Jamaica? Hawaii? Puerto Rico? Please, tell me it is somewhere with a lot of sunshine!”

         “Wow, slow down.” She exasperated a laugh just as my father walked into the kitchen.

         “Oh, Sarah, I was hoping you hadn’t told her about the Bahamas yet, turns out we won’t be able to go. Sorry, honey.” My heart sank a little until I saw the grin he possessed on his face.

         “Oh, Michael, stop it!” My mother playfully hit him on the chest and moved over to the island in the middle of the kitchen to start washing vegetables.

         “Oh, daddy, thank you, thank you, thank you!” I hugged him tight while I exclaimed my gratitude. It was about time eighteen years of life paid off.

         I ran upstairs to call my best friend, Denise, as my father called after me, “We leave on Saturday, and after you talk to Denise, have her dad call me.”

         Denise and I have been best friends since the third grade, when her family moved to Fort Wayne. Denise’s father had been offered a job at the same architecture firm as mine, and he invited us over for a cook-out one night shortly after. Denise and I have been inseparable ever since.

*

         Saturday morning couldn’t get here fast enough. I was loading my last bag into the cargo space of our Lexus RX 350, when a car I didn’t recognize pulled into the driveway.

         “Mom,” I hollered cautiously, the door opened and as soon as the person stepped out of the vehicle my heart dropped into my stomach. I heard the screen door close behind me and my mother’s cry could have been heard a mile away. Two uniformed men from the U.S Military stepped forward and removed their caps.

         “Are you Mrs. Ware?” The uniformed man said this phrase as though it was rehearsed and he said it everyday. My mother barely managed a nod before the man lowered his head.  She fell into a fit of cries and started yelling for my father.

         “Mom, what is going on? Is Jason okay? What happened?” I began to become paranoid as my father ran out the front door. He had a strange look on his face, unlike anything I had ever seen before in my life.

         “Mr. Ware, we are so very sorry to have to tell you this. Jason was involved in a road-side bombing just outside Afghanistan,” He seemed to pause, as if he was letting us soak what he had just told us in, “he didn’t make it.”

         The words rang through my ears over and over again. He didn’t make it. He didn’t make it. Jason, my twenty-two year old brother, left for Iraq almost two years ago. We e-mailed back and forth almost every day. Something I didn’t realize, because I was so wrapped up in getting ready for my birthday trip, was Jason hadn’t replied to my last message. It had never occurred to me that something might have happened to him.

         My mother’s cries echoed around me as I fell to the ground stunned. I heard a car pull up to the driveway, and familiar arms wrap themselves around me. Denise. The trip had completely left my mind until just now. Denise was supposed to have joined us on our get-a-way to the Bahamas.











Chapter 2

         The next few days were hard. At first, my mother wouldn’t talk to anyone. She stayed in her room and occasionally you could hear her crying through the closed door. But, after the third day of finding out about Jason’s death, she slowly started to come around. She had left all the funeral arrangements to my father because she knew she wouldn’t be able to handle it. The calling hours were tomorrow and I was still having trouble deciphering the reality of it all.

         Denise had stayed with me every night holding me as I cried in my sleep. I knew that this had to be hard on her as well. She had lost her mom a few years before and I could tell it was digging up the past rather harshly. The tables have turned and now she was my shoulder to cry on as I had been for her some odd years ago.

Denise’s mother died in a car accident. She was driving home from work late one evening and a drunk driver hit her head on. The police had said she died instantly, no suffering. But, this was hard for Denise to believe. She blamed herself for her mother’s accident. A couple hours before the accident, Denise had argued with her mom about missing her dance recital for another one of her clients. That was Sherry’s, Denise’s mother, weakness.

Sherry was a lawyer for the local advocate agency; she took on cases knowing full well she wouldn’t get paid. Yet, she continued to accept the challenge and fight each case to the best of her ability. This last case getting her killed.

Police later revealed to Denise’s father, Allan, that the drunken driver was the father of Sherry’s client. Apparently, the father couldn’t handle his boy going away to jail and decided to drink away the hurt.

*

Needless to say, our trip to the Bahamas was, as my father liked to say, postponed. However, I knew better. How could we possibly go on a trip ever again knowing Jason wasn’t in good health?

I remember the day he told my parents he was enlisting in the Army like it was yesterday. My mother was so angry with him for not talking to them first about enlisting.

“Mom,” Jason had started, “I knew you wouldn’t understand. This is something I really want to do. You have no idea how much I can help people, our country nonetheless, by enlisting in the army. You and dad would have just tried to talk me out of it.” He drew in a breath and stole a glance toward me.

I can remember shrugging my shoulders and giving him a hopeful look. Jason and I had always been close for brother and sister. We did everything together when we were younger. Jason looked out for me and I made sure I gave him something to always be looking out for.  My mom would always tease Jason, “Jason, before you head out, you better check to see if your shadow is with you.” He knew exactly who she was talking about and would just laugh.

Things changed when Denise and her family moved to town. I finally had my own friends and I think Jason felt as if there was a burden lifted off his shoulders. Though, he would never admit I was a burden on him all those years.

Jason and I still made a point to do something together one night during the week when all this started changing. When we got older and Jason got his driver’s license, we would go out for pizza or a movie, just the two of us. I lived for those nights. I could talk to Jason about things I couldn’t talk to anybody else about.

I continue to think about how my mother is handling all of this. Losing a child is a painful, painful thing. But, I can’t help being selfish in this situation as well. I don’t know how I am ever going to survive this. Jason was my best friend just as Denise was. How many siblings can say that about each other?

As these thoughts filled my head and swarmed around like annoying flies, fresh tears streamed down my face. Knowing this just made it worse and I began to sob. For the first time since everything happened, my mother ran to my room and held me. She let me cry on her until I had nothing left in me, and she cried with me. She continued to hold me when it was as if all my tears were dried up. I felt like a child again, when I just scraped my knee and it was the worst feeling in the world. This has proved to be much worse.

“Mommy,” I stammered, how long has it been since I called her Mommy? “Why did this happen? Why did Jason have to die, what are we ever going to do without him?” I began to sob again and I felt her embrace tighten.

“I don’t know, sweetie,” She tried to stay strong, just to finish the sentence. But that’s all she could say before she too began to sob. I don’t remember how long we stayed like that and cried with each other, but it felt like an eternity. And, for some odd reason, it brought us closer together.

Jason talked about helping people overseas, but how would he feel if he knew his death actually brought us closer together as a family? The thought made me sick to my stomach and hopeful at the same time. Hopeful that he knows this and that he is happy.