GUILT
Words
= 2,261
Guilt
can kill. Not initially, but over time,
growing like gnarled fingers of a monster, slowly, deliberately, un-remorsefully,
tightening its grip on your neck. Only then do you realize all the things that were, and all the things that could
have been.
Finally,
eternal sleep and ultimately, peace. And
so it was with Harvey…
Making A Difference
Harvey, his wife
Sarah, my wife and I had been friends for at least 3 decades. We helped each
other around the house and around our problems – Personal, financial,
familial. When his wife, Sarah, died, we
all grieved. Harvey looked to me for
comfort. I tried as best I could. After a year, Harvey seemed to return to
normal, if perhaps a bit quieter, a bit more introspective. Maybe he felt a little odd being the third
person. I often asked him about that and
he consistently denied it.
“It might be
true with others, but not with you.” he would always say.
As the first
year following Sarah’s death drew to a close, I watched as Harvey’s
introspection increased, becoming ever more quiet, ever more distant (or
perhaps better stated – detached). At one of our Sunday evening dinners, Harvey
confessed. “You know, since my Sarah
died, it is kind of hard getting used to the house without her brightening up
the mood. I know you’ve been there for
me, but I think I want to get away for a while, be in solitude, and collect all
my thoughts.”
“Harvey, are you
sure that being alone is the thing to do right now?” My wife and I asked
skeptically. The idea disturbed us about
what Harvey could be thinking.
“I know exactly
what you’re thinking. I’ll be fine. This
will be good for me. In fact, I saw a
classified ad in the paper about a place I can house-sit for a few months. I thought about it and thought about it, then
decided. I am going to do it. Can you
watch the house for me?”
“What ad?”
Harvey showed us
an ad he had cut from the Sunday classified section.
Small house with bungalow in
Colorado mountains for rent. Very
isolated. Need someone to house-sit for
a few months. All facilities
working. Send email to CHARLENEalone@Coloradorentals.com. All emails will be answered.
Harvey
continued, “I actually typed in a response. Then I waited. I actually waited a whole day while I thought
about it. Then I said, ‘The H- with it! I am doing it.’ Bang! I hit the Enter key. And you know what? One hour later – there it was – The
response. She gave me the number to call
– I called it – the deal is done. I am
leaving next week.”
“Wow. So fast.
But what about bills and stuff?”
“Between Social
Security and my pension, I’ll be OK!
And,” Harvey said with a wink, “I even learned to pay bills by phone.”
As promised, the
next Saturday morning, bright and early, we stood outside and waved goodbye to
Harvey as we watched his car turn on the road leading to the I-80 Interstate
Four months
later, a knock on the door and there’s Harvey – A bit thinner, but nothing
else. We had a big “Welcome Back” dinner
that night. During dinner, however, we
noticed a big difference. He had an aura
of sadness. “Harvey, you seem down. Is everything OK?
“Yes. It’s just that it’s the end of a great
time.” He answered, totally
unconvincingly.
A few months of
denial was followed by a long confessional at one of our Sunday evening
dinners. It took a few glasses of wine
to pry loose his tongue, but when it did, the story flowed like a gusher.
“When I got
there, it was exactly what I had hoped for.
There was a stream with miles of dense forest-covered mountains with
great hiking trails in the back, and a narrow paved road that wound down the
mountain to a small town 12 miles downstream in front. Inside – It was straight out of the movies –
an upscale mountain cabin with all the amenities comfortable living with a
rustic décor. To the side – a bungalow,
the ‘Little House.’ After the first week, some people moved into the Little
House.”
“You didn’t
expect them?”
“No. But I
figured that they made a deal for the “Little House” just like I did for the
‘Big House. After a few
days, the people in the Little House came to introduce themselves. ‘Well, what have we here’ I said. ‘Their answer was quick, and definitely
well-rehearsed.’”
““Hi. I am Annie and I am this many years old.” She
said, holding up seven fingers.
“I
am Bonnie and I am 10 and a half years old”
“I
am Carol, and I am 12.”
The
boy, clearly the oldest responded last, “I am Dennis and I am 14. It’s easy to remember our names,” he continued. “Our names are in alphabetical order. A B C
D. Annie, Bonne, Carol, Dennis.”
Without
thinking, I said, “Using that logic, I should be
‘Zavier.’ We all got a big laugh. And, you know what – It was the first
humorous thing I had said in over a year.
Then they asked me how long I would be staying. I told them “I’ll be here until I leave.” Two ‘funnies’ in 2 minutes – A record that
would have even surprised my Sarah...” He said, his voice trailing off in
reverence.
A few days
later, the kids and their mother came to the door and asked me to watch her
kids overnight because she had to work.
I asked her how she knew I could be trusted with her kids. What if I were some kind of pervert? She mumbled something about having been
married to one once and she knew right away that I wasn’t one.
Harvey
continued to relate his experience. He
would feed the kids with the microware dinners, then plop on the sofa to watch
TV, and finally fall asleep. In the morning, they’d
scurry back to the Little House.
A routine
settled in; Stay overnight, perhaps a drive to the ice cream store in town, and
sleep on the sofa.
“We also started
talking about the old days in TV, Harvey explained. He told the kids about George Burns and
Gracie Allen, Jack Benny’s “Your money or your life” routine, Red Skelton’s
“Gertrude and Heathcliff.” And the kids introduced Harvey to Seinfeld,
“Two and a Half Men” and Reality TV. And every
night after the reminiscences were done, we all went to that magic sofa, quoted
Jimmie Durante’s Good Night, Mrs.
Calabash, wherever you are, and slept like babies.
“You want to
know something – They even started calling me Poppy-H. It so reminded me
of Sarah’s comforting words, “It’s OK, H.”
There were
several auctions in the area – People selling anything and everything in this
poor economy. Harve bought a few things, but the real fun was teaching those
kids about things of value, and how to bid on them. Dennis, the oldest, bought
a BB gun, and the girls got a set of 3 Alice
in Wonderland dishes.
“In a sense,
those kids became the kids that Sarah and I never had. Perhaps if she hadn’t had the miscarriages,
our kids would have grown up like these kids but…” His voice trailed off. “But ahhh, such
is life.” He said as his mood descended
into sadness, signaled by the slump of his shoulders.
“What’s the
problem? It sounds like you had a better time than you expected.”
“I did. The
problem is that when it came time for me to leave the kids begged me to stay,
and I told them I couldn’t stay. I told
them I had to leave.”
“That’s true.”
“Not
really. I could have stayed. If I would have decided to stay, it would
have been the best decision I could have made, ranking up there with my
decision to ask Sarah to marry me. I
could have called and told you I am staying longer. I could have done a lot of things. What I did
was the thing I didn’t have to do –
Leave. And now it seems there’s another
hole has opened up in my life – Sarah’s death, and now the void of leaving the
kids. For the last couple of months I’ve
been thinking more and more about them.
And here’s the funny thing, I haven’t been able to sleep in my bed. What little sleep I do get is on the sofa.”
“Harvey, we’ve
been friends for how long? Over three
decades. Let me tell you! This is not
the end of the world. Why don’t you just
get on the phone and call them?”
“I can’t do
that! What will I say? Even more frightening, what will they say? Will they be angry with me for having
left? Will they remember ‘Poppy-H?’ What
if the answer’s no? And the saddest thing of all would be what if
they did find someone else to call ‘Poppy-H’?
There’s just too many ‘what ifs’ here!”
After another
few months, Harvey told me he had decided to take my idea and call. He waited for another few days to build his
courage, then he called. He was on a
high with anticipation. But, his
emotional high was dashed like a fragile china figurine thrown against the
wall, when the mechanical voice on the phone said, “We’re sorry. The number you
have called is no longer in service.
Please check the number and try again.” Harvey thought maybe he misdialed. Over and over he dialed the number, each time
ever more carefully, and each time, that 3-beep phone sound followed by the
mechanical “we’re sorry…” message was
heard. He tried emailing. That too,
failed. The emails were undeliverable.
Worlds come
together and for brief moment, a window of opportunity is opened. Then the worlds spin off, ne’er to meet
again. The window closes. No way to get back to those precious kids; No
one sleeping on the sofa with him.
I think this was
the turning point for Harvey. After
that, he became more down, more disconnected. It seemed there was no
possibility for happiness. My wife and I did all we could do to cheer him up,
but none of our tried and true efforts worked.
We watched him slowly descend into a ‘quicksand of depression.’
He started
mumbling to himself about missing Sarah’s “It’s OK, H.” The Alphabet kids,
sofas, and “Good night, Mrs. Calabash, wherever you are.”
I guess I knew
something was seriously amiss when he came over to the one night and handed us
an envelope. “I have a huge favor to
ask. In here are the instructions on
what to do with my possessions in case I die. Would you be my executor? I’ll pay you.”
“What are you
planning, Harvey?” I asked, sternly and very forcefully.
“Nothing. We’re all going to die someday, and I drew
this will up. I know what you’re thinking, and no, I’m not thinking about taking my own life.” Neither my wife nor I believed him. I just wish
if there was something we could have said or done, “But ahhh, such is life.”
Two Years Later
Sunday
afternoon, my wife and I are watching TV, when there’s a knock at the
door. Four young adults are there. “Yes?
May I help you?”
“We hope
so. We’re looking for a Harvey, we
called him ‘Poppy-H?’ Do you have any idea where we can find him?”
“Oh! Sweet
Jesus! It’s really you – The Alphabet
kids from a few years ago!” I blurted
out.
“Yes. Do you
know him?”
“Come in. Honey,” I shouted to my wife, “Look who’s
here. The Alphabet kids Harvey always
talked about.”
“He talked about
us?”
“All the
time. Actually, there wasn’t a time he
didn’t talk about you!”
“Where can we
find him? Do you know where he is?”
“Sit down,
kids. I have same sad news for you, and
a little something that Harvey hoped would help. He tried to contact you, but failed. I am sorry to tell you that he died about
almost two years ago. We all miss him.”
Like I said
initially about guilt, I would not burden these kids with guilt about the
reasons for Harvey’s suicide. The fact
that he was guilt-ridden when he came back from his time with them would remain
my secret.
Two of the girls broke into tears, and Dennis
fought to hold back his tears.
“But I have
something for you. Can you come back
tomorrow afternoon?” This is vitally
important to me, but even more so for Harvey.”
“Yes! We’ll be
back.”
Monday afternoon
came, as did the knock on the door. The
kids came in, we chatted for a while, then I handed them an envelope. Dennis took the envelope, carefully opened it
and removed the contents. His eyes fixed
into a stare as he slumped into a chair.
He showed the contents to Annie, Bonnie and Carol. They teared up. It was cashier’s check for $450,250.
“What
this?” Dennis asked when he was finally
able to speak.
“Harvey told me
that we should sell his house and possessions and put all the money in a
trust. If the Alphabet kids ever show
up, give it all to them.”
Whatever pain
Harvey had felt had at least partially transferred to me. As I handed them the check, I experienced a
feeling of overwhelming relief and a sense that Harvey was finally at rest.
