Читать книгу Petals - Marti Eicholz - Страница 7

Stricken

In the wee hours of the morning before Thanksgiving suddenly there was a rumble with violent vibrations. The shaking and noise reverberated over the sleeping village as efficiently as thunderclaps. Windows shattered. Art fell off the walls. Cupboard doors flew open and dishes tumbled out crashing. This explosion threw the family house off its foundation and took a bite from the side and the roof.

By the time Kenneth figured out that his family was safe, he looked outside. The old house, the place his parents lived exploded with a fist of orange punching its way out, sending a burst of flames into the air and debris flying everywhere. A pillar of fiery smoke and dust boiled up.

In shock amid a mass of terrible sensations, he could not move. He could not breathe. All he could hear was the blow of the enormous explosion, the noise of the glass, the howling cries and shouts of Thelma and the children, and the alarms shrilling with rushing fire engines and the police. It was a whirlpool of horror.

He stood there shaking and screaming in pain unable to believe what his senses were telling him was true. The old family farmhouse gone. Then it hit him his mom and dad were in that house. Kenneth collapsed. Paramedics rushed in.

Thelma and the kids huddled smelling the burning acrid, chemical infused air and choking---no one could speak. They watched the dirty ash rain down and the black smoke billow toward the sky. Deafening alarms engulfed the area. They watched this inferno continue to burn.

Devastation set in. The news passed through this quiet countryside like a hurricane. The Red Cross, a humanitarian organization that provides emergency help and relief coordinated with the local church to give aid. The family needed a secure place to live until the repairs and inspections on their home declared it a safe living space.

Authorities worked at trying to figure out what caused the explosion. Fire investigators determined the explosion that killed Edie and Eddie caused by a natural gas leak and aging defective steel pipes with insufficient and improper maintenance. The blast of the explosion plus the fire that followed put their lives at risk.

Everyone needed mental health counseling. Some were angry, upset, wanting to lash out with aggressive and inappropriate behavior and others wanted to withdraw and push everyone and everything away. Kenneth lost his parents. Thelma felt she lost the only family she knew. The children lost their grandparents. How could life go on without them? Everyone struggled with feelings of abandonment. Confusion, mistrust, and fear enveloped them. As they suffered through this trauma, they needed time to express their frightening emotions. They needed time to feel secure enough to vent their true feelings. They needed time to heal.

One day Anthony wrote, “Some days, I don’t feel the damage as much as other days.” Mary felt like a damaged soul. She read his words with her eyes red and full of tears.

Timothy words echoed, “I feel pain in my heart. My heart is aching.”

Kenneth with his head hanging low, “Everything my family worked and struggled for lay in ruins.” At this point he could not see the good, the many blessings that still surrounded him. The desolation he felt was all-consuming.

His mind became an icy wasteland, and the wind howled in his soul. Had an emotional bankruptcy occurred?

Thelma immediately returned to her art. Creating art helps relieve her stress. She felt her art washed from her soul. One day she felt nothing but the void that enveloped her mind in swirling blackness. Her art revealed blackness as the emptiness she felt of the lost. Another day colors glowed liked she never thought they could but were reminders of the flames, the heat, and the fire crews.

The church and local community gathered for a memorial service. They encircled the plot of land and a mound of ashes. It was a time of meditative silence with soft strands of violins in the background. Rose petals covered the mound of ashes.

This memorial symbolized new life. Plants and flowers will recover the earth that was so burnt. We lived here. We loved here. We recall it all. Now we move on.

This was another step toward healing.

At the close of meditative memorial and attendees were mingling with words of condolences. A little white-haired lady, remembering Edie, her friend asked Kenneth, “Will you re-build?”

He took her by the hand, “The old farmhouse was the only place I ever truly felt at home, the only house I ever loved. The family will move on now that the flames died too.” Down deep he thought words are easy to say.

The mental health professionals zoned in on choosing activities that triggered the relaxation response, such as deep breathing, yoga, and meditation. They felt one of the best ways to grow through their loss was to examine courageously all facets of their inner pain and learn new coping mechanisms as they create a new life.

The counselor asked the family to identify their loss. 'Whatever it is, write it fearlessly, even if it is sad and even if it hurts.

'I am grieving the loss of….

'I am longing for….

'I am mourning the death of….

They looked at their loss in the face. They read about it and talked about it.

The counselor said, “It is unbearably sad, left behind and disappointed. This is one unfortunate situation. Your entire world has not fallen apart, as it might seem. Loss is a reminder that life is a precious gift. You can survive.”

The family found that a host of emotions flooded their hearts. Not wanting to deny them, the counselor gave them a list of feelings. “Are you feeling angry? Depressed? Helpless? Frustrated? Sad? Violent? Or any other feelings you would like to add? Get your feelings down on paper, so you can look at them. What do you think your feelings are trying to tell you? Towards whom do you feel anger?”

As time passed, the family began to view their heart healing as an adventure. Working together through their loss and emotional issues, they could see that life is full of experiences preparing each of them for a rebirth.

The counselor emphasized that, “Every time you lose something, you're presented with an opportunity to gain something new.”

Listening intently Timothy spoke, “So, what you’re really saying is each day my life will have some irritant of loss.”

Anthony chimed in, “What she is saying, ‘Take the irritant of loss within your life each day and turn it into a jewel’.” Mary buried her head in her lap and groaned.

The family wrote stories and poems of favorite things, memorable events, memories and feelings of sadness, anger, hurt, and joy.

They created pictures of happy times and not so happy times. Their art revealed who they were, who they are and what lies ahead.

The family created a beautiful scrapbook, unveiling their pain and sorrow in words and pictures. It took time. The finale was the cover. Thelma drew two rosebuds tied together. The children drew petals unfolding from the buds, evoking feelings of happiness and deep emotion. Kenneth titled the book, “Buds for Life.”

The scrapbook is full of love. It rests on the living room coffee table.

Healing is a slow and ongoing process.

As the years wore on Kenneth did nothing but work; worked at his job, worked at fixing up the house, worked in the orchard, worked expanding the rose garden, and worked the vegetable garden. He rescued two stray cats and three dogs. Factory workers coming to and from work ran over the dogs. The dogs added to the list of things to grieve.

After the death of each dog, Mary looked for the jewel saying, “Anthony where is the jewel?”

Occasionally Kenneth would smile or laugh and when he did the world brightened for those precious moments----then he would sink back down into his whirl of fretting. Discovering his boys had no interest in sports, especially basketball added to his list of things to be sad about.

Thelma concentrated on her art and daily responsibilities at the furniture factory.

Timothy, the oldest was the champion, the go-getter, the model child that Thelma had so carefully crafted. He managed the household responsibilities and overseeing chores, laundry, clean rooms, homework, piano practice and checking on Mary’s sewing projects.

Mary soon learned that Timothy was the smart one, the one who outshined everyone. In any room he was the brightest light, the one everyone turned to admire. He was the first born, and though they would deny it, his parents favorite.

Anthony was a silent assistant of Timothy. He quietly followed orders. He followed his dad around learning what tools to use for what, how to fix a leak, make a wall frame, insert a new window or work in the gardens.

Mary got less support, less consideration but still compared to the yardstick of her brothers. She felt third best, always found lacking in some vital ingredient for success. She and Edie’s sewing machine were friends. Her creations gave her much satisfaction.

All three children did well in school. None of them had a social life. None of them took part in after-school activities. They felt a responsibility to take care of each other and their home.

Timothy spent the year after graduating from high school working a three-hour shift seven days a week doing janitorial work at the factory. He spent hours in the orchard, took immaculate care of the rose garden and the surrounding landscape, and spruced up the house inside and out. He was busy following proper maintenance and inspection schedules. Everything shined with perfection. This made his mother happy, and he enjoyed seeing her smile. Her smiles reflected in her art. The sunnier pieces seemed to sell more often.

He and his dad no longer bicycled. They no longer took walks through the woods, watching how the light plays on the trees and the birds swoop. He felt the exercise would boost his spirits. He needed those things to feel happy.

Kenneth when he was not working his shift at the factory, he sat on the mound left from the old farmhouse. After the explosion, this mound was the most egregious eyesore on the property but over the months and years it turned into something appealing.

With blood, sweat, and tears, Kenneth and his sons transformed this sunny site to a spectacular rose garden, using a mix of cuttings and new plants. Craving the lush, fully petal fragrance of a classic rose they planted old-fashioned roses blended with other perennials and shrubs.

No one knew that Kenneth sat thinking I cannot recall my child-self, the kid who loved sunshine and rain all the same. The morning my parents and my home vanished with one loud boom I saw only darkness around the light and soon there were no more colors in my world. The blue that once was healing now has become void and cold. The thing is I just do not care. I sit here cold, comfortable, and numb.

The day Anthony graduated from high school. Timothy thought it is finally here, the steppingstone to the real world. He had prepared for this moment. It was time for him and his brother to step out into the world.

The boys watched movies, listened to the shrill news media, and politicians keeping the romantic emotion alive. Each played a role in encouraging them to serve their country. These guys were the ones who would lay down life and limb to do what was right. God gave them their arms for love, for helping, for kindness and peace. Now it was time to use their arms for the good.

They took the piece of paper handed to them, read it, and signed on the dotted line. Both boys were now in the Army, grabbing their ticket to freedom and ready to prove they could accomplish something.

Everyone in the Army obeyed orders. In the Army you moved as one. Both boys did that their whole life, working together as a team for the good of the family. The Army and their family both worked as if there were just one brain. Now the young Turner men filled the ranks with other warm uniformed bodies in heavy boots. They were fast learners and obeyed their superiors without question. After boot camp they would probably separate, but until then they connected.

Writing letters home was the most difficult for both. Putting pen to paper opened their locked down emotions. At the time they thwarted any suffering that interfered with their work or survival. Anthony always cried when he wrote. He was a poor speller, so he did not use big words. His letters were brief notes, always showing tear stains.

Kenneth walked to the end of the garden path and stood looking at the mailbox. It brought a smile to his face. It looked like a large birdhouse with a hole in the front large enough for the mail and mounted on a pole. The boys painted many bright colors in such a way you could imagine it being decorated by nursery school kids. Well, it was. The mailbox was a project that Miki, Kenneth, and their dad worked on together. Kenneth picked up the mail and smiled. He thought I remember being happy. Now the years of grief condensed right above my head and turned into a large cloud blocking all the sun.

He sat on the porch swing, read the notes from the boys, and watched the petals drop from the full blooming roses. He could not help but think I have let only creeping sorrow in where there should be the joy.