For Tuyet, Katrina, KaSandra, and Luc
"GABRIEL'S PROMISE"
Chapter Six
Long Beach, California, November 24, 2004
The
rain didn’t bother me. In fact it wasn't even a distraction. Nothing bothered
me anymore. There must be words to describe this, but I'm not that smart. The
only word that comes to my mind is empty, like I don't exist anymore, does that
make sense? I sat cross-legged on the soggy grass in front of the granite stone
that marked the grave of my only child, my son Gabriel. It's hard to believe it's
been a year since his death. I remember that day like it was yesterday, I
suspect I always will, but isn't that the way? I sat stiff and uncomfortable in
an odd shaped chair beside a large window, alternating glances between the rain
that fell against the windowpane and Michelle who had curled up beside Gabby on
his deathbed, waiting for him to draw his final breath.
She
sang to him softly, pretending he could hear her, and held him close to her
like she did whenever he was frightened. She was connected to him body and soul
like only a mother can be. Michelle didn’t need any of the fancy equipment to
tell her that her baby was dying; she could feel his life ebbing away with each
small breath he took. When I heard her begin to sob quietly, I knew that
Gabriel had lost his battle with the cancer that had invaded his little body.
Those twelve months went by so fast, it wasn't fair, but life isn't fair, and
for the first time in my life I doubted my God and lost my faith. It's been a
year between then and now and I am still lost. It had been a dark and stormy day, not unlike
this one, and I remember every stinking minute of it.
The
wind gusted suddenly as I stared intently at the cold, hard headstone. Silently
I read to the short inscription for the hundredth time today:
“Gabriel Luc Bouchard…a very good boy.”
I would have cried if I were able, but there
weren’t any tears left to shed, just an icy, fallow emptiness that emanated
from deep inside of me. I just stared blankly at the stone marker without
blinking. The steady rainfall stung my face like tiny needles as it swept
sideways in sheets with the howling wind. Municipal
Cemetery is the oldest and actually
the first cemetery in the city of Long
Beach
Sandy Lucci and I used to
drive by this place every day on the way to work five days a week, sometimes
six, and I had always found myself oddly attracted to it? The rolling hills
littered with stone markers and shady trees just seemed so peaceful, almost
inviting in a sick sense. We'd catch sight of a visitor or two on occasion
paying their respects. It was an interesting contrast between life and death,
one that I didn't really understand until now.
While the old cemetery
had character all its own, a certain morbid 'je ne sais quoi' (I don't know what) if you will. I blinked as a
stream of rainwater mixed with perspiration stung my eye. My Yankees baseball
cap was no match for the elements and it wilted in the torrential downpour.
Ignoring the soaking, and my shivering body, I continued to watch the stone,
replaying the events of the last twelve months in my mind. The smooth granite
surface was my movie screen of sorts, and my imagination projected onto it the
images that had dominion over me.
I had to be being strong
for everyone from the beginning. At least that's what I told myself, it was how
I'd been raised. Honestly we took turns being strong for one another, my wife,
my child, my father, our family, and our friends who had become family on
Gabriel's journey. We prayed together, hoped together, and cried together right
up to the very end. Then, reluctantly in my case, we accepted God’s will again, just like I'd been raised to do. Michelle
and I laid our son to rest without tears, there were none left to shed by then.
Afterward I recalled the grief counseling sessions at St. Joseph’s, going first
with Michelle, and then again with Papa, as we attempted to expedite the ‘healing process’ as Fr. Garcia called
it. I did these things with love, like a good husband, a devoted father, and a
dutiful son should. But my heart wasn't in it, and I felt guilty, as though I'd
somehow let everyone down.
My conscience, my inner
voice urged me to let go, to move on and be grateful Gabriel suffering was
over, but what about mine? Stubborn to a fault I let pain and anger consume me,
and anger was turning to rage. I wanted someone or something to blame. I needed
to transfer all of this anguish; I needed to lash out, to punish with the fury
consuming my soul. It wasn’t right to feel this way, I knew that. It certainly
wasn’t a Christian act; I knew that as well. But I'd convinced myself that this
bad attitude, this selfish need for vengeance was not only justified but
perfectly normal, even expected under the circumstances. I was just being human,
right?
As I struggled with my
thoughts, the enemy waited in the dark recesses of my hardening heart. As my
grief deepened my faith waned, and the enemy’s poisonous whispers began to take
root. As I lost my mind my heart turned to stone, the transformation was
complete. Finally I was ready for the devil's harvest, for a new resolve,
whatever form it might take, so long as it filled the empty hole in my heart.
Gabriel will not have suffered in vain; there had to be a purpose for his
death, it was up to me to figure that out. I tried debating that with God, but
he wasn't listening.
Standing in the center of
Gabby’s grave now I leaned forward with both of my hands and grasped his
headstone tightly, my knuckles turning white as I squeezed the granite with all
of my might. Tears came at last, mixing with the rain and sweat streaming down
my face. I had backed myself into an emotional corner, but refused to cower
there and came out fighting instead. It had finally come to this, right here
right now in this place of peace and eternal rest. This was where I'd part
company with God for now. From this moment on, I needed to do things my own
way. My faith would be in my own ingenuity, in my own sense of justice. The
how, the what, and the where I had yet to figure out. The only thing I knew for
certain was why, I definitely knew why. I also knew I’d be on my own. I
couldn't ask God to lead me on the crooked path ahead of me. This path would
take me beyond redemption.
I knew that the thoughts
running through my mind, emanating from my cold hard heart were better suited
to demons than angels. I kept my conscience in check by convincing myself that
my need for justice was righteous, even divine in origin. And hoped that God
would forgive me for whatever actions I took. It was the ‘ends justifying the means’ argument and I adopted it quickly before
the angel on my shoulder could soften my heart and dull the hard edge a years
worth of self-pity had honed. I knew instinctively that these thoughts were the
work of the enemy. They shouted at me when I was weakest, in my most vulnerable
moments. In spite of my awareness I willingly abandoned my faith. I was ready
to listen to anyone who told me what I wanted to hear, the enemy knew it, and
spoke to me in a soothing tone.
“See what your God has done?”
“Your prayers fell upon deaf ears brother.”
“See what he’s done to you and yours,” lied the
silent whisper.
“What sort of father brings pain like this to his child?”
“No child should suffer as yours did.”
“No mother should cradle her child as he slips away in silence.”
I
squeezed my eyes shut, trying to will away the voice. I pushed away from the
headstone, standing up to my full height and raised my face to Heaven. I held
my clenched fists rigidly against my sides hoping the cold rain might silence
the voices in my head, it didn't. My imagination conjured up the foul breath of
the enemy as he spoke to me over my shoulder.
“SHUT UP!” I hissed bitterly at the wind. Still
the voice whispered to me.
“Who brought you to this lonely place?” asked the enemy, his words dripping sweetly onto my
ears like honey from a jar.
“Why were your prayers ignored?”
“Why were you forsaken? Why wasn't he there for Gabriel, or for you?” the voice pressed
"I am here Patrick. Tell me what you want. Tell me how I can help?"
I
turned and quickly walked away from the grave site, moving toward the asphalt
road that twisted lazily through the cemetery. I wanted to escape this torment,
but the enemy followed, and tightened his grip around my heart, snuffing out my
weakened spirit.
“A true father would not have denied you?” whispered the sickeningly sweet
voice. My pace quickened in panic, and I veered sharply to my left, jogging now
across the graves of strangers.
“Where is your faith now Patrick?”
“I watched it all you know. I watched you do everything you could to raise
whatever funds that the money changers demanded. You sacrificed everything,
your home, your possessions, and your life. You pawned them all for a hope
denied!”
I
stopped running and stood motionless in the rain, the enemy’s words mirroring
my own thoughts and striking close to home. I stared at the rod iron fence
blocking the exit to Willow Street
“The
money changers kept raising the bar higher as they doled out treatment in small
doses while Gabriel’s time ran out. Bastards!”
As
I reached the road in front of Gabriel's grave I walked past a car that wasn't
parked there only moments ago. I didn’t even give it a second glance as I
passed in front of it, the wiper blades swishing back and forth rhythmically.
Had I looked inside I'd have seen Sandy and Laura staring at me like I was a
crazy man.
“Those bureaucrats never cared how much money you raised, they knew it
would never be enough,” the voice persisted, pressing firmly on my last raw nerve.
“Your God abandoned you and your son, don’t you see that?” the voice asked, setting the hook
deep.
“You didn’t run out of options Patrick, your options ran out on you!”
And
there it was; a reason to abandon my faith. In a flash of false clarity the
tension was lifted, my erratic breathing suddenly normal, I was calm and
relaxed, a sense of peace embracing me. The debate was all but over now, all
the enemy had left to do was reel in his prey.
“In the final analysis, Gabriel was just a bad investment. The child was
too sick, too young, and your piggy bank was too small.”
“Nothing personal, just business,” the voice whispered. The deed was done, another soul lost, mine.
“MOTHER FUCKER!” I shouted at the top of my lungs,
slamming my palms as hard as I could against the top of Gaby’s granite marker.
“I can’t believe I let them push
us around like that!” I yelled, yanking the navy blue Yankee’s cap off of my
head and slapping it repeatedly against my wet jeans.
“What a sucker Patrick, what a fucking chump!”
“They killed him man! And you stood
by and watched them do it. Christ
almighty you even paid for it dumb ass!” I ranted, scolding myself
relentlessly.
“Where were you?” I asked the dark
gray sky.
“WHERE WERE YOU?” I shouted; my
voice raspy and harsh now.
I
collapsed in front of the stone, exhausted, and fell forward onto my hands and
knees. Stretching out on the wet grass that framed Gabriel’s grave, I rested my
head in the crook of my folded arm. I pulled at a few blades of grass with my
free hand, and let the wet grass fall back to the soggy turf. The sound of two
car doors slamming shut interrupted my solitude, but I didn't stir. It was
probably just the cops anyway; someone probably reported a vandal loose in the
cemetery.
The cold rain felt good
on my face and I watched the treetops sway with the wind. I heard the footsteps
of at least two people drawing near and mentally prepared myself to be arrested.
Whatever was going to happen next was going to happen. I couldn’t keep what I
felt all bottled up any longer; I'm not that good a liar. Before I could be
Patrick Bouchard again, something had to be done. Before I could call myself a
man again, scores needed to be settled. I needed to fight to reclaim my sanity.
I rolled onto my back and caressed the grass with my open palms and in a small
voice I spoke to my son, “I’ll make it
right Gabby, I promise.”
Hudson
Towers, Los Angeles, February, 2004
The
sun was finally peeking out after an icky morning full of rain and thick black
clouds. None too soon if you asked Lizzie Andrews! She needed the sun to kick
start each day. She never felt energetic on rainy days; it was just too easy to
stay in bed. Why leave the comfort of her warm blankets and jet out into the
cold wet rain just to go to work! Besides, since moving into this downtown loft
she didn’t need to get up as early as she used to as she was within walking
distance of the hospital now. Lizzie curled up like a roly-poly, and scrunched
all of her bedding around her making a 350 thread count cocoon. Then suddenly
she sprawled out her limbs all akimbo to a big girl stretch, and kicked out from
under her blankets. Her shapely legs flexed and her arms rose up as to reach
the ceiling fan above her. Yawning she swung her legs over the side of the bed
and ran to the thermostat to kick up the heat.
Lizzie loved her new
home, she really did, but it was so big compared to her old studio apartment. And
it cost a freaking fortune to heat the place! Her parents might be wealthy but
she was still an intern, and her Dad had taught her at a tender age that a
budget was a budget! Sure, she broke her fierce stance on independence slightly
when she let Mom and Dad nag her into accepting this loft home as a graduation
gift. But she drew the line at letting them continue to treat her like a baby,
taking care of every little thing. She'd always been adamant about taking care
of herself. She never wanted to be one of those rich kids that lived off of old
family money; she wanted to make it on her own! That’s how her Dad had done it,
and it was how she would do it too! Although,
there were times when Lizzie regretted her pig headed independence. Like when
the bills came all at once. Or, when she had to accept the occasional day before payday dinner date from a certain persistent attending physician because the only
thing in the fridge was cold air and ice cubes.
Lizzie sprinted across
the freezing hardwood floor and punched in a comfortable 74 degrees on the
keypad before sprinting back to her bed in four long strides, a new record!
Quite a feat given her vertically challenged frame! She sat in the middle of
her queen-sized bed and wrapped the blankets around her Buzz Light Year pajamas, shivering until her bare feet warmed up. Glancing
over at the clock on the nightstand, she saw that she'd slept away the morning,
again, and her growling stomach let her know it was lunchtime. She scanned the
floor for her fuzzy Mr. Potato Head
slippers but they could be anywhere, so she crawled forward and leaned over the
edge of the bed to look underneath. Her perfectly round little behind pointed straight
up at the ceiling as she searched for those pesky slippers, the elastic in her
pajamas barely maintaining her modesty. Only the tip of her dragonfly tattoo (a
graduation gift to herself) guarded the start of her cute vertical smile.
“There you are,” Lizzie muttered, as
she stretched to grab the slippers from under the bed. Just as she was about to get a finger-hold on
one fuzzy heel, the telephone rang suddenly, startling her enough to make her
shriek and tumble off of the bed onto the cold wood floor.
“DAMN IT!” she hollered scrambling to
her feet. She ran across the large room toward the phone in the kitchen,
pausing a second to pull up the pajama bottoms that had been pulled down around
her thighs in the fall. As soon as she was decent again she raced to the
wall-phone, arriving just as the machine picked up the incoming call.
“Lizzie, hey it’s me Jace. Your
probably at work, you’re always at work, but I wanted to let you know I’m going
to be…”
“HELLO, HELLO,”
Lizzie pleaded clumsily, trying to wrestle the call from her answering machine.
“Lizzie?”
“Yeah, yeah, Jace it’s me,” Lizzie
said catching her breath.
“Hey, are you OK? Did I catch you at
a bad time?” Jace asked.
“No worries, I’m good, really! I just tripped over my munchkin
feet running for the phone,” Lizzie replied.
“So how’s my second favorite cousin?”
Lizzie asked cheerfully.
“Liz, you do realize that Noah and I
are identical twins, right?” Jace
asked sarcastically.
“Yeah I know that, but Noah’s cuter,
and he didn’t rat on me about Mickey the parakeet!”
“You’re kidding, right? Lizzie, we
were six years old when you let that stupid bird get out of the cage!”
“I HAD TO! HE WAS BEGGING ME TO DO
IT!” Lizzie shouted into the receiver.
“Mickey was a bird Lizzie, they tweet
ALL THE TIME!”
“Maybe, but not like that!”
“Alright, alright, I surrender! Oh man, now I forgot why I called!”
“You
see that, this is why you scare away all the guys!” Jace said, playfully
scolding her.
“Ummm,
was there a reason you called, or do you just miss tormenting me?”
“Peace,
let’s try this again, mmmkay?”
“HI
LIZZIE! Hey, I’m in LA for a convention and thought that maybe we could
hook up for dinner tonight if you’re not busy. There, how's that?”
“Peachy, what more could a girl ask for?”
“Come on Liz; tell me you’re free and
let’s plan to meet over at that place you took Tori and me to last summer. You remember, that Fire Station
restaurant, the one with the cool booths and the emergency pole and all that.”
“You mean Engine Co. 28 over on Figueroa?”
“Yeah, whatever, the place was good!”
“Well…alright, but no more bickering,
you have to be nice to me, OK?”
“Of course I will, but that goes
double for you, deal?”
“Deal,
what time?”
“How about seven?” Lizzie offered.
“Seven’s good, I’ll see you
there," replied her cousin Jace.
“By the way, you’ll need to make
reservations,” Lizzie said reminding him.
“I know, I will, don't worry Dr.
Andrews.”
“Oh, and you do understand that
dinner is on you, right? I mean, you’re the one with the cushy expense account
and all.”
“Still hiding from Daddy’s millions I
see!” Jace teased.
“No worries, you know I’ve always got
you covered babe, I’ll see you at seven, bring your appetite!”
“I will Jace, thanks for calling, you
made my day,” Lizzie said sweetly, rubbing her head that had bounced off of the
hard wooden floor when she tumbled out of bed.
“Uh oh, that’s gonna leave a mark,”
Lizzie muttered.
“What?” asked Jace.
“Nothing, just talking to myself as
usual,” answered Lizzie.
“Ok, I’ll see ya later then lil sis,” replied Jace chuckling.
“Okay, see ya…love you Quicksdraw!"
“Love you too Babalooey.”
Lizzie
returned the handset to the wall mount and gave the long twisted cord a swipe,
watching it swing erratically back and forth. She liked this old style phone
even if it wasn’t as handy as the cordless versions. But it reminded her of her
Gram’s house in San Diego West Side home.
Passing her dressing
bureau she looked over at the small silver framed photo setting next to her
hairbrush. It was a picture of a smiling little boy posing in his Halloween
costume. His red and blue tee-shirt was covered with black lines that were
supposed to be a spider’s web like his favorite superhero Spiderman. The plastic mask was pushed up onto the top of his head
while a thin elastic band dug into his little chin. The child’s eyes were
bright and cheery, as was his smile; he was the kind of kid that made you want
to cuddle. Lizzie paused a second, remembering his wonderful cherub like face
and then closed her eyes to listen for his infectious giggle in another time.
She half expected him to jump right out of the photograph and hug her again,
just like he did every time she walked onto the ward. He looked so happy and carefree;
you almost didn’t notice the deep circles under his eyes or the wisps of blond
hair falling from underneath the upturned mask. The tear that rolled down
Lizzie’s cheek betrayed her resolve to leave the past in the past. She missed him
terribly, he was special, someone who had found his way into her heart of
hearts. She blew him an air kiss and continued on toward the warm shower that
beckoned her. “See ya after work Gabby,” she
said softly.
Municipal Cemetery, Long Beach, California,
November 24, 2004
I
settled into the back seat of Sandy Lucci’s big Lincoln Navigator and buckled
my seatbelt. Reaching out slowly to accept a wool blanket that Sandy
“Thanks Laura,” I said meekly,
wrapping myself snuggly in the blanket, while trying to make as small a mess as
possible. Laura looked at me, smiled weakly for a moment, and then swiftly
whipped all the way around in her seat, jumping up onto her knees to make eye
contact with me. She leaned over the back of the tall seat and then slapped me
good and hard on my exposed thigh, the wet denim enhancing the sting.
“HEY!” I shouted, startled by the brazen
attack.
“HEY MY ASS PATRICK BOUCHARD!” Laura hollered.
“What do you think you’re doing
coming out here in the middle of a freaking storm and acting all crazy and
stuff? Are you trying to send poor Michelle to the nut house?”
“Well, are ya…huh?” Laura hollered at me. She was so mad
that she shivered while she ranted and raved. She waited for me to answer for
about a millisecond and then spun 180 degrees in her seat, curtly crossing her
arms in a huff, totally frustrated over a situation that had become all too
routine. She just sat there for a minute while Sandy
“YOU talk to him. Maybe he’ll listen
to you!” she said almost too calmly, turning back to face front and watch the
colors of the stoplight run in the watery windshield.
“She’s right ya know buddy. This has
got to stop man!”
I looked at Sandy
“I did a lot of thinking today, ya
know,” I said to the dashboard.
My friends remained silent, listening
for signs of the old Patrick, the sane Patrick.
“Look, I’m sorry for all the time
I’ve wasted feeling sorry for myself, it was wrong, I know.”
”But I didn’t think I would ever get
right, ya know?”
“It felt like I had died with Gabby.”
Sandy and Laura kept quiet, trying to
give me the space I needed to get it all out. Truth was, they had talked about
how to deal with my grief on the way over to the cemetery, and they agreed to
be loving, but firm. Apparently Laura was planning on using more tough love than the psycho babble she was trained in, but there would be a little love
in there somewhere as well, Sandy was pretty sure of that. They were prepared
for an emotional breakdown and they had a working plan on how to talk me down
from the ledge. But the breakdown they were ready for never materialized.
“Really, guys, I think I’m OK now,” I
said, hoping for a little feedback now.
“I can’t explain it very well, but I
feel it strongly, I really do. Maybe you can explain it better Laura, you’re
the shrink.”
Laura quickly reached over and
swatted me on the top of my head.
“I meant Doctor…Jeez Louise that hurt!” I yelped, flinching slightly.
“Anyway, I think it just took me longer to let
go than all the rest of you.”
“I mean I was so worried about Michelle
and my Dad falling apart that I didn’t notice myself doing just that. Do you
know what I mean?”
“Yeah, I think so Patsy, I think so,”
Sandy
Laura reached over and combed through
my wet hair with the fingers of her left hand as she gently stroked and
consoled her husband’s best friend. The three of us enjoyed a quiet moment,
listening to the muted sounds of traffic reverberating through the windows as
they drove toward home.
“You know, grief is normal Patrick,
mourning is accepted, hell, it’s expected. But the time for those feelings came
and went a long time ago. When we fail to let go we risk a fate worse than
death, we risk no longer being able to live. Do you understand what I’m trying
to say?” Laura asked softly.
I nodded slowly then reached up and
took her hand, pressing it against my cheek. “Thanks guys,” I said, leaning back
into the rear seat.
“Hey, it was nothin, don’t mention
it!” Sandy
“I was talking to Laura fool! All you
did was drive here and back, she did all the shrink…I mean psychologist
stuff,” I retorted with a chuckle, covering up like a boxer in case Laura spun
in her chair to swat me again.
“Very cool Patrick, we haven’t heard
that lilt in your voice in a long time, welcome back stranger!” Laura said
cheerfully without turning around. I lowered my arms and sat back comfortably
in the thick leather seat.
“Thanks; it’s nice to be home!”
“Hey pull into that Jack-in-the-Box
over there, I’m starving!” I exclaimed.
“Oh man! Not Jack-in-the-Crap!
Wouldn’t you rather have some steak and eggs over at Curley’s; it’s just down
the street dude?” Sandy
“No, no man, let’s just drive through
and get me about a dozen mystery meat tacos. That’ll hold me until I can get
cleaned up, and apologize like crazy to Michelle.”
“Then maybe I can take everyone to a make-up supper at the Macaroni Grill
tonight.”
“Come on, what do ya say?” I asked,
talking directly into Sandy
“OK, OK, just sit back ya homo, and
stop slobbering all over my shirt!”
“SANDY
LUCCI, are we going to have the tolerance discussion again?” Laura said
sternly, covering her smile with the back of her hand.
“Goddamn it Patsy, now see what you
did!” Sandy
“Alright, tacos it is, but I’m
telling you right now, I’m gonna eat my weight in pasta and meatballs tonight,
so bring your checkbook Rockefeller.”
Laura and I couldn’t stifle our laughter any
longer and we burst out together in a hail of giggles and chuckles. It felt
good to laugh so hard again; to let it ride until your sides hurt so bad you
thought that they would burst. Today was my new beginning, starting with my
reunion with my life and my loved ones. It would begin with twelve greasy tacos
and a root beer from a hamburger stand run by a clown. There was much to do,
much to plan, and much to hide. In due time I would know where I must go, what
I must do and who I must draft in order to follow through with my promise to
Gabby. Beginning today, from this moment on, time was running out for those who
were responsible. I have always been a man of my word; I would keep the promise
I made this day.
