My Sympathies
May
Freya stared out the window without really seeing. She was lost in her own world. She was lost in her memories. The pain was too new, too fresh, and the real world was just too much to bear. She didn’t want to come out. She didn’t want to face all the sad and eager faces waiting for her downstairs. She snapped out of it when her mother’s voice penetrated the fog, telling her it was time to see her guests.
She laughed silently. Guests, is it? All the people who wanted to tell her how sorry they were, but they didn’t understand. They didn’t have to worry about the deafening silence where her husband and children were supposed to be. They got to go home to their families while she buried hers today. All she wanted to do was curl into a ball and be left alone. Why does she have to….
“Freya? Are you ready, Baby? Let’s get this over with.” Margaret Walsh stood in the doorway, hovering. She wanted to go to her daughter, but she knew Freya well enough to know that it wouldn’t be welcomed at this moment. All she could do was get her through it and wait for the moment she was needed. Freya sighed and walked to the door. She gave her mother a sad look, squared her shoulders, and walked down the stairs to greet the well-wishers.
She was met with a chorus of “I’m so sorry,” “If you need anything,” “He was a great man,” and “They were great children,” accompanied by hugs and kisses. She dutifully smiled at them, murmured her thanks, and moved on to the next. She found herself in the kitchen, staring at more food than she could eat. Why so much? She lost three people. Only one left to consume the Grief Offerings. She would talk to her mother about sending some home with her and some to the food shelter. Maybe she would freeze some of it. She walked across the kitchen to the cabinet and pulled out her husband’s favorite whiskey. It was a Connemara peat-smoked whiskey she hated. She loved the smell of turf but didn’t want to drink it. Even so, she poured herself a glass and threw it back. She felt the burn slide down her throat and pool into a small fire in her belly.
She flashed back to the night he came home from a business trip in Ireland. He was so proud of the bottle he’d found in some local shop on his business trips. The kids were asleep, and they were alone for the first time in two weeks. They spread a blanket on the floor in front of the fireplace, grabbed some goodies, and cracked the bottle open. It was a night of giggles and fun. He laughed so hard at the look on her face when she took her first sip that it went up his nose, making him gasp and tears come to his eyes. It had been a great night. She smiled at the memory and poured another.
“Can I have one of those?” Her father crossed the kitchen, grabbed a glass, and poured a generous amount into his own cup. Freya looked at Henry, amused. Her father wasn’t much of a drinker. He said he didn’t like the way it made him feel, and he preferred to be in control. He slowly sipped his drink, trying not to cough.
“I’ve greeted just about everyone, Dad. I’m tired. I think I might sneak out back for a bit. Can you and Mom handle things here?”
“Of course. I think people are starting to leave anyway. I’ll come get you in a bit when it clears out. Don’t worry, they understand. “
She hugged her father tight and walked out the backdoor to the patio her husband had built for her five years ago. It was her favorite place. It had an arbor as an entrance. Inside was a small tranquility pond and a swinging bench with the best cushions she could find. She often came out with a pitcher of tea and her book and just relaxed while watching the kids as they played in the yard. Ian and Ailsa had their father’s green thumb. The three of them planted the plants and flowers surrounding her as a Mother’s Day surprise. You would think that at five and three, the children would be too young, but they absorbed everything their father taught them. Her gardens were growing in abundance because of her little garden fairies.
She kicked her heeled shoes off and lay down on the bench, feeling the warmth on her face. She was wearing a black dress her husband had picked out for her last year at some event they were attending. It was a heavy material that fell to her knees, covered by a thin layer of fabric, giving the dress a shimmery look. It had a high neck and jewels at the top. Her husband loved it on her. She stared at the fountain and thought about events over the past couple of weeks. She had to work on a Saturday and missed a family barbeque at her in-laws. She got a text from her husband saying they were on their way. Throughout the day, she received lots of pictures of the family. They looked like they were having a good time, and she missed them. When she got home, she decided to do some cleaning. It was a 45-minute drive, and they would be coming home in a couple of hours and would need to put the kids to bed, so it wasn’t worth driving all the way up there. She started on some chores. Basic things like laundry and bathrooms. It was not her favorite thing, but they had to get done. She was the only maid in this house. The kids had chore charts, but they didn’t do anything too overly heavy. She was about half done when her phone pinged.
“On our way. Hope you enjoyed some quiet time!”
“Ha! You know me. The bathrooms are done, and the laundry is nearly there. I’ll relax when you get home.”
“Ok, love you. See you soon. Kids send hugs.”
“Good! I’ll help you get them in when you get here. Drive safe; love you all.”
She smiled at her phone and put it back on the counter. Maybe it was time for a food break. She didn’t feel like cooking, so she just grabbed something easy. She couldn’t remember. A sandwich, maybe? Some tea and a magazine. Once she finished, she went back upstairs to complete the dreaded laundry task. An hour later, she realized they weren’t home yet. She frowned at the time and thought maybe it was just a bit of traffic. I’ll sit on the porch until they get in. It shouldn’t be more than another 15 minutes.
After thirty minutes had passed, she started to worry and called Ric. The call rang and went to voicemail. “Where are you? I'm just getting a little worried. Give me a call, please!”
She called his parents to confirm when they left and tried Ric’s cell again. He still wasn’t answering. Another hour later, she heard a car pull up. She felt some relief and annoyance at the same time. She practically ran to the door and yanked it open, but it wasn’t Ric’s car. It was two police officers. They had solemn faces as they purposefully came up the walk. Her heart began to pound and in her head, she was shouting “NO NO NO NO NO NO”. Every scenario went through her head in the few seconds it took for the officers to reach her.
“Good evening, Ma’am. Are you Mrs. Calhoun?”
She closed her eyes and grabbed the railing to steady herself. “Yes.”
“Ma’am, may we come inside? We’d like to speak with you for a moment”.
Without a word, she whirled around and led the officers to the kitchen. She offered them tea, but they declined and exchanged looks. She took a deep breath and said, “Please just tell me what happened to my family."
“I’m sorry to tell you this, but your husband’s car was involved in an accident. Another driver veered into his lane and hit the car head-on.” He looked at her kindly, contemplating his next words. Before the officer could say anything, she blurted out, “He’s dead, isn’t he? That’s why you’re here. Please tell me my babies are ok. I have two children. They are only eight and ten. Please tell me my babies are ok.” Her voice broke as she pleaded with them to tell her that at least her children survived, even if Alaric did not.
The female officer laid a hand on hers and softly said, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Calhoun. They didn’t survive”. As she began to sob uncontrollably, the female officer moved to wrap her in a hug and asked if there was anyone they could call. She sniffed and grabbed her phone. She picked out the name and just stared at it. The male officer gently took it from her and hit the dial button. When her parents picked up, he explained what happened and requested they go to the house.
She was at the hospital morgue, sitting at the foot of her three family members. She just kept looking from the foot of one body to the next. In a short span of time, she felt her grief well up and overtake her, fueling a rage. She hasn’t even thought to find out what happened. All she knew was that they were killed instantly in an accident on the way home.
She walked out and looked at the police officer waiting for her. “What happened?” she demanded. “How did I lose them all? Who did this?”
“The other driver was texting. He crossed the line and hit your husband’s car head-on. It was at the right angle because the car flipped multiple times.”
“My kids were buckled in properly? In their seats?” It was weird to ask, but she felt the need to ask for some reason. Maybe because she was so obsessed with car seat safety, both children were still in boosters because they were so small. A small part of her thought that maybe she lost her children too because they weren’t buckled in properly.
“Yes, Ma’am, the airbags went off, but it wasn’t enough. I’m so sorry.”
“Is the other driver still alive?”
“Yes, he is. He’s being treated now.”
“Since he killed my family, I have to assume he’ll be charged with murder?” Her voice strained during this last sentence, but that was all she could think. This man was responsible for the murder of her family. Three people lay dead because of his irresponsibility, and she wanted him to pay.
“He’ll have to answer for what he did, Ma’am. We will keep you informed along the way.” He looked at her parents. Henry nodded and moved from his wife to Freya.
“Freya, let’s go home. We can’t do any more tonight. We have a lot to deal with right now.”
Freya sobbed at the memory. It pulled at her soul. She was still so angry. The guy that murdered her family, yes, murdered because she couldn’t think of it any other way, was in jail soon to go to trial. He had pleaded not guilty and refused all plea deals. She didn’t know what his issue was, but she would ensure he didn’t get away with anything. Her shoulders heaved in great sobs as her tears soaked the cushion. She didn’t have the strength to get up. She just laid there, finally letting the anger, sadness, and grief out.
Inside, Margaret watched her daughter from the kitchen window. The final guest left, so she and Henry started picking up, trying to help her through this tough day. She felt sick to her stomach that she had to bury her grandchildren, her two shining stars. Two tiny little graves next to the father who loved them so well. It was a beautiful service, but that wasn’t a comfort. She couldn’t imagine the soul-shattering pain her child was going through. She didn’t know how to comfort her. Even as a child, she wasn’t easy to comfort. She preferred her solitude.
Henry hugged Margaret from behind and kissed her on the cheek. He sighed and headed toward his daughter. She had been out there for nearly 2 hours. He knew it was her tranquility spot but figured he should check on her. He found her fast asleep on her bench. She looked so peaceful and perfect. When she was a baby, he would watch her sleep. She was so perfect. He still felt the same three decades later. He picked her up and carried her to the house. Margaret opened the door for him and helped him get her upstairs. Margaret took the pins out of Freya’s hair and watched it fall. She always had the most beautiful hair; it was thick, gently wavy, and black, so black that sometimes it looked like there was blue in it. Paired with her bright green eyes and fair skin, it gave her an ethereal look. Henry gently laid her on the bed and covered her up. He looked down at her, and his heart broke. He sighed heavily, took Margaret’s hand, and left his daughter’s room. They sat at the table and stared at each other. What do they do now? Do they stay? Go home? They knew Freya didn’t like people hovering and knew she probably wanted to be alone. They cleaned up, gathered their things, and went home. They prayed she would be ok and would check on her tomorrow.
