Behind the Darkness

by W. Franklin Lattimore

  “Glad all of that is behind us,” Jenna concluded.

  “Actually, Jenna, that’s not the last time we were all awake that late,” responded Tara, with what I hoped would be a happier memory. “We were all awake at that time of night as we were flying over the Atlantic Ocean to Scotland.”

  Much happier memory.

  “So,” I asked, “what are everyone’s plans this morning?” redirecting conversation with a smile.

  All three of my kids looked at me, Jenna with a dubious stare.

  “Well, let’s see,” She paused, a glint in her eye. “Do I get to have one of the cars?”

  “Nope,” I said.

  “Then, I’d say that we’re sticking around here and annoying you.”

  With that remark I almost reconsidered not letting her have the car.

  Tara faked a yawn. To say it was fake was really an understatement. She really hammed it up. Then she stretched for good measure. “I think I’m ready to go back to bed. What do you say, honey?”

  “Eww,” said Jamie.

  “Oh, stop,” said his mom.

  I laughed.

  “Your mom and I were up late last night talking. She wants me to finish up what I was telling her. No ‘eww’ involved…probably.”

  “Okay, that ended my appetite.” Jenna promptly got up, picked up her breakfast plate and glass, and walked them to the dishwasher. “You two do whatever you want. I’m walking over to Kara’s.”

  One down, two to go.

  Jamie got up, too, and took his plate, minus his fork and glass, to the dishwasher. “Tyler and I are going to Timmy’s house. We’re XBoxing it today! Got to take down some Nazi zombies. No Zombpocalypse is going to happen around here if we can help it!”

  Jamie’s comment obviously didn’t play well in Tara’s mind, and she looked at me to make sure I understood.

  “What?” I shrugged. “I don’t want Nazi zombies invading Millsville, either! Better they take care of them now while we’ve still got a chance to beat them. Right?”

  Tara rolled her eyes.

  Two down.

  Looking at my lovely, strawberry-blonde-haired daughter—the spitting image of what her mommy must have looked like at that age—I asked, “And you? Where are you going?”

  She looked from me to her mom. “Can Heather and Alyssa come over and play?”

  “As long as the three of you promise to stay either in the backyard or up in your room.”

  “I promise!” And with that proclamation, Amy ran for the phone in the living room to make her phone calls. Not even her plate made it to the dishwasher.

  And then there were none.

  “So, where do we want to spend our time picking up where you left off last night?” asked Tara. “We’ve got the whole first floor to choose from.”

  “How about we watch TV instead?”

  “Hey, now. Don’t make me hurt you.”

  TARA AND I opted for the deck at the back of our home. It was a beautiful day with a light breeze, allowing us to keep the screen door as a divider between us and the ‘action’ going on inside the house. Amy had only invited Alyssa and Heather over, but in through the door came three little girls, the third being Brianna. So, the four of them decided that they would play upstairs in Amy’s room.

  Just because they had decided to play in Amy’s room doesn’t mean that it ended up being the outcome. Imagine the sound of four girls singing and dancing to Veggie Tales sing-alongs in front of the television in the living room. Yep. That screen door wasn’t doing anything but keeping a fly from escaping back outside.

  Through the laughter and singing, though, Tara and I were able to keep a conversation going, which, of course was directed back to the events of 1990.

  “Did Mom say anything else after she recovered on the platform?” asked Tara.

  “No. In fact, Dad got up and walked to the platform after a few moments. Mom had looked out toward us while her brothers and sisters were holding her. I read it in her eyes as she looked at Dad—‘I need you.’ Uncle Dave walked Mom to the steps, and Dad led her down and back to our pew.”

  “What a meek spirit your mom had by that point in her life. I remember you telling me the humbling experience that your mom had the day she became a Christian. It took a true change of heart and attitude to become the woman she is today—and apparently who she was even back in 1990.”

  “When I think of what Mom and Dad were like before they encountered God, I find myself grateful for just how big God is.” I released a soft laugh. “They were quite the pair, fighting almost all the time. But when they began submitting their egos to the Lord—when they experienced what absolute forgiveness was like—they were able to start forgiving each other, because they recognized God’s willingness to forgive each of them of even the worst parts of their pasts.”

  “Just like us,” my wife said with a smile.

  “Just like us. God is definitely good.”

  “All the time.”

  “So, Mom, now a spectator, was sitting to Dad’s right on the pew. I had looked past Lydia and saw Mom laying her head on Dad’s shoulder, his arm around her. I’ve got to tell you, in the midst of all the pain that we were suffering, that simple act stirred something within me. I loved seeing my mom taking solace in the arms of my dad.

  “Anyway, Uncle Dave spoke last. During the last part of his eulogy, he gave a pretty agonizing description of how he had once fallen into some sort of shallow shaft while walking with a couple of his boyhood friends up in the hills. I think the three of them were all around eleven years old, if I remember his story correctly. I remember sitting in that pew, riveted by what had taken place in his life that day.”

  “I KNEW THAT I had hurt my leg pretty bad,” continued Brent’s Uncle Dave. “The pain was horrible to the point that I thought I’d throw up. Jimmy and Billy were frantic! Billy was hollering ‘Help!’ over and over again. Jimmy kept looking down, calling to me. ‘Davie! You okay? What’em I s’posed to do?’ I told him to try to find a long branch or some rope or something to reach down to me. He left my view. I had to have been a good fifteen feet down in that hole. There were a few pieces of rotted plywood down in that shaft with me. I guessed I had stepped on it without seeing it, because it had been overgrown with weeds and ivy.

  “A couple minutes later, my two friends had come back with a long branch. It was just long enough for me to reach when I stood up on my good leg. The problem was that Jimmy and Billy were too small to do anything to lift me out, and with my bad leg I couldn’t do a thing. So I told Jimmy he needed to go get Mother. He took off like the dickens! Billy stayed at the top of the hole and even sat down with his legs dangling into it.

  “It’s funny to think about, but I still remember him asking me some pretty dumb questions, like, ‘Is it as dark down there as it looks?’ and ‘See any spiders or snakes?’ Up until he asked me those things, I hadn’t thought about either one! After he asked, it was all I could think about. Not only was I hurting, I was also getting the heebie jeebies! At that point, I started doing my own share of yelling. ‘Mother! Mommaaa!’”

  Brent was captured by his Uncle Dave’s ability to make the story come to life. He had always been a great storyteller.

  “So I’m down there for another good half hour or so. Then I hear Mother’s voice, ‘David! David, I’m a’comin’! Your Momma’s on her way!’ In another minute or so, there she was at the top of the shaft. ‘You okay, boy? You hurt?’ ‘Yes, Ma’am,’ I said. ‘Think my leg’s broke. Cain’t get out neither.’

  “Mother told me everything was going to be okay, and she gripped that tree branch and pulled it out of her way. She sent down a length of rubber water hose instead and told me to do my best to tie it around my waist. After I did, that woman, all by herself, pulled me up out of that hole. By the time I reached the top, I was hurting so bad that I couldn’t stop crying. She looked at my leg and told me it was for sure broke, but that I was going to be as good as new before I knew it.


  “Folks, look at me. I’m a pretty tall man now. Even back then I had some height to me which made me quite the awkward package, but Mother carried me all the way down that hill, down to the road, and all the way back to our home. She never chided me for being a boy that day. I even remember for quite a while after that, whenever I would tell her I was going out to play, she would say, ‘Don’t fall down no dad-blamed shafts today!’”

  Light-hearted laughter—needed laughter—gushed forth from those in attendance.

  David Moore walked to the edge of the platform, to the same spot Brent’s mom had. Looking down upon his mom, he said, “Momma, we’re all going to miss you beyond our ability to say. We love you, and we’ll see you again someday. Say hi to Daddy for all of us.”

  Brent heard his mom’s breath catch and saw the sorrow sweep across the faces of his aunts and uncles still standing behind the lectern. His Aunt Susan and Aunt Sarah embraced each other, their heads tilted and touching, as his Uncle Dave stood up straight once again and looked down into the congregation.

  “If y’all wouldn’t mind standing, I’d like to say a prayer. Pastor, that okay by you?”

  “Wouldn’t have it any other way, David.”

  Everyone stood up and Brent’s Uncle David began to talk to God.

  “Father in Heaven, we’re in an unusual situation down here. Today we celebrate the woman that you made for all of us. Some of us call her Mother, others Mamaw and Granny, and others call her Aunt Hannah, cousin, kin, or friend. Surely some of us are hurting more than others, but we’re all here because this woman had some sort of impact in our lives—something that we appreciate.

  “We celebrate her and we grieve her passing. She’s with you, O God, and we’re very glad of that. But she’s also gone from us. We ask, Lord, that you would be merciful to us. Help us to make sense of her sudden death. Help us know healing for our wounds. Comfort us, Mighty God. Comfort us in this day of our need. In Jesus’ name we ask it. Amen.”

  “Amen.”

  The pastor got up and said a few words to everyone about how glad he was that everyone had turned out to honor Hannah Moore. He let the majority know that the burial would be a private ceremony for immediate kin only, but also invited any who would appreciate the opportunity, to come forward and view the woman whose life was being honored and to make sure to also look at all the wonderful pictures of her.

  All the immediate family—Hannah’s kin—in the front pews were expected to remain at the front of the church as the rest of the funeral attendees viewed her body. It allowed each mourner an opportunity to speak words of comfort and appreciation to those who knew her best. Brent didn’t feel as though he qualified to be at the receiving end of things, so he stepped out of his pew as soon as the ushers released his row and headed for the back of the church.

  He was apprehensive. The next hour in the funeral home would be the last opportunity he would ever have to lay eyes on his hero. It was his final chance to say his farewell—something he hadn’t had the courage to do the whole time his mamaw had lain in repose within the farmhouse. He would wait until the last possible moment to say the dreadful word that was lurking at the back of his mind.

  Goodbye.

  Are you sure you don’t mind me continuing? I feel like I just keep dumping my emotional mess all over you.” I had to ask, because I was starting to feel drained myself.

  “To tell you the truth, it’s a bit rough with how much detail you’re able to include,” said Tara. “But I don’t care how rough it is, because I’m learning you all over again. I’m also learning more about who your family is. And,” she said with a bit of hesitation, “a little about me. As sad as this experience was for you, I’m glad that I finally got to hear it. So, I want you to keep going. That is…if you’re up for it.”

  I really didn’t know if I was “up for it,” but I was willing to trudge along. I felt that, somehow, the entire background story of my mamaw’s funeral was important as it related to the encounters that I had continued to have with Joshua.

  “I’m up for it.” I took another sip of my lemonade, and then I caught a wonderful scent on the air. No, it wasn’t my wife’s alluring Imagine perfume. It was even better. Some neighbor of mine had decided to have a noon-time cookout. The smell of what was probably chicken was starting to get my stomach grumbling. “We’ll need to do something about lunch soon, though.”

  “You smell that chicken, too, don’t you?” she asked with a smile. “We could do the same.”

  “Do we have Twin City Bar-B-Que sauce?”

  “Two whole bottles.”

  “Now you’re talking!” I got up right away to start getting the grill ready.

  “I didn’t say that we had anything to put the Bar-B-Que sauce on, though.”

  Uh-oh. “So we don’t?”

  “Not without going to the store or waiting for something to thaw.”

  Thirty minutes later, I was back from the store with chicken and pork chops. Then I turned my attention to getting the grilling surface ready.

  “Pork chops?” Tara asked from inside the house.

  “I couldn’t pass them up.”

  “You should have, for the price you paid.”

  Looking at her behind the screen door, I said, “Well, I don’t know how expensive or cheap they’re supposed to be. Besides, chicken and pork chops slathered with Twin City just sounds great. Doesn’t it?”

  My wife gave me one of her how-is-it-that-I-put-up-with-you looks and a shake of her head and walked back to the kitchen to hopefully get the meats ready.

  About five minutes later, Tara came out with two separate plates of chicken and chops. It was pushing one o’clock, and the sooner these were on the flame, the better.

  “What do you want with them?”

  I thought for a moment. “I don’t need anything. I’m good.”

  Tara laughed, and then there was that look again. I love that look!

  Another few minutes later and I was reaping the reward of placing those wonderful pieces of meat onto my grill. The flames were hitting them just right as the juices dropped, and the scent drove me nuts. Tara came back out with some place settings for the table, along with a bowl of her community-favorite pasta salad—that I don’t actually like. Then she walked up next to me.

  “Okay, Grill Master, what are you thinking is going to happen to all of that meat? Both sides of the grill? Really?”

  “Leftovers?” That definitely worked for me.

  “So, let’s get back to your story. What happened after the funeral service at the church?”

  “Well, things didn’t get any easier after the service. I did say goodbye to Mamaw, which wasn’t as difficult as I thought it was going to be. Guess I had seen her body enough times to have been mentally prepared. It actually got harder sometime within the next hour and a half, if I’m remembering correctly.”

  “The burial?”

  “Yeah. The burial.”

  “I had vague memories of my papaw’s funeral. Remember, I was only eight years old for that. I remembered Dad helping to carry the casket up a steep incline and that people came close to falling a couple of times. I recall that, but nothing at all about Papaw’s casket being put in the ground. Anyway, Mamaw’s body was going to be buried right next to Papaw’s in a small family cemetery. In order to get to it, there’s a barely visible trail a little further up into the hollow. That marks the start of a quarter-mile, winding trek up the slope of another mountain—a pretty demanding walk.

  “As my folks, Lydia, and I followed in the funeral procession to the cemetery, I asked Dad what he remembered about Papaw’s burial. He told me that he remembered it pretty clearly. He had actually, the day prior, helped to dig the hole in which Papaw’s body had been laid. I hadn’t known that. He said that they’d had to carry the casket from the base of the mountain all the way up to the cemetery. I couldn’t imagine that. Still can’t. Especially since I had visited that site once before a couple of years prior to Mam
aw’s death. Not an easy climb without a four-wheeler.”

  “You didn’t have to walk the casket up for your mamaw’s burial, did you?”

  “No. Fortunately, they had since cleared a way for full-size trucks with four-wheel drive capability to get up there. So, the hearse, if you want to call it that, made it easily up to the grave site while the rest of us—those who were able to make the somewhat arduous trek up the hill—did so.”

  “I want you to take me up there next time,” said Tara, making sure to make eye contact with me.

  I nodded. “We’ll do that. So, we made it to the grave site—my whole family and most of my relatives—and there was a canopy over the hole, with that green carpet-like stuff around it. No chairs, because the ground was somewhat sloped. Mamaw’s casket was brought out of the SUV and made to rest above the hole. A few prayers were said by the pastor for the family. Nobody else really said anything except personal condolences to one another. And then…well, they lowered her body into the ground. Then they lowered something that looked like a casket—some sort of coffin case—over the top of the actual casket. Not exactly sure why.”

  “Okay, but how were you feeling? You seem to be zipping right through this part of the story. You don’t have to do that.”

  “I was numb. I didn’t really feel anything all the way through the point of her casket being put into that hole. I remember clearly thinking about how unemotional I was. But I did receive one more stab to the heart. The first few shovels-full of dirt were tossed onto the coffin case. As her casket was slowly covered up, I began thinking about how each subsequent toss of dirt seemed to add another layer of separation from her. I whispered, ‘Goodbye for now, Mamaw,’ and tears began to stream down my cheeks.”