My Mother's Chamomile

by Susie Finkbeiner

  So, when she called, I didn’t mind all that much. I got up and pulled on a pair of slacks and a blouse and opened the front door of the funeral home.

  “Would you like a little tea?” I asked. “Maybe some coffee?”

  Not answering, she followed me into the lobby.

  “The chapel is right this way,” I said.

  “I’m sorry.” She stopped behind me. Hands clasped under her chin, as if folded in prayer, she let her eyes close and drew in long breaths.

  The sound in her voice, the way it quivered, resembled most every parent I’d ever met who lost a child. It was the worst thing I could imagine. And those parents I knew cried and screamed and suffered the complete terror of it.

  “I can’t sleep. I keep thinking of them. That if I could see them for a minute…” She cut herself off, wiping a tissue under her nose. “But I don’t think I can look at them. I’m just too…”

  Taking her hand, I gave it a tiny squeeze.

  “But having them here, away from me, is too much.” Covering her face with both hands, she let her eyes peek out between her fingers. And the way those eyes filled up with tears nearly broke me in two.

  Reaching out my arms, I pulled her into a hug. I figured that’s what neighbors would do. And she needed a good neighbor about then. It wasn’t really the thing for a funeral director to do, but that didn’t matter so much to me.

  “I keep thinking they’re at a sleepover or something, you know? Like they’re at camp for a couple days.” Her jolting breath hit against my neck. “But then I realize they’re gone. They aren’t coming back. Not ever.”

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered. To tell the truth, I knew those words weren’t enough. Like giving a stick of chewing gum to a starving man. “I want you to take all the time you need.”

  Straightening up, she stepped out of my hug, letting me look right into her eyes. That poor woman. So swollen and red around the hazel of irises. I doubted she’d stopped crying for all the hours since she’d heard the news. I knew I wouldn’t have.

  “You know what I used to say to people? When they lost someone?” For all the wiping of tears, her face still didn’t get dried off. “I used to tell people that God needed another angel with Him. That’s why He took them.”

  Not knowing what to say, I nodded.

  “Isn’t that awful? Today I realized what a terrible thing that is to say.” She shook her head. “And I don’t want to think about what that would mean about God. Because I think it would make me hate Him so much for it. He knows I need them more than He does.”

  I understood what she meant. Exactly.

  “I wish I’d never said that to anybody.” Her lips pulled right down into a frown. “It makes God seem so selfish.”

  “You must have thought it would comfort them,” I said. “You didn’t mean any harm by it. You were trying to help.”

  “I’m having the hardest time understanding why this happened, though. I can’t figure it out.” She gasped for breath. “Why would God have let this happen?”

  As she searched my face, I couldn’t find a single answer, either. As much as I wanted to say something wise to carry her through the grief, I couldn’t think of a blessed thing.

  Aunt Gertie made it a habit to tell me that I must have an answer for the hope I had. But, looking at the suffering mama in front of me, I didn’t have a thing to say. I figured it would have been wrong of me to offer it then, even if I did know. Part of wisdom, I thought, was knowing when to keep the answers shut in your trap. And, while I wasn’t always so wise, the Holy Spirit took over in my distress.

  So, instead of yapping my jaw, quoting Bible verses pulled thin as glass and handing out easy answers, I stood before her, letting the silence work as a salve between us. And without my own shaky voice pulling the attention from her, the loss got a moment to work inside her. As hard as grief hurt, it needed to run the long course through her.

  After a minute or two, she dabbed at her sore eyes again.

  “Have you seen them?” she asked.

  I had and I told her so. As much as I wished I could have said no. Evelyn had needed my help getting the cloths pulled over their broken faces.

  “Do they…” She stopped herself. “Are they bad?”

  Closing my eyes, the image of the girls lingered. More in my heart than in my head. The only words I could think of to describe was “there’s nothing left to see.”

  But “nothing left to see” means little to a grieving mama.

  “Tell me.” Reaching to touch me, she stopped short and pulled her hand back. “Please.”

  “We did the best we could.” I swallowed good and hard. “But we weren’t able to make their faces viewable.”

  “So I can’t see them?” Weaker than before, her voice whimpered. “Even for a minute?”

  “We put handkerchiefs over their faces. Like shrouds.”

  “Can’t I see them?” she asked again.

  “Would you like to hold their hands?” Touching the door, I readied myself to push it open. “You could sit with them and hold their hands. As long as you want.”

  “I never wanted to move out here.” She took one step toward the chapel but paused. “My husband said this would be a good place for the girls to grow up.”

  She let the place between her eyes gather into folds. “They were in elementary school then. He wanted them to be safe. He told me they would be safe here.”

  After all I’d seen in fifty-two years living above that funeral home, I knew no place was all the way safe. I didn’t tell her, though. She’d learned that for herself.

  Breathing in and out a couple times, she made eye contact. The way she set her face, like a warrior stepping into battle, told me she was ready.

  The chapel lights flickered when I flipped the switch. Two caskets, head-to-head, stood, open at the front of the chapel. We thought the family would have wanted it that way. Evelyn had done a good job covering the bruised and cut up arms with makeup. All the work of dressing the bodies for the parents and no one else. We’d close the caskets for the public viewing. But the parents needed to see them. Otherwise, they might wonder all their lives if their children really had died. They’d know in their minds. But somewhere, deep in their hearts, they’d wonder. And that would add torture to agony.

  Eyes turned toward the caskets, she stood next to me, all folded up into herself.

  “He picked the right ones,” she said. “My husband picked good caskets for the girls, didn’t he?”

  “He did a fine job.”

  The way she wrung her hands, I wondered how they didn’t get sore.

  “Which do I go to first?” She turned toward me. “I can’t pick. I don’t love one more than the other. But I’m afraid they might not understand if I picked one first.”

  The floor of the chapel had a few boards that groaned if I stepped on them. I tried to avoid them as I made my way to the caskets. I pulled on those caskets, thankful for the wheels on the bottom of the pedestals. Putting the girls side to side, I left enough room for the mother to stand between them.

  “Thank you,” she said when I walked back to her. “Will you stay back here? I don’t want to be alone.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, honey.”

  Those old floorboards moaned along with her as she made her way to the girls. Somehow, even though she wept, she didn’t fall apart. As if she kept herself strong for their benefit. Her final act of courage on their behalf. She stood between them, touching their fingers, smoothing the hair she could see that spread out on the pillows.

  I sat in one of the comfy chairs in the back. The warmth of the room and the dim lights made the exhaustion pull at me. I let my eyes close, partly because they weighed about two tons. But, also, I wanted to give the woman privacy. She’d be doing plenty of public mourning later on. She deserved the dignity of grief that flowed between her and God. I would have wanted that if it had been me.

  My rump in the chair, though, I had to fight off sn
oozing. Sleep would lead to snoring and a body unwilling to get back up. So, I tried to remember all the thoughts which had kept me awake earlier in the night. Chief among those thoughts was Gretchen’s appointment. I tried to pray it into being something minor.

  Only a few minutes later, though, I heard humming. Some lullaby, it sounded like. Opening my eyes, I saw the mother sitting in a folding chair between her girls, holding their hands. She hummed to them. Then the hum grew to singing, her voice shaking. It dipped into a sob every now and again.

  The only words I caught were “sleep” and “rest.”

  I prayed those words for her, too.

  She sat between her girls until the sun rose. I kept vigil in the back, sharing in her pain from far off.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Evelyn

  Standing in the center of the Big House lobby, surrounded by floral arrangements, I realized that I’d left my coffee all the way on the other side of the room. I would have to tiptoe around all kinds of extremely expensive sprays and potted plants and wreaths to get to it. Somehow, I’d have to get across the labyrinth of flower without smearing my black pants with various hues of pollen.

  “How’d you get yourself in that position?” Granddad asked, walking out of the prep room and right past my mug.

  “I have no idea.” I pointed at the coffee. “I haven’t had enough of that to think straight.”

  “Good luck getting to it.” His eyes smiled as he made his way around to the other side and toward the office.

  “Hey, thanks for handing me the coffee, Granddad.” I laid the sarcasm on thick. “Seriously. Could we get more flowers in here?”

  “It’s a hard thing when young people die,” Granddad said from the office. “Folks are doing what they can. And, right now, what they can do is send flowers.”

  Opening the front door, Cal hardly squeezed in past the arrangements. “More flowers,” he said in a far too chipper voice.

  He held two oversized sprays. Lilies and roses and daisies and carnations exploded from the centers. Had I not been so grumpy that morning, I might have appreciated the handiwork of the florist. Instead, I rolled my eyes.

  “We’re going to have to add on to the building.” Standing in the doorway, surveying the lobby floor he tried to figure out where to lower the sprays. “Or dig out a path.”

  “I’m working on it,” I said, more sharply than I should have.

  “I’ll take these right into the chapel.” He grinned at me. “Don’t worry, Ev. We’ve got plenty of time.”

  All the things I loved about Granddad annoyed me in Cal. Patience, calm nature, sense of humor. In Granddad, I found them endearing. In Cal, they made me crazy. Especially that early in the morning.

  “Calvin,” Granddad called from the desk. “You didn’t happen to stop over to Deirdre’s for doughnuts, did you?”

  Cal slumped his shoulders. “Nope. Sorry.”

  “Maybe I’ll call and see if Deirdre’ll let Charlotte deliver some.” Granddad picked up the phone.

  “I can’t believe Char’s working with that woman.” I attempted to pick up a potted plant without spilling soil all over the carpet. “I hope Deirdre doesn’t ruin her.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ev.” Cal stepped gingerly over a wreath. “Deirdre’s nothing but sunshine and puppy hugs.”

  “Charlotte’s doing just fine, from all I hear.” Granddad dialed the phone with the eraser end of a pencil. “She’s stronger than any of us realize.”

  Cal pushed the chapel door open with his backside and held it open for me. I followed behind him, potted plant in my hands. I used my elbow to flip on the light.

  “Looks like it was a late night in here,” he whispered, lowering the arrangements to the floor. He moved the caskets back in place and folded the chair between them.

  It took both of us several trips before we got all the flowers into the chapel. Then we searched all over the Big House for every spare pedestal and table. I opened the curtains, letting in as much natural light as I could. The blooms clumped in the middle of the room, I checked the little paper cards held up by spears stuck in the soil or padding. Family members’ arrangements went closer to the caskets. Then the rest, I positioned by color, size, and flower type.

  Once I got started, the work went fast. Soon, the chapel brightened up with all the flowers. As bright as a funeral home could look.

  “Nice job.” Cal walked up behind me, a stack of picture frames in his arms. On top of them, a small paper bag. “The family dropped off a few things.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Photos?”

  “Yeah.” He lowered them to a chair. Picking up the bag, he handed it to me. “Whatever’s in there needs to go with the girls.”

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Don’t know.” He turned for the door. “Didn’t have time to look. Granddad jammed the printer again. I have to go play Mr. Fix-It.”

  In the sparse space I had left, I set up easels for the larger picture frames and made room on the tables for the smaller ones. The girls had been beautiful. And, from the way they smiled, I could tell they’d been deeply loved. The photos added what had been missing from the room. Faces for the girls.

  Then, I picked up the wrinkled, brown paper bag. Unwrapping it, I reached in and pulled out two tiny, pink Bibles. Names engraved in gold on the front.

  “Josie Lynnette” and “Shelly Rose.”

  I carried the Bibles closer to the window. The sun warmed my hands as I felt the cracked, imitation leather covers. The Bibles hadn’t been the kind kept on the shelf as keepsakes. Those Bibles had been the kind toted to church in play purses and read at bedtime.

  On the front page of Josie’s Bible, her name had been printed with careful, curling letters. Probably right after she studied cursive at school. She’d put a sticker on the inside cover. “I love Sunday school!” the sticker announced. A rainbow hung over a cartoon church with a smiley face sun shining over the steeple.

  Clear packing tape held the cover of Shelly’s Bible together. Jesus Loves Me had been written on the first page in choppy, little kid letters. The Es had too many lines drawn up and down. Exactly how Charlotte had done hers when she was small.

  Soft, slow steps carried me to the caskets. Josie’s on the left. Shelly’s on the right. Josie in her silver and blue prom dress, looking like Sleeping Beauty with her face covered. Blond hair swirled on the pillow. Shelly in a dark green dress. One that matched her nail polish. I tucked the Bible under her fingers.

  I noticed a smudge in the green on one fingernail. It looked like she’d touched it before the paint had completely dried, leaving a perfect impression of a fingerprint. Loopy, curving lines in the green.

  Something snapped in me, taking me over with grief I couldn’t hold back. It wasn’t a loud cry. I didn’t lose sense or get sick to my stomach. But the tears had come. Sitting in one of the soft chairs along the edge of the room, I let myself release the emotion.

  The chapel doors opened. I used the back of my fingers to wipe my face. Will stood in the back of the room, up against the wall. He breathed out his mouth with big sighs. Wherever he turned his eyes, he tried to avoid the caskets. Fidgeting, he eventually settled on putting his hands in his pants pockets.

  “Hi,” I said, getting out of the chair.

  “Hey.” He looked at me. Starting to smile, he stopped himself, putting on a more somber expression. Almost a frown. “Is this the… Those are the girls?”

  “Yes.” I stepped toward him. “You want to get some fresh air?”

  “I’d like nothing better,” he answered, sighing. “I haven’t really been around, um, this kind of thing all that much.”

  “I understand.”

  “Nobody told me they’d be right there. You know. I wasn’t ready. Usually, I’d be okay.” His words stumbled one on top of another. “Yeah. Let’s get that fresh air.”

  On the porch, he leaned against the railing, letting his head rest back on the wo
od.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “I guess I wasn’t ready for that.” He turned toward me.

  “Do you need a glass of water?”

  “No. I should have eaten breakfast. That’s what I should have done.” He shook his head. “I have to hand it to you, you have a tough job.”

  “It’s not usually this bad.”

  “Still,” he said. “It’s tough.”

  “Well, I guess I’m used to it.” I felt the back of my neck.

  “Right.” Turning his head, he looked out over the side yard. “Is that a garden over there?”

  “Yes.” I took a step closer to him. “Would you like to see it?”

  Walking off the porch, we moved onto the soft grass. After all the cut, arranged, stinky flowers inside, the fresh, delicate, living ones comforted me. The air around the garden seemed cleaner, smoother. I couldn’t name more than a couple of the flowers, but I did know how beautiful they were.

  “It’s really pretty out here.” He tipped his head back and took in a deep breath. “I’ve only ever lived in the city. I don’t think I’ve seen so many trees in my whole life.”

  “We like it.” I stood beside him. “You know, my grandparents live right above the funeral home. I grew up in that house over there. I don’t know anything else.”

  Lowering his head, he took in the sight of the field of flowers. “I really have no idea how you do this job.”

  “You’ve never seen a decedent before, have you?”

  “A what?”

  “Sorry.” I smiled. “That’s funeral speak for a deceased body.”

  “Got it. My parents didn’t let me go to my grandma’s funeral when I was little.” He pushed the dark hair off his forehead.

  “Well, it can be a shock if you’re not used to it.”

  “And massively embarrassing on top of it.”

  “You’re embarrassed?” I asked.