My Mother's Chamomile

by Susie Finkbeiner

  “You want a cup of joe?” Holding up the mug, I stepped through the soft grass to get to her.

  Coffee aroma mingled with the smells of autumn. Musty leaves and drying grasses. Somebody down the road burned a brush pile. I hoped heaven had fall. I’d miss the changing watercolored leaves otherwise.

  “Isn’t it gorgeous today?” She pointed a gloved finger at an old maple tree. “We’ve got a robin up there. She’s been singing to me for the better part of an hour.”

  “Is that so?” After I handed her a cup, I turned my eyes to the tree. “I wonder why she didn’t get herself south by now. She’ll be awful cold in a couple weeks.”

  “I don’t know. But I’m glad she’s still here.” Green eyes full of smile and tears, she watched that bird jerk and jolt with song. “She’s given me a good morning.”

  A good morning all around, it seemed.

  “I asked God to give me joy to push out the fear.” She sighed and leaned her head on one shoulder, curls spilling out of the hat. “And He sent me a robin.”

  “And a basket full of chamomile.”

  She touched the woven basket next to her. “I know. I had no idea I’d still get some this late.”

  I counted it a sweet joy of my life to be out in the garden with my daughter. More that morning than ever before.

  “I’m going to have a whole lot of tea from this.” She picked up the basket, holding it on her lap. “After I’m gone, you’ll be sure to give as much of this away as you can, won’t you? Like my parting gift to people?”

  “I don’t know if it’ll keep that long.” The way my blood had turned ice cold raised goose pimples on my skin.

  “I won’t outlast it, Mom.” She smiled with a peace that so far passed understanding, it seemed unreasonable. “But, even if I do, you still have to promise to give it away. I have letters to be handed out, too. There are just too many people that I won’t be able to say good-bye to.”

  “You just let me know who.” I sipped my coffee. “I’ll do whatever needs done.”

  I’d not sink her good day with my sadness.

  “Thank you, Mom. That’s one less thing weighing on my mind.”

  “You’re welcome.” As much as I fought against it, a tear slipped down my face. “Somehow you turned out to be one of the best people I’ve ever known.”

  “I had pretty amazing people for parents.”

  The floppy brim of her hat curved just enough so it shielded her eyes from the bright morning. Even with that shadow, she glowed. I soaked it in as deep as I could.

  Remember this, I thought. Always remember this moment.

  I thought of good old Moses, his face glimmering so bright, the Israelites couldn’t take it. The very glory of God reflected off Moses, making him the brightest moon. And all on account of Moses asking the Almighty God to show His glory.

  That morning, with the bright joy on my daughter’s face, I didn’t have to ask. His glory shone on her and through her. Only by His mercy.

  Better than a thousand days of sunshine.

  Behind me, shoes clicked against the sidewalk leading out of the funeral home. Turning, I saw my grandson, grinning at Gretchen and me.

  “Look at that.” He took a step into the grass. “Two of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen both in one spot.”

  “Well, Calvin.” Almost blushing, I flipped my hand at him. “What are you getting at?”

  “I wondered if I could borrow you stunning ladies for a little bit?”

  “Only if you keep calling us stunning,” Gretchen said. “What do you need?”

  He got up to the edge of the garden, hands in pockets.

  “Well, we’ve got a little problem.” Squatting down next to his mama, he squinted from the bright sunshine. “We were supposed to start a funeral ten minutes ago. But only one person’s shown up.”

  The empty parking lot proved it to be true.

  “The decedent was young. Just his little sister came.” He cringed and shook his head. “I guess it’s a pretty bad family situation. She walked a couple of miles all by herself to get here.”

  “How awful,” I said.

  “According to the girl, the family had a knock-down fight over life insurance or something.” Cal bit his lip. “No wonder the kid had problems.”

  “Are you looking for a few mourners?” Gretchen pushed herself up. “I’m in, as long as you don’t mind a little dirt under my fingernails and this big, goofy hat.”

  “I don’t think anyone will mind.” Cal offered her his hand, pulling her all the way to standing. “Thanks, Mom. I’ll see you ladies inside.”

  Gretchen and I pushed dirt and flower petals off ourselves. She grabbed her basket and put it on the bench before heading inside.

  “Hold on, honey.” Touching her arm, I lowered my voice. “I hate for you to spend part of your good day like this.”

  “Well, I’m not going to go be all by myself, enjoying my day when someone needs me.” She lifted the hat a little to push her hair in place. “Life isn’t about me. Even though I’m clicking away the days, I’m not the center of everything.”

  Inside, Gretchen touched the hat again, pulling it tighter on her head.

  “Honey,” I whispered. “Do you need a comb?”

  “No.” She exhaled, smiling. “I think I’ll just leave it on for now.”

  “You always have looked pretty in a hat.”

  “Well, it’s my hair.” Her eyebrows softened. “It’s starting to fall out.”

  Patting her shoulder, I knew if I opened my mouth, nothing but blubbering would come out. So I just left it at the patting and walked toward the chapel.

  Evelyn carried a stack of papers through the lobby and back into the office. Funeral brochures no one would read or keep tucked in a Bible.

  “Hey.” She dropped the papers onto the desk. “Will’s ready to start whenever.”

  “Will’s doing the funeral?” I asked.

  “I guess Old Buster’s pretty much passed that duty on.” She stood between Gretchen and me. “I just can’t believe this family.”

  “Sounds like selfishness to me.”

  “Well, I guess there’s a lot to the story.” She folded her arms. “The kid put them through some tough times.”

  “The poor family must have a lot of emotions right now,” Gretchen said.

  “Death can bring out the monster in some people.” Evelyn took a step toward the chapel. “We should get in there.”

  “Where do you want us to sit?” Gretchen followed behind her.

  “In the family row,” Evelyn said. “The girl doesn’t want to sit alone.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Gretchen and I walked, arm in arm, to the front of the chapel. A girl, not even ten, I was sure of it, sat alone in the front row. So thin and slumped over, she hardly looked big enough for the chair. She’d got herself all dressed up, though. Black dress and black cardigan. The way she hung her feet out the back of her shoes made me wonder if she’d worn blisters into her skin on the walk over.

  She sat completely still, her eyes locked on the face of the young man in the casket.

  “Can we sit with you, honey?” I made my voice as gentle as I could. “I’m Olga.”

  She turned her face to me but kept those round, brown eyes on her brother. “Okay.”

  “My name’s Gretchen.” My daughter moved to the other side of the girl so she’d have both of us.

  “I’m Harley,” the girl said. “James was my big brother.”

  “I’m sorry, Harley.” Gretchen used her voice like soothing butter. “This must be such a hard thing for you.”

  “Yeah. It’s real bad.” She swallowed. “He did drugs. Like, a lot of them.”

  “That must have been scary.”

  Harley rubbed her nose so hard, I thought it might bleed. I got a tissue out of my pocket. I learned along the way that, as an old lady, I ought always to carry plenty of tissues. It sure paid off every once in a while.

  “He
re you go, honey.” I put it in her little hand. “Don’t worry. It’s clean.”

  “Thanks.”

  Will took his place behind the podium. His face had a bit of a green tint to it. Clive had told me how skittish Will got around decedents. I said a prayer for him. Poor fella. But I sure was glad he stood up there and not Old Buster with his big words and heavy pounding fists.

  “Harley, do you mind if I start this with a little prayer?” Will asked.

  She bowed her head, wrapping her hands around the tissue.

  “God, today is really hard. Help us to make it through. Especially Harley. Let her see and feel that she is loved today. Thanks, God. Amen.”

  That prayer brought the tears right up into my eyes. They didn’t give me any warning before taking a tumble down my cheeks. The easy words moved my heart, and I just wanted to think on them. That prayer was pure and right and lovely. I know it had delighted the very heart of my Lord.

  “Harley, I never got to meet your brother. I really wish that I’d had that chance.” Will stepped out from behind the podium, leaving his notes with his Bible. “But since you’re here, I know that you love him a lot.”

  “I do.” Her little voice trembled out, just a little louder than a whisper.

  “I’m glad to hear that.” He moved one of the folding chairs right in front of the girl. “Do you mind if I sit with you?”

  “Okay.”

  And he did. That man sat knee to knee with little Harley. I almost sobbed out loud from the kindness of it.

  “Now, I know your brother had some troubles,” Will said. “We all do from time to time. You know? And sometimes life is hard. But I think you already know that.”

  “Our dad killed himself last year,” Harley said. I rested a hand on her back, it shook so hard, like an earthquake stuck inside her. I wanted to pull her tight to me. “James took it real hard.”

  Will nodded but didn’t say a word. He just waited on her.

  “He’s the one who found our dad.” She used the tissue to scrub under her eyes. “Our mom thought if we moved here, we’d forget about our dad. But that didn’t work.”

  “It breaks my heart to know you had to go through all that.” Will wiped a tear from his own face. His voice broke. “It isn’t fair. You shouldn’t have all that hurt.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “James tried to quit. You know. All the drugs. He tried a couple times. It was just too hard.”

  “I bet.”

  “Yeah. He was talking to a counselor.” She shrugged.

  Will leaned forward and rested his elbows on his thighs. “You know, I really wish that all those things wouldn’t have happened to you.”

  “I miss my dad.” She sniffled. “James did, too.”

  “I’m sure. And that’s okay. You know that, right?”

  “Sometimes my mom gets mad if I talk about him.”

  “That’s probably because she’s still really hurt. Sometimes adults act angry when they’re in pain like that.” Will pushed up his glasses. “Here’s the thing, you need to know that it’s good for you to let yourself have a good cry. I know it helps me when I’m having a really bad day.”

  “You do?” She crinkled her freckled nose at him.

  “Well, yeah. Not in front of a lot of people, usually. I try to cry with one of my friends.” He half smiled. “It’s nice to not be alone when you’re sad.”

  She half smiled back at him.

  “And then, every once in a while, I try to remember this one verse from the Psalms.”

  “That’s the poetry part, right?” she asked. “I went to Sunday school before my dad died.”

  “Yup. That’s right.” That time, he gave her a full smile. The kind a daddy would give his daughter to show her he was proud. “Well, it says that God keeps track of our tears, even collects them in a bottle.”

  “That’s kind of cool.”

  “I think so, too,” Will said. “And then, in Isaiah, a couple books after the Psalms, it says that God will wipe our tears away.”

  “That sounds like something a dad would do.”

  “It does.” Will’s eyes filled up. “And you know what both of those verses tell me? They tell me that God really cares when we’re sad. Just like a dad.”

  Harley’s sweet face squished up something awful, and she just wailed her heart out. Both Gretchen and I wrapped our mama arms around her.

  “I’m so sorry.” I said it so many times, I thought my voice would give out.

  “No one cares that he died except me.” Harley sobbed. “They didn’t even send any flowers. Nobody sent flowers for him.”

  Before I knew it, Gretchen had gotten herself out of the chair and halfway out the chapel. I worried that the emotion was too much for her. Made her think about the cancer and dying and all that it would do to her kids when she was gone. My flesh and heart were torn. I needed to keep a hold of Harley. But I wanted to see to my own girl, too.

  Good thing Clive saw her go. He rushed out after her. In just a minute, though, he walked back in, Gretchen behind him. In her hand, she carried the whole basket of chamomile she’d picked earlier.

  She got back to her chair and sat by Harley, whispering in her ear. She took the young girl’s hand and they walk to James in the casket. Harley took one little flower and put it in her brother’s hand. Then, she picked more and more, filling the casket with the yellow and white. Soon, all that could be seen of James was his face. The rest of him was covered over with flowers.

  “You can rest now, James,” Gretchen said.

  “I love you, Jimmy.” Harley touched his cheek but pulled her hand off real quick.

  God must have needed a big bottle to catch all our tears that morning.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Evelyn

  Don’s number came up on the screen of my phone. Sighing, I took the call, even though I’d planned to spend my whole Saturday sleeping. In my memory, my stepfather had never called me before.

  “This is Don,” he said over the phone after I answered. “Your stepdad.”

  “Yup. I know.” Sitting up made me light-headed. I leaned back against the headboard. “Everything okay?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Well, it’s your mother—”

  “Is she okay?” I interrupted, forgetting how tired I felt. “What happened?”

  “Nothing happened, Evelyn,” he snapped at me. “Would you let me get two words out before you interrupt me?”

  He waited, and I didn’t say a word. Looking in the mirror over my dresser, my cheeks burned red. In a year, he’d never said so much as three words to me, let alone bitten my head off.

  “Sorry.” He sighed. “I’m not good at this. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right,” I muttered. “We’re all pretty stressed out right now.”

  “Thanks.” His breathing in and out made a rushing sound in my ear. “Well, your mother had herself locked up in the bathroom this morning. She wouldn’t let me in. And I couldn’t get her to tell me what she was doing.”

  “Don, I haven’t had a day off in four months.” I paused for emphasis. “Four months. And you call me to tell me that my mom was in the bathroom this morning?”

  “Well, yes,” he answered. “I know it sounds crazy, but I’m worried. This isn’t like her.”

  “What am I supposed to do about it?”

  “Well, I’m at work. I can’t check on her for another couple hours.” He cleared his throat. “I was hoping you’d go over and see what’s wrong. Please, Evelyn.”

  “Fine.” I regretted that he couldn’t see my eye roll. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  I hung up, hoping that all I’d find was my mom, in the bathroom, doing her makeup.

  “Mom? Are you here?” I called, stepping into her house. The silence as I walked through the living room put an uneasy feeling in my gut. “Don asked me to come check on you.”

  Muted banging sounds came from the ba
throom. Someone, my mom, I hoped, opening and closing a cabinet. After the noise stopped, I made my way down the hallway.

  “Mom, I know you’re probably fine,” I said. “But Don’s kind of freaked out.”

  “Hi, honey.” Her voice, muffled by the bathroom door, sounded weak. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Just looking for something.” More of the clunking. “Go ahead and help yourself to a cup of coffee. I think Don made some this morning.”

  “I kind of wanted to take you out to breakfast.” My hand on the door, I tapped it with my fingertips. “I’m starving.”

  “Honey, why don’t you call Will to go with you?”

  “Because, I wanted to talk about him. I can’t talk about him while he’s there.”

  Usually, that would have gotten at least a small giggle from her. She would have opened the door, her huge smile blinding me, and pulled me in to sit down and spill everything.

  All I got was quiet.

  “What’s going on in there, Mom?”

  “Nothing. I’m fine, honey.”

  “Can I come in?” I jiggled the doorknob. “It’s locked.”

  “No.” She sighed, then gasped. “It’s coming out, Ev.”

  “What?”

  “My hair. It’s falling out.” She sobbed. “I didn’t know it would be like this.”

  “Let me come in, Mom.”

  “It’s coming out in clumps. All at once.”

  “Let me see.”

  The lock on the door clicked. I turned the little gold-toned knob, pushing the door open. My mom stood in front of the mirror, brush in hand. The hair on her head matted in some places. Other parts, her scalp, shiny in the light, peeked out.

  “It’s so bad.” She pulled the brush through a section of hair. Strands fell away from her scalp like they’d never been attached. “I was looking for the electric clippers. I can’t find them anywhere.”

  “Why do you want those?”

  “I just want to shave it all off.” Her shoulders rose and fell. “I can’t keep losing it like this.”

  “Do you want me to see if Cal has some clippers?”

  “I don’t know.” Her bangs still swept over her forehead. “Will you do it? I can’t hold my arms up that long.”