Authors: Brian MacLearn
I had planned and rehearsed what I wanted to say to her, but it all flew out the window. My eyes were locked on hers, and I said what was deep in my heart. “I love you and I always have. I have no right to ask for your forgiveness, but I am. I made the biggest mistake of my life the day I quit fighting for you…for us. I can’t undo the past six years and I understand my coming home to stay might be hard on you. I don’t want that, not again. I’ve lived with the consequences of my choice for too long, and I need to find peace. I won’t be able to find that peace if I continue to cause you pain.”
Allison stood in the door. Her hand had let go of the doorknob and now rested at her side. There were tears in her eyes, and it dug deep within me the extent of the anguish I’d put her through and she’d put herself through. The pull to be with her was stronger than it had ever been, but I had more to say before the possibility of redemption could be pursued.
“I can’t even begin to imagine what life must have been like for you after I left. What must you have felt the day you found out you were pregnant with our son and his father was gone? I lived without my father, but it isn’t even close to what you must have gone through.”
Allison’s eyes opened wide as if I’d struck her across the face, and her whole body began to tremble as the tears rained down her cheeks. She could no longer look at me and lowered her head, covering her eyes with her hands. As she cried, I made my final plea of atonement.
“I didn’t find out about Zach until yesterday when I read it in my Grandpa’s journal. I was mad, not because I fathered Zach, but because I wasn’t given the chance to be his father. Everyone decided not to tell me, afraid I couldn’t make the right decision. I was angry knowing you all agreed, but then it made me realize just how far I’d gone to isolate myself from everyone. I lost my dad and I needed him in my life. I lived with the pain when my father had chosen to leave me and that hurt every single day. I don’t want Zach to ever feel the way I did. I know it isn’t the same, but to me it means everything for him to never have to ask
why
as he lays in his bed at night.
“I may be his father, but I haven’t the right to be his dad. If my coming home to Cedar Junction is going to cause either of you more pain, then I will leave. You’ve made a life here and I don’t want to interfere where I’m not welcome. I’ll abide by your decision and respect whatever role you want me to play. I can only hope I’ll be given the chance to be the kind of father Zach can look up to. This time, I will do the right thing, even if means walking away again.”
It was all out of me, and I stood there in silence waiting for any sign from Allison. I didn’t move, even though ever fiber inside of me wanted to cross the barrier between us and hold her in my arms and never let go.
From down the hall, behind Allison came the voice of a child, “Mommy.” The silence was broken and the magnitude of everything said weighted the air around us. Allison raised her eyes to mine and I held her gaze, as she closed the door between us. I had never felt so alone. There wasn’t anger or even the forgiveness I sought in her eyes. What I saw were the eyes of a mother, full of love for her child, and the understanding of what that love entailed.
I wasn’t sure what I’d expected. In my mind, I prepared for a much different outcome. I really thought that, after I had laid my heart on my sleeve, Allison would realize how much she needed me too. It was still too soon to tell what our final outcome would be, but for the moment, it was definitely not looking the brightest. I thought about knocking again, getting down on my knees and asking her to give me one more chance. However, that was not the way I wanted to be with Allison. I picked up my confidence from the floor where I had dropped it, and tucked what was left of it back in my pocket. I started down the steps and, as I neared the half-way point, I thought I heard a door above me open. I hesitated for only a moment, then kept on going, even though every part of me wanted to race back up the stairs. There would have been two potential outcomes, and I didn’t think I would be able to handle the possibility of the negative one I could foresee. There would be another time and another opportunity to make my case; it would just have to wait.
It was a few minutes before nine-thirty, when I entered the church doors. Already there was a multitude of people mingling around. Great Aunt Vicky caught my eye and motioned for me to join her. It took me longer to get to her as several of my grandpa’s friends stopped me and offered condolences. When I made it to her side, my father was already there, standing next to her. He was busy talking with Herb Jackson and didn’t see me. We spent the next half hour greeting the mourners and directing them into the church as politely as possible, when the line seemed to backup.
At exactly ten o’clock, the organ music from within the church sanctuary began to play. Those who hadn’t stopped to talk with us now hustled into the church to try and find an open seat to sit. I had kept my eyes out for Allison, but I hadn’t seen her yet. I felt pretty low and wondered if maybe I hadn’t just killed any chance for us. After another background song, there was a pause, and then I heard Justin playing the intro for “Amazing Grace.” The angelic voice of my Aunt Marcie sang the melody. Justin joined in at just the right times to provide harmony and together they were truly inspirational.
Great Aunt Vicky nudged my father, and he made his way into the sanctuary, followed close behind by Great Aunt Vicky and then myself. When we got to the first pew on the left side of the aisle, my father stopped. He took a moment as he looked towards the open casket where my grandfather rested. He bowed his head and, after a brief, silent prayer moved into the pew. Aunt Vicky stepped aside so I could go in second. I slid in next to my Dad and after Great Aunt Vicky said her own prayer, she sat down.
It was hard to keep my mind on the service. I not only kept running the eulogy around in my head, but I couldn’t keep the thoughts of Allison at bay either. Add in my father sitting next to me and my grandfather in the casket in front of me, I was feeling overwhelmed. Pastor Richardson opened the service with a prayer and read a few scriptures from the Bible. All of the pews were filled. Several people had to sit in the narthex and listen to the service over the speaker system. Herb Jackson was the first to speak, and he lifted the heavy spirits of the mourners with his witticism. He shared many of his favorite moments with my Grandfather and all of them ended with Herb having to get him out of some kind of pickle. It really helped he could bring laughter to all of us. Happy tears were exactly what we all needed, and it helped to remember my grandfather for the character he could be.
Samuel Preston went next, and he had a much more difficult time trying to speak. He wiped his eyes several times and his voice would falter occasionally. He tried to read from his notes and, in the end, he just looked out at everyone who had come and said, “A man isn’t always judged by his accomplishments or his wealth; sometimes he is judged by his friends and the hearts of the people he touches. If you look around, it’s clear that Jake is in good standing with the Lord.” It was a very powerful moment. In unison throughout the church, I could hear the Kleenexes being pulled from packs and boxes.
As if on cue, my Aunt Marcie and Justin stood up to play another song. This time, Justin played the guitar while Aunt Marcie played the piano. Justin began by speaking the lines from Alabama’s song, “Angels Among Us.” He had barely begun to sing when I started hearing the sobs from all around me. He did a fantastic job, and when the choir joined in on the second chorus, even the pastor couldn’t keep from
wiping at his eyes
.
As soon as they finished and took their seats, my Great Aunt Vicky rose and made her way to the front. She stopped in front of Grandpa Jake’s casket. Reaching out, she placed her hand on his chest. It was a touching display of affection, and I prepared myself for the emotional homage she was going to give. Great Aunt Vicky wasn’t tall, and she had to pull the microphone down to speak into it. It was her opportunity to share the stories about my grandfather growing up, and she mixed it up with humor and sadness. She had us laughing as she told all about the jokes they tried to pull on each other, and then she had everyone in tears as she told the story of how brave and responsible my grandfather was when their dad died. He was only fourteen and went to work to help his mother pay the bills. I knew many of the stories she shared and, when I listened to her, she made me feel proud of Grandpa. I was so lucky to have had my grandfather in my life and, by looking around at everyone he came in contact with, I knew his compassion would live on.
As Great Aunt Vicky finished, I took a moment to look at my father. He was drained and looked exhausted. I put my hand on his leg and gave him a knowing smile. His nod was barely perceptible, but it was there nonetheless. Pastor Richardson took a few moments to share some of his insights into my grandfather and to invite all of the friends and family to come back to the church after the graveside burial ceremony. When he was finished, he looked down and nodded to me.
I stepped around Great Aunt Vicky and approached the casket. I laid both of my hands on the rail and looked down on Grandpa’s face. I knew this was going to be the last opportunity to see him. In a whispered tone, I told him how much I loved him and how I was going to miss him something fierce. I also thanked him for everything he had done for me and I hoped, when he looked down on me, I would find a way to make him proud. Instead of heading up to the podium, I walked behind the casket and towards Aunt Marcie and Justin.
Justin reached behind the piano and plucked my guitar up from where it had been resting. Aunt Marcie went over and sat down at the piano. Justin’s band mate, Alex, took his place by the trap set that was sometimes used during the contemporary service. I swung the guitar strap over my shoulder and turned to face the onlookers. The first person I saw was Allison. She was halfway back on the left side and sat in the pew, farthest away from the center aisle. Zach was next to her, and then Stacy and Larry Dittmer next to him. She held my gaze, and I gave her a tentative smile. She nodded and I knew there would be a time for us to talk again.
There had been one other piece of paper in with the journal pages that I had found. It was my grandfather’s attempt at trying to write music. There were several bars full of notes. I knew it instantly, as I looked at it. I’d been playing it on my guitar ever since I had come home from the meadow, when I was working on the heart for Allison. At first, I thought he had tried to write down what he had heard me playing, remembering his comment the night he stood outside my door. He’d said, “It’s just as I’d always imagined it.” At the bottom of the page was the clear signature of Jake Owens, along with the date, June 15, 1953. I wasn’t the only one that had heard the song in the meadow, and I wondered if my father had heard it also?
In many ways, my grandfather had passed the tune on to me. It was the one he always whistled when he was focused on a project. My version was very similar, but it was also unique to me, and I was willing to bet that my dad would have his own take on the melody as well. There was complete silence as everyone waited to see what I was going to do. The back of the church began to fill up with all of the people who had been listening in the other room. There was electricity in the air, and everyone seemed to sense it. Unspoken, people prepared themselves for what was to come. I stood and continued to look out over the people my Grandfather had touched in his life. I think if I hadn’t been able to play a note, they all would have understood and been equally touched. We were all connected to this moment, and no one wanted to be left out.
As I had done so many times, alone in my room, I let the pull of the music take control. I strummed the guitar and played the chords that were so imbedded within me. I didn’t rush or even attempt to look up, not yet. After a few moments, I paused, looking out at everyone present. I had my focus and I was ready. I pictured the meadow and the hearts on the old oak tree. I let all the memories wash over me, and I set them free as I played the song that had inspired three generations of Owens men.
I played the intro into the song and, as I started to sing the first verse, Aunt Marcie began to accompany me on the piano. No one would have realized this was the first time that any of us had played together. After talking with Justin and Alex, they had gotten together with Aunt Marcie and worked on their parts of the song, everything was just as it should be. Softly, I sang the first verse. At the chorus Justin, Alex, and Aunt Marcie harmonized with me, and the intensity of the music began to climb. During the second verse, Justin sang backup and, when we hit the chorus for the second time, I nearly stopped as the choir joined in and Alex began to beat out rhythms on the drums as the passion of the music
escalated on to new heights. Instead of a third verse, we played an instrumental interlude and, as the refrain started, violins and saxophones joined in from the organ loft. My eyes darted to Aunt Marcie, and she smiled. Heads turned to look up at them, and when the last chorus started, the choir raised the roof of the church adding to the emotion. Justin and I sang the melody, with Aunt Marcie coaxing everything she could out of the piano. The entire composition could not have been scored any better. Any movie director would have been envious of the scene playing out in real life.
With the last note of the chorus played, the music stopped abruptly, and I let the silence have its own moment. In the stillness of the church, with my father and everyone else staring intently at me, I played the chorus one last time. I hummed along with the melody, and when I reached the end, I stopped playing my guitar and whistled Grandpa’s tune, in a final tribute to the man we would all miss. The song faded away, but not the effect it had on the people present. Somewhere along the way, the tears had begun to make their way down my cheeks, and when I finished, I was emotionally exhausted. I looked into the casket at Grandpa Jake and then up to Heaven. I knew he was sitting there next to Grandma on a certain bench. They were holding hands and looking down on us and, even though the music had stopped down here, my grandfather was now whistling the tune while the choirs of angels provided his backup.