Adam filled Michael in on Joey’s situation. He was on probation, and things were going well. He would be starting a training program for the handicapped in the coming months.
Michael returned to his apartment and turned on the TV; his eyes were staring at Letterman, but he was mulling over how to tell Sara about his past. He felt some urgency about it; he was not sure why. He acknowledged that his feelings for Sara had been brewing for months. In retrospect, he often buried difficult issues beneath the surface, and then suddenly, the issue would pop up for immediate consideration. He was ready to take it on very soon.
Michael’s final decision bordered on somewhat of a cop-out. He planned to give her a letter at his next visit. There had been no reason to re-live that moment, now there was. Sometime in the future he would seek counseling; right now it was still too raw. Repression had worked for him. Still, it would be wrong to start an intimate relationship with Sara without telling her of his past.
Over the next few days, he stayed busy helping around the neighborhood. All the while, he was mulling over his letter to Sara. It wasn’t going to be easy, this much he knew.
That night, Michael sat at the kitchen table reviewing the final draft of his letter.
Dear Sara,
I have wanted to tell you my story for a long time. Some of it is very painful, too painful to tell you in person.
I was born in Chicago thirty- five years ago. My childhood was good; we lived in an upper middle-class neighborhood and had no real problems. My mom had a degree in nutrition but chose to be a homemaker; she gave Dad and me a wonderful home life. She was a loving mom but a little weak on discipline. She spoke of going back to work when I grew up, but the time never came. Money was not that much of an issue. My parents did not get involved with outside commitments; they spent most of their leisure time with me. My childhood was filled with memories of playing in the park, milk and cookies after school, and dinner with Mom and Dad most every night. They helped me with homework, and my friends were welcome in our home.
Mom developed breast cancer and died when I was twenty. Needless to say, I miss her a lot. Dad was diagnosed with heart disease, which eventually took his life ten years ago.
I had a few close friends throughout my school years. We got into some mischief, but nothing worth mentioning. High school was good; I played basketball and football and had a couple of girlfriends. I remained a virgin until twelfth grade; I was afraid of appearing foolish and inexperienced. This mindset has followed me through my life. I felt I needed to be an expert from day one, no matter what the challenge. I am likely to remain in the background longer than most other adults.
Dad was a typical father of that era; he worked hard for long hours. His role was the breadwinner and chief disciplinarian. I always felt loved. Mom and Dad rarely argued. Things were discussed at an intellectual level; mutual respect was a big word in our family.
Anyway, my childhood was great, and I am content when I recall those days. My parents set good examples, and I intend to honor their moral code.
I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do when I graduated from high school. I went to a city college and graduated with an associate’s degree in science. I went on and received my Bachelor’s degree. By this time, I had a steady girlfriend. She received her degree and credentials and taught first grade. Her name was Jenny, and we had a close friendship long before we fell in love. She was interested in politics, and we spent many hours debating ecology and foreign policies. We were married in a garden in the presence of our parents and a few close friends. A friend offered the use of his home, and our guests brought casseroles and appetizers. We supplied the wine, cake, and flowers. It was a beautiful day I will cherish forever. We had two children in the next three years, and I decided to join the Chicago Fire Department, having been trained as an EMT. Life was good, despite the usual tight money difficulties at the beginning of a marriage.
Jenny was gentle and soft-spoken and knew how to approach me when we had disagreements. I knew we were blessed. I was away for days at a time; Jenny managed the kids alone with ease.
On one of my four-day stints before Christmas, we had a call at four a.m. A man reported that he could see flames down his street. Judging by the caller’s address, I knew the fire was near my home. The roads were icy, and our response was delayed. Before we reached the corner, we could see the glow in the sky. Up until that moment, I had no idea it was my home that was on fire. I cannot describe my feelings or actions from that point forward.
My sweet Jenny, Doug, and Ronnie were buried on December 29th. The ignition point of the fire was our Christmas tree. I had failed to refill the tree stand with water, and the tree was likely tinder-dry. The guilt will be with me until the day I die. My childhood memories have helped me through these difficult years, although, there were times in the past when I did not want to continue on.
So, my dear friend, this is my story. Within weeks, I left my hometown and friends, having no home to sell. Nothing was left but ashes and a brick fireplace. We had borrowed money from Jenny’s parents to buy our home, so I repaid them with the insurance money and left for New York. I needed to escape the constant reminders of my little family. These are apocalyptic memories. My intention was to disappear into the abyss of a large city. Distance has helped me, and I prefer to move on, rather than relive, re-tell, or try to reconcile that part of my life. I do want you to know my story. Maybe someday I will be able to talk about it, but not yet.
I know this letter rambles, but it is the first time I have put that horrible day on paper.
My life has taken a one hundred and eighty-degree turn. I am on a different path, finding myself with a chance to enrich the lives of others and a further opportunity to heal; helping others is good medicine for my soul. Perhaps Jenny orchestrated this new challenge for me. I look forward to it.
Living in a homeless shelter was an eye-opener for me; it was difficult to carry on and start a new life. My path to recovery has been enhanced with meaningful new friendships—yours above all, Sara. Discovering Sister’s letter was a huge blessing. Now I’ve been given a chance to help others. I admit it has also made my lifestyle more comfortable. I hope Sister Abbey is looking down on me; I want to make her proud.
You may be the only person with whom I will share this story. Please tuck it away in the furthest corner of your heart and keep it safe. Perhaps one day, we will talk about it.
With Deep Affection,
Michael
Michael noticed his hands were moist, not to mention the tears streaming down his face. He re-read his letter; he knew that he probably could have worded it better. Instead, he chose to fold it up and once more close the door on that horrible night. He would hand her the letter tomorrow—just as he was leaving. He wanted Sara to read it alone. He hoped she would “let sleeping dogs lie,” an expression his mom often quoted.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
The next day arrived all too soon; he walked over to Sara’s. “Hey, want to go out for dinner?”
“Love to! It is good to see you, Michael. Have you been busy?”
“You bet; I’m trying to get settled; lots of paperwork.” His statement was a stretch. In truth, he’d been preoccupied with composing his letter. A little white lie would have to suffice. “I’m ready to pick out some furniture for the apartment. Would you like to help me?”
“Of course! It’ll be fun.”
They would begin the search the day after tomorrow. Throughout dinner, Sara appeared animated. Michael supposed this would be her first outing for furnishings. It would be fun for both of them.
When they arrived back at Sara’s apartment, he carried her up the stairs as usual; her body seemed more relaxed as he cradled her. He dared to confirm this was a message of affection. He was a little nervous about leaving the letter; nonetheless, he was determined. He sat for a while, barely aware of their conversation. He had the letter in his outer pocket. He had rehearsed this moment for days.
“Well, I’ll be off; I’ll pick you up around one on Friday.” He moved over to her and gave her his routine hug and kiss.
“I’m leaving a letter for you—it tells a little of my past. It isn’t something I want to talk about, but I’d like you to know a little more about me.”
He saw Sara was puzzled. She took the letter in her hand and looked up, giving him a soft smile.
“See you soon, Michael.”
Michael heaved a sigh of relief as he escaped into the night air. At last, he was sharing his past with a special person in his life. He reflected on how he had separated his former life from the present. He knew it was time to make her aware of a vulnerable corner in his heart. He needed to own up to the fact he was preparing himself for a new relationship. Giving her the letter was the first step.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
Two days later, they were ready for their first furniture-shopping expedition. Michael arrived on time. “Is my personal interior decorator ready?”
“Without a doubt! I’m so excited!”
Michael was happy to see the “animated Sara” in full force. She was forever cheerful, but in these moments, she was vibrant. They spent the day browsing in several stores and agreed on most everything.
They made one big purchase. Neither of them was in a rush—it was too much fun. They ended the day in Manhattan, took in a movie, and ate at a little diner. She used the restroom as usual. Michael was thankful she was not tethered to her apartment arrangement for personal needs. She had never discussed the extent of her injuries or limitations. He knew she went to physical therapy every week; anything beyond that was a mystery.
They returned to her apartment and shared a cup of tea. Michael headed out; relieved she made no mention of his letter. It was what he had hoped for. After all, she had been through the untimely deaths of her mom and brother and had never spoken one word of her tragedy. The difference in the two situations fell on the one fact: he felt responsible for the deaths of his wife and children. He doubted Sara was grappling with that issue. He had heard that survivors of such a tragedy wonder why they were left to carry on. He continued down the well-trodden path of guilt, the well-worn word “why.” Imagine a fireman on duty, losing his family to a fire in his own home—a fire that was the direct result of his negligence. They had discussed an artificial tree and he had been lukewarm about the purchase. He wondered if he would ever stop persecuting himself for their deaths—he doubted it. He felt like he had lost a part of his very being. One goes on; however, it is never the same. He caught himself ruminating in his grief and focused on the microscopic details of some flowers outside the store. This approach had worked for him; he would focus on something beautiful. It was like a meditation that freed his mind.
He was interrupted by the sound of footsteps and a box being dropped on the floor. He looked up to see Danny nudging the box over with his foot and rubbing his back.
“Hey, Danny. Isn’t it late for you to be down here? Let me help you.”
“Thanks, Michael. I enjoy it. I’ll go up now. Did you kids see a movie?”
“Yes, we had a full day; we also looked at furnishings for my apartment.”
Danny wiped his eyes, and took off his apron. Michael thought he looked more tired lately. The man had to be close to seventy-five.
“Take it easy, Danny. You’ve got to keep your health up.”
Danny didn’t answer, but he gave Michael a melancholy smile and a salute as he turned for the stairs. “Ciao, Michael.”
“Ciao, Danny.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
The days passed, and Michael returned to his old routine. The sisters tried to pay him for his help, but to no avail. “Your wonderful meals are payment in full. Please, Sister, my situation has changed, and I’m happy to help you.” They took the hint and stopped offering remuneration. Sister Bernadette continued to spoil him with special meals. It was a perfect situation. He continued to help Danny, accepting his lunch as payment. He knew it was important for Danny to repay him in some way.
He managed to do a convincing job of losing pool games to Joey. He and Sara spent most Saturdays looking for furniture. They relished in the fun of it—all the while becoming closer. On one occasion, they were laughing so hard at a movie, that the inevitable moment presented itself. He leaned over, touching his forehead to hers. As the laugh ebbed, he found his lips on hers. However trivial the kiss, this was a breakthrough moment in their relationship. He knew it was a modest kiss, but it was stirring to the point of embarrassment for Michael. Neither knew quite how to react. Michael doubted he, or Sara, would forget the moment. There was no turning back now; their body language changed in that instant.
A few evenings later, Sara pressed a letter into his hands. He said nothing, smiled and put it in his pocket. When he returned home, he sat on the sofa and took out the letter.
Sweet Michael,
I have read your letter several times; thank you for sharing this with me. I am touched by your situation. I am motivated to also share some details of my past. Some of my situation is obvious, and no doubt you have heard snippets of the details surrounding the accident. I lost my mom and brother in an auto accident a few years ago. I am not paralyzed; I do have feeling in my legs. With aggressive therapy, someday I might walk with crutches and braces. But, there is a part of me that is stuck. I wonder why I was left behind. Why not my brother or mom? Were they not more worthy to remain here with Dad? My brother was an accomplished violinist; I have no outstanding talents. Dad and Mom were so good together. It is so hard to understand. My motivation is more crippled than my legs. It is a challenge for me to describe what is holding me back. I’m sure there is a medical term for it.
I do not feel sorry for myself. I am trying to draw myself out of the shock of it all. In a strange way, I have been immobilized. I remained conscious at the accident scene, watching helplessly, as my brother and mother took their last breath. Many forthcoming chapters of my life were lost that day.
Keeping my leg muscles active until my psyche catches up has been my thread of hope. I’m working with a psychologist to get past the recurring vision that haunts me. He is convinced my inability to walk is more psychological than physical. I did sustain several breaks in my legs, and they are healed. It will not be an easy road, but I’m beginning to come out of my shell. During the first few years, I didn’t have the motivation to seek more aggressive therapy. The effort and pain required just didn’t seem worth it. Perhaps I have been in a deep depression, and it manifested itself in this way; I don’t know.
I’m thinking of starting a more aggressive physical therapy program. There is still money left from the accident settlement.
Why am I telling you all this? A grueling exercise regime may change my temperament. Perhaps I will become tired, moody, weepy, or short-tempered. I must embark on this journey, not knowing my final destination. I think I am ready. In a vicarious way, sharing the excitement in your venture has delivered me to the ‘here and now’. I want to travel and experience the outside world as you have. In a roundabout way, Sister Abbey has also given me a push in the right direction.
I led a sheltered life prior to the accident; this frame of mind may have been another obstacle preventing me from forging ahead. Anyway, to make this long story longer, I want you to know about my predicament. I hope we will stay friends, but I may become somewhat “fragile.” Wish me luck, my best friend. I hope our friendship will remain solid, no matter the outcome of our individual journeys.
Much love, Sara
P.S. Dad doesn’t know about my new therapy; I think I’ll wait for some positive results before I tell him.
Michael sat back and took a deep breath. Her letter explained many questions that had been in the back of his mind. He had wondered if Sara might walk again, but this was the first definitive news. He could understand why she told him; she would need his silent support. It was easy to understand her potential frailty. Any changes in her dispos
ition would be short-lived in the scheme of her life. He was determined to take her anywhere in the world to get the best treatment. It sounded like she was not bound to American doctors; she was using insurance money. How could he let her know he was willing to take her anywhere for a second opinion? He mumbled, “Michael, here you are, already plotting to orchestrate her care. She is a smart little gal, capable of making appropriate decisions.” Just as he had requested in his letter, he would not discuss its contents unless Sara initiated the conversation. He put the letter on his bedside table and crawled beneath the covers. Sleep arrived before he finished processing the letter.
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
The days sailed by; the Abbey Foundation was up and running. Michael’s apartment was furnished, and the plan for the downstairs was created. The old meat locker area would become his windowless office. There would be space for a small window-front shop sometime in the future. He would bring in office equipment little by little. He didn’t want to stir up curiosity. He sat back and tried to process the past year. Through his smile, he felt a single, salty tear as it journeyed down his cheek.
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
Michael had not mentioned Sara’s more frequent sessions. She became more fatigued, often falling asleep while they were watching TV. He would leave early tonight, knowing Danny would be there if she needed assistance. He looked at her—so peaceful in her sleep. He crept out and onto the street.
They had talked about the foundation and were in the process of compiling lists of possible recipients. They both had a firm interest in helping those who wanted to help themselves. The subject of micro-businesses came up often; with small donations, many small trades were flourishing in third world countries. The accountants and a Swiss banker had arranged some sound investments to keep the foundation self-sufficient. He ran the Swiss proposals past two independent financial advisors. They agreed the plan was secure. There would never be a reason to take risks.