Page 44 of Accidental Irish Daddy

What a terrible day for a little girl’s heart to be broken this way.

When the funeral’s over, Da turns to me, pulling me into a hug. It’s odd and awkward hugging him on any occasion, but it feels especially so now. I hug him back just the same.

“We’re having a wake at my house,” he tells me. “I know you probably won’t come…what with all the drinking we’ll be doing. But you’re welcome to if you change your mind.”

“Thanks,” I say. My father gives a final glance at my mother’s resting place before leaving with his wife.

Aisling, Bridget, and I walk back to the car. I’m holding the umbrella more over their heads than mine. The cold rain feels…I don’t know what the right word is. Maybe it just feels right. Like I’m supposed to be drenched in tears.

I help Aisling and Bridget into the car before I sit on the driver’s side. “Would you mind if I dropped you and Bridget off at the house?” I ask Aisling. “I’m going to pop over to Martha’s for a bit.”

“Of course,” she replies. “Whatever you need.”

I’m not doing well right now. The loss of my mother hurts my heart in a way that I’ve never felt before. I used to think the term ‘broken heart’ was a figure of speech. Now…now, I know better.

The rain tapers off as I drive, making way for warm rays of sunshine and drying up the streets as we drive back. I drop Aisling and Bridget off, then I go next door to Martha’s house.

Her house isn’t the rambling mansion that mine is. Where the land around my house dips and goes into the rest of the residential area, her little house sits right below it. She served as my father’s secretary faithfully through the years and when she retired, my father bought her this house with his own money for all her hard work.

As I make my way there, the front door opens before I can ring the bell. Martha stands there, her white hair tied back, her eyes full of concern and grief. She’s wearing dirty blue jeans and an old, flowery blouse. She’s also got gardening gloves on. She takes them off as I walk up to her and touches my face gently.

“My poor boy,” she says. “Forgive me for not being there, lad. I’ve never been able to handle funerals. I’d rather remember them like they were in life.”

“You don’t need to explain.”

She doesn’t. Her aversion to funerals is well known to me. “I see you’ve got the gardening gloves out.”

She nods. “Thought I’d take advantage of this little reprieve from the rain. I was taking a break just now, having some tea. Will you have some with me?”

I nod and she leads me into the kitchen.

When I was first trying to kick drugs and alcohol, I usually found myself here. That gnawing feeling inside me when I needed a fix seemed to raise its ugly head at every single inconvenience back then. I couldn’t find any soda? Time to use. Girlfriend out of town for the weekend? Better use to get through the next couple of days. For a second, it felt like I was never going to be able to kick the habit.

“You don’t look well,” she notes as she pours me a cup. “How are you holding up?”

“Honestly…I’m not doing well at all.” I pause as she puts sugar in my cup. “Ma…I don’t understand why she’s gone. How could such a wonderful woman be taken away like this? It’s…it’s not right. I mean, I never thought she would live forever, but…but I thought I’d have a little more time with her.”

“You got what we all get, love. No one gets to choose,” she says with a sigh, reaching out to touch my hand. “The only comfort that you have is knowing that the time you did spend with her was precious. I know your ma was proud to see what you overcame as well as what you’ve become.”

I look down at the brownish gold liquid in my cup and I say, “Why isn’t it a comfort, then? Why do I feel like…”Like I might use.I don’t say it aloud. I feel like saying it aloud claims it or makes it come true. I swallow instead and say, “Remember when I was fresh out of rehab, and I was having a hard time. You’d invite me over and we’d garden together?”

She nods and chuckles a little. “How can I forget? I’d wake up in the morning and you’d already be in the garden working. I even started leaving the gloves on the table for you.”

I nod, thinking back to all the hours I spent in her garden. Feeling the warm sun on my skin mixed with the cool breeze coming in from the moors about a mile away from our neighborhood. The welcoming sound of the clippers as I pruned the leaves of her potato and tomato leaves. The satisfying snap of a weed as I pulled it up from the dirt, roots, and all.

When I was working in Martha’s garden, I forgot all about using. I was at peace. I long for that peace now as I look down the road of a life without my mother.

Martha sighs and gets up and goes to the drawer next to her sink. “All right, lad.” She tosses me a pair of gardening gloves. “Break’s over, yeah?”

I nod and smile wearily up at her. This is just the very thing I need.

***

I must have been in Martha’s garden for hours. The sun was just about set when I got home.

I’m standing under the warm water of the shower, letting it wash the dirt from the garden from me and furthering my peaceful state of mind. The need to use has been momentarily staved off, but the pain is still there. Dulled behind the memory of the peaceful quiet of working outside.

I step out of the shower and put on my sweats, then I walk out into my bedroom. It’s so quiet in the house now…

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