It's Hard to Say Goodbye

The lightweight aluminum screen door snapped tightly into place, and Gayla waited for her mother to enter before she could follow and close the door to the quiet fifth-wheel trailer. Shirley moved into the kitchen of the large recreational vehicle and Gayla stood just inside the door, unsure about what to do. Shirley at least was shuffling the Visitation book and other papers she’d brought home with her after the memorial service for William, but Gayla didn’t have that to occupy her.

A knock came right away, moments after they had arrived. Gayla opened the door and it was Glen from the church, with green plants sent for her father, which they decided to keep. He had a warm, soft smile, and carried plants in both arms. “Do you have room for these?” He asked. “I have a couple of smaller ones in the car. Maryjo was going to bring them in.”

Gayla took the first of the plants gingerly so she wouldn’t disturb the strings of pearls hanging from it. “Thank you for bringing them. I wasn’t sure they would travel very well in the truck.” Gayla said flatly. “Daddy’s F250 wasn’t built for comfort as much as it was built for utility.”

“Well, it’s no problem,” Glen offered. “Anything you need, we’re here to help. You have our number.”

Gayla nodded thankfully. Glen and Maryjo had been Shirley’s rock since William had died. She knew that they had been with Shirley the morning after he had gone, and they had been available ever since. Gayla was happy they had been there for her mother in the 29 hours before she could arrive. Glen had helped counsel Shirley regarding planning the service and the timing and had also helped her to get over feelings of guilt for cremating William’s body.

“Mom, did you have any place in mind for the plants?”

Shirley looked up, her face drawn. “Just wherever you can find a place for them,” she said. She stretched to see around me and said, “Hello Glen. Did Maryjo come too?”

“She’ll be right here, “he answered. True to his prediction, Maryjo appeared behind him. She was carrying a peach-colored chrysanthemum and a large purple and white African violet.

Shirley spoke up and asked abruptly, “Do you have plans for lunch?”

Glen and Maryjo exchanged glances.

“Would you like to join us at Pancho’s or maybe Luby’s?” Shirley continued.

Gayla butted into the conversation, “Oh, Pancho’s!”

Glen laughed, “Well we know what Gayla is voting for.” He looked to Maryjo. “Did we have any plans?”

Maryjo spoke up from outside the trailer. “Shirley we would be happy to go with you to Pancho’s. Do you want to go into McAllen or into Harlingen?”

“Well, I don’t know about mom, but I’m biased toward the one in McAllen.” Gayla piped up.

“McAllen is fine,” Shirley replied. “But why that one?”

Gayla answered. “It’s where I got to know Pancho’s and none of the others I’ve been to are quite the same. Besides, in all honesty, it’s the one I associate most with Daddy because that’s the one we went to when I was here on vacation.”

Shirley replied with a smile in her voice. “Yes, I think that one was his favorite.”

So plans were made to go to Pancho’s Mexican Buffet in McAllen, Texas. They decided that all four would ride in Glen’s car so neither Shirley nor Gayla would need to be driving, not that Gayla would let Shirley drive anyway.

Pancho’s had been a favorite of William’s because there were plenty of employees he could interact with. First, there was a cafeteria-style buffet line, where he could tease any number of the cooks as they made up his food. Then after selecting a table, there were little “poles” where you could run up a “flag” indicating that you wanted more of something, and a wait-person would run and get it for you. Then when you were ready for dessert, you got to eat sopapillas that had been cooking right there in the dining room with you. It was a unique spot, and William loved it as much for the people interaction as for the food.

Gayla was able to take advantage of all that Pancho’s had to offer, but not Shirley. She seemed to be stuck in her memories, and none of the party seemed intent on pulling her out of them. She sat and stared at the murals on the walls or just at her plate, but was out of the conversation until she was asked about whether she wanted sopapillas. Those warm, open pockets of pastry, drizzled with honey, were so delicious Gayla was sure her mother would respond, and Shirley did, to a point. She took a warm, puffy, square and tore the corner off, as William had shown Gayla to do, and poured honey inside, rolling the pastry to spread the honey, when suddenly she just stopped and laid it on the plate. Her eyes fixed on some spot a thousand miles away.

The rest of the party went ahead and finished up, Shirley had intended on paying but Glen slipped away to the cashier before she had a chance. The group was simply able to head home.

The days were shorter so it had become dark early and the rain clouds made it especially black. Large, fat drops started pelting the windshield. Under the circumstances, Glen and Maryjo said their goodbyes from the car.

Gayla followed Shirley to the trailer door. Standing there waiting for Shirley to find her key, Gayla was getting soaked, so she knew Shirley was, and she couldn’t let her mother get cold or let her immune system get down while she was so vulnerable and in mourning. She would be too fragile for it and susceptible to stress illnesses. Shirley found her key and opened the door. The wind caught it from her hand and slammed it against the side of the trailer. Gayla waited for her to climb the steps into the rig, then she pulled the door from its spot and stepped inside. The wind helped close the door with a bang this time, and suddenly there was another noise.

There was a loud sound of scratching on glass. Actually, it was glass cracking in the large window beside the door. It started at the top and spread throughout the pane. The door slammed and the window was immediately crazed top to bottom. Then, pieces began to fall. Fingertip and smaller sized pieces started falling, and faster and faster the top quarter of the window popped out. Then suddenly the rest of the window fell out in a sheet, leaving bits all around the edge. Fortunately, the wind wasn’t blowing into the trailer, so it was only getting a little wet. Gayla moved quickly to get trash bags to cover the window and taped them up. Gayla didn’t like it, but she decided she would stay out by that window rather than share the bed with Shirley for the night, and Shirley sadly agreed. Gayla didn’t want to leave Shirley alone, but she also didn’t want to leave that window alone since the tape wasn’t holding that solidly and they didn’t have anything better to cover it.

The morning dawned bright and sunny, everything having been washed clean overnight. Gayla examined the window and removed the frame, calling all over the valley about replacing it. She made a trip into McAllen to drop off the frame, so they could match it perfectly. When she got back, it was time to trim up the place. William and Shirley had purchased double lots, but they hadn’t gotten their normal care since he had his stroke. Gayla was terrified of mowers, but it had to be done. Mowing the small lot was a simple chore, but it brought her to a small sapling standing if you could call it that, in the back corner of the lot. It was somewhat reminiscent of Charlie Brown’s Christmas Tree. After finishing the trim-up, Gayla went back into the trailer.

“Hey, Mom, what is that sad little tree out there in the corner?”

Shirley looked up from the table where she was writing in her journal. “Oh, the little pear tree? That’s Daddy’s tree. He planted that this summer. He was so anxious to get his own pears. The nurseryman said it wouldn’t have fruit until it was maybe eight years old, so Daddy didn’t live anywhere near long enough.”

Gayla shook her head. “I don’t think it’s going to make it.” She went on with the various chores that needed to be done, or that William hadn’t been able to see to because of his health.

Temporary work agencies seemed to be calling Gayla by name. She was booked by several of them and tended to the chores for the trailer's upkeep when she got home. Gayla continued to mow the little patch of lawn and watch the little pear tree as the days passed. It seemed to grow a little stronger and developed nubs on the branches like it might think it was going to actually make fruit.

Shirley got the phone call that she could pick up William’s ashes. This was another strikingly traumatic day. Gayla drove her to pick them up and guided her through the funeral home to find the office. Gayla had never seen Shirley looking so small and wan, even the day they had the service. Getting the ashes just kind of put a period on everything. William was gone. Now it was time for the trip home and the memorial service with the family and friends. Neither of them knew what to expect with the ashes. They hadn’t purchased an urn, but the square cardboard box that came out was a shock. The funeral director opened it and showed them the tight-fitting plastic bag full of grey ashes. Gayla was mad at his insensitivity in front of Shirley. She guided and supported her mother as they returned to the car.

Preparations started for the 1400 mile trip north from the Rio Grande Valley to Kansas City. With Shirley in the car, it would definitely take two days, possibly three to get home. There was no telling what might be coming back down to make Gayla’s stay more tolerable.

Gayla made phone calls in preparation to leave. She called Glen and Maryjo, and then Pastor Pat who insisted that she would put the congregation’s phone tree into action to let them know about the trip and to ask for prayers. That would also inform the members that might like to call Shirley before she left.

Gayla went to go see one of her favorite neighbors and ask him to keep an eye on the place, giving him phone numbers for where they were heading. Pete said “Sure, I’m always sitting right out here, so I’ll keep an eye on your place. And the park manager said they would get down here and fix the break in that water line, so your yard won’t be a pond much longer.”

Gayla was startled and went to see what he was talking about. The pear tree had been sitting with wet feet and it had apparently loved it. As an act of defiance, the little pear tree had actually produced little pears. Gayla picked the dozen that were on the tree, carrying them in a bag made by turning up the hem of her t-shirt. She took them in to Shirley where she was finishing getting ready.

“Mom, look what daddy’s pear tree did.” she dumped the pears out on the counter. “Baby pears!”

“Oh!” Shirley picked one up and bit it. The pear was hard but tasted sweet. “One crop of pears. Years before it ever should have done it.”

“It’s easy, Mom, the tree was just looking for its own way to pay tribute to Daddy. It gave us pears because it’s hard to say goodbye.”