Memories on a Bench

Vivien knew she wasn’t supposed to be there. “it’s too cold today mom” she could hear the scolding in her mind. After raising six children, who’d given her 24 grandchildren and 45 great grandchildren so far (and one on the way), she was now deemed unfit to walk alone outside in late Autumn. She liked the cold, and the ducks, and the freedom. So with her little canvas bag of birdseed she walked through the park to her usual Sunday bench by the mostly ice covered pond. The birds who had adopted her through her weekly visits came running towards her, she gave them a smile rich with the wrinkles a full life brings. She reached in the bag “Just a pinch for now, you gotta wait until I sit these old bones down before you get the rest.” She sat down with all the grace and caution her age had earned her and noticed a package on the frosty bench beside her. A small box wrapped in plain brown paper. She picked it up and saw a note on it. “To the kind soul who finds this, please open with love.”

Vivien pulled loose the string, took off the paper, and opened the box. Inside was a scrapbook, baby block letters on the front just said “Timothy”.

Slowly she opened it. On the first page was a picture of a newborn wrapped in a tiny blanket. Written on the page in gentle feminine cursive was “My darling Timothy, you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever had the pleasure to see. No one could love you more. I promise to be the best mother I can possibly be. I love you more than life itself.” Vivien wiped a chilly tear from her cheek and turned the page.

She saw a photo of a toddler hugging a fuzzy dog nearly twice his size. “You’re growing so fast. I am in awe of your love for life and that contagious smile. Surely the world is yours for the taking.”

Arriving on page three she the same boy, a few years older, sitting in front of a candle topped cake with his name on it, surrounded by smiling children. “Has it been six years already? I think yesterday I held you in my arms and I think I’ve known you forever. I can't imagine my life without you. You have so many friends, no doubt great things are ahead for you, and I'll be with you every step of the way. Happy Birthday sweetheart. Mommy loves you so much! XOXO” Vivien felt a warmth in her heart and remembered when her own children were that age, but there was something wrong about this book, something she couldn’t put her finger on just yet. She turned the page again.

The boy now looked about ten years old, but his smile was gone. His eyes looked dark, depressed, almost haunted. He looked like he was had just stopped crying and was about to start again. Vivien thought he was the saddest child she’d ever seen. He was dressed nicely and posed for the photo, as though he’d stopped sobbing just long enough for it to be taken. “This is your school picture, the only one I got of you this year. I don’t know why you won’t let me take your picture anymore. I don’t know why you won’t talk to us. I hear you crying at night, you deny it but I do, and it breaks my heart. I wish you would tell me what’s wrong. Where have you gone? Please come back, I miss you. I miss my sunshine. I love you more than you could ever know. Please talk to us, I hope you read this one day with a smile, that whatever is troubling you passes by, and you can be happy again. A bright boy with a bright future should not have such darkness in his eyes. I’m always here for you sweetie.”

On the following page she saw him again, standing outside of a school, staring at the ground. “This is my last picture of you angel. I still can’t believe you were gone a week later. Why did you walk out of class? Why wouldn’t you go back to school? Why wouldn’t you TALK to us?? These questions will forever haunt me, you’re not here to answer them anymore. Surely you were tortured and tormented by some unknown thing, and we failed you. I failed you. I should have made you talk to us, I should have taken you to someone you would talk to. I should have tried harder. I am so sorry angel. When you died I died with you, I am a ghost now, walking in darkness and crying your name to an empty sky. All the beauty of the world is in the grave with you, I should be too.” Vivien closed the book and looked up at the sky. The pain on those pages was visceral, she imagined losing one of her children and just the thought of it was more than she could bear. Her wet face stinging from the cold, she opened it again, needing to know how it ended.

The next page had no picture, just a newspaper clipping of an obituary. “In loving memory of Timothy Allen Phillips, Born May 14th, 2002. Died September 8th, 2014. The only child of Anne and Frank Phillips. A smart and kind child, he loved books, animals and long walks in nature….” It continued on to announce service times and distant relatives but Vivien had stopped reading it. Wondering if her old heart could take anymore she turned the page again.

There was a picture of a man sitting alone in a black suit, wiping his face with a tissue. “I wish he could have forgiven me, I wish I could have forgiven myself. But forgiveness was not to be found. He tried, I tried. Our grief became a chasm between us, that grew and grew until it was clear there would be no crossing it. One year after we lost Timothy, Frank moved out.”

Tucked between the pages was a handwritten note and a velvet bag with a wedding ring inside. The note said “I became like my son after Frank left. I stopped talking to people, I stopped going places, I stopped living my life. I was moving, eating, and breathing but I was already dead.”

In the back of the book there was a sealed envelope addressed to Frank Phillips and one last note “Please try to get this letter to Frank. He will never know how sorry I am, and how much I love him. I could not go on. I’ll never know why our son took his own life, or what unseen force ate his bright smile. But I know why I am taking mine, he was my life, without him I am dead anyway, why bother pretending to be alive anymore? To you who are reading this, thank you. Thank you for letting Timothy live in your heart, even if only as a few pictures of a boy you never met. Thank you for caring enough about him and me to finish the book. Thank you for reading my last words, and thank you for calling the authorities to collect my remains from the pond. I don’t know if you have children dear friend, if you do, please rush home and hug them. Kiss them and cherish them, for all the times I wished to and could not. So long, my friend the stranger. Please don’t mourn me, either I will see Timothy soon or nothing at all, whichever it is sounds better than this. Long life and love to you. XOXO --Anne” Taped to the bottom of the note was a photo of a woman, with a beautiful face, and eyes as sad as her child’s.

Vivien wiped her eyes as she closed the book and placed it back inside the box. It was just starting to snow. She lifted her eyes past the birds who had been patiently waiting for the seed she carried and saw a pair of red heels beside the water. She stood and walked closer, carrying the box. About fifteen feet from shore, she saw a woman’s remains floating facedown under the ice. She bowed her head in a silent prayer and went back to the bench. She found her phone in her coat pocket and called the police, then she fed her friends. Wistfully thinking about the sorrow of Anne, and her own huge family. She vowed to herself to never take them for granted again. Here she was with ducks, when she could be with people she loved. The ducks would have to find a new patron, as soon as the police came, she was going home. The great grandchild on the way was said to be a boy, she reasoned Timothy was a fine name, maybe she’d suggest it to her granddaughter.