A Good Death

Ever since her divorce, Veronica immersed herself in spirituality, first studying meditation technique, then reading the many masters of recent times. One theme kept popping up: a good death. If one could overcome the illusion that one was separate from all else, Veronica read, then one would be able to accept death peacefully, even joyfully. She learned that death is merely the continuation of life, in a new form, of course, and was even beginning to see that true union is fully possible only in death.

With such wisdom and her daily practice of meditating for twenty minutes, Veronica expected that hers would be a good death. Maybe, she thought, she would be surrounded by loved ones at the end of a long illness, eagerly anticipating the union they knew would be hers, or, if she did experience some sudden form of death, her last thought would be that all shall be well, before succumbing into The All.

No one told her, though, about this, the agony of insomnia, real insomnia, not the insomnia that arises when a specific problem must be solved or the anticipation of the next day won’t subside. Not the type created by a dripping faucet or the pain of an injury. No, those types were temporary nuisances, kid stuff compared to real insomnia: the cruel, relentless attack that pervades deep into the night, the type that night after night after night tortures you so much that you……That you check into a motel room just wanting to…..

Sitting on the side of the king-sized bed that filled the room, she glanced down at the pistol in her lap. What was that old Beatles’ song? “Happiness Is a Warm Gun?” She touched it; the metal barrel was cold. She wondered if it’d be warm after the shot. She wondered if she’d be happy then, united with all of creation.

Through the shade’s slats that covered the window a few feet away, she could see that the sun had set. The light outside her door had snapped on. Would tonight be the one she’d finally find peace? She only knew she’d had enough.

She moved the gun to the nightstand jammed between the window and bed, and slipped off her shoes. She guided herself across the slick, quilted spread that covered the bed and pillows, cringing as her fingers touched spots so worn that she could feel the rough filler breaking through strings of torn fabric. Sitting with her back to the pillows, she leaned against the headboard, its support rail hard against her shoulder blades. Her head rested against the glass covering a large copy of Monet’s water lilies, an image visible in the mirror facing the bed. In position for her final moment of life, Veronica looked at the gun, one she never wanted.

She recalled the day that Glenn had given it to her, insisting that Jodie and she needed it for protection. Pushing it into her hands, he molded her fingers into the correct way of holding it. That was the first time they touched since the moment she had learned the truth. She couldn’t hear his attempt to instruct her; she focused only on his warm skin, once so familiar and something she thought she’d feel forever. When he noticed that she wasn’t listening, he took the gun from her and placed it in its security box. He told her that he’d already paid for her classes, but she never went. Instead, she stored the safety box high up in her bedroom closet. She knew all too well the statistics concerning guns and suicide.

She reached for the gun. She touched it. She drew her hand back. Glenn. He gave it to her. He gave her the means of ending her life. But, she paused, hadn’t he already destroyed it?

It was the fourth day of their yearly trip to Grace Farm in West Virginia. There, the three of them - Glenn, Jodie and she - were spending a week with six other families volunteering with the staff. On that day, Jodie was out with her team, roofing Mr. Grover’s trailer; Glenn and she were working together at the farm, helping their team build a new toolshed. They had just finished lunch when Sr. Joyce approached the group. Without acknowledging them, she first spoke with Jack, the staff leader, then motioned for Glenn and Veronica to join her.

Glenn helped Veronica stand, then the two followed the tall nun a few yards into the meadow that separated the barns from the main house. Before Veronica could ask, Sister Joyce reassured them that their daughter was fine, but, she urged them, they needed to return to the office, immediately. When Veronica pointed to Sister as she trod away as if to ask a question, Glenn shrugged, indicating he knew nothing as well.

At the farm house, Sr. Joyce led them to the supervisor’s office where Darlene was waiting for them. Usually eager to hug everyone, Darlene merely thanked Sister for having brought the pair to her. Standing in front of her desk, she held a piece of yellow paper in her hands.

“Veronica, I need to talk with Glenn, first, okay?” Darlene said. Veronica focused on Darlene’s brown eyes and furrowed brows.

“If something’s wrong, I should….” Veronica tried protesting.

“In a minute, Veronica.” Darlene handled Glenn the paper. “Please,” she gestured towards the door.

“You better step out a sec, okay Veronica?” Glenn glanced up for a second, before studying the paper more carefully.

From behind, someone touched her elbow. It was Sister, who gently nudged Veronica towards the door. As soon as she stepped into the hallway, the door shut behind them.

Veronica turned to Sister, who put her finger to her lips, and shook her head. Veronica stared at the black door, its paint scratched and peeling. When it opened, Darlene slipped out, then shut it again. So solemn, she took Veronica’s hands in hers.

“Glenn has something to tell you. It’s not going to be easy, okay?” Darlene actually touched Veronica’s cheek. “Just remember, we’re here.”

And then the door opened, and Glenn beckoned for her to enter. In the office, Veronica went to him, eager to feel his arms around her, reassuring her that everything was okay. Instead, his face flushed, he took a step back, and caught himself as he hit the desk.

“Has something happened to your mom or dad? Or one of your brothers?”

“No.” he said, looking down. “I need to tell you something.”

She took a step closer, trying to take his hands, but he placed them down on the desk he was leaning against. She stared into his face; his green eyes avoided her look. He ran his hand through the thick auburn hair he always cut short.

“What? Did someone die?”

“No…. not yet…..” His voice cracked. “I have a two-year old son who is now in the hospital with a serious…..”

“WHAT?” she cut in. “You have what?”

“A son, Veronica,” he told her. “And he’s very sick; he might die. I need to go to him.”

Sucking in air, she took a step back to the chair behind her and collapsed. “You have to go where?”

“To a hospital in Indianapolis to see my son.”

Beginning to comprehend, she studied him. He looked the same - about 6’2”, broad shouldered with just a hint of a belly, one concealed well by his tee-shirt hanging over baggy jeans. But he said those words, “to see my son.” The man she married would never have said such a thing.

“I’m getting Darlene,” he told her before walking out.

She remained seated, leaning forward, her elbows on her knees. The rug below her had tiny pink flowers within a creamy background. She felt someone’s hand on her shoulder. Darlene kneeled down, and took her hands.

“It’s okay,” Darlene told her. “You can cry.” Veronica looked at her. Darlene’s own eyes were filled with tears. “I’m so sorry.”

For a moment, Veronica was tempted to accept her invitation. But she knew that she couldn’t break down. Not there; not then. They had to get home to Louisville. Closing her eyes, she focused inwardly, intentionally relaxing her body to regain control. Finally, when the threat had passed, she smiled wryly at Darlene, and placed her hand on her shoulder. She stood, then Darlene. They hugged.

“Don’t forget, we’re here for you,” Darlene told her.

“I know,” she whispered back.

Somehow, everything got packed. The van was pulled up alongside the farm house. And then, Sister drove up in the red battered truck she always drove. Before she’d even turned it off, the side door opened and Jodie popped out. She ran up to the two of them, standing next to each other, a foot of empty space separating them.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. How Veronica longed right then to wrap her own long arms around the short, curly-haired adolescent in front of her. Jodie looked to her, then Glenn, then back to her. “What happened, Mom?”

How Veronica wished she could say, “Nothing, honey!” Instead, she simply said, “Get in the car. We need to leave.”

So utterly puzzled, Jodie took a step towards her instead. Her brown eyes imploring Veronica for more information, for reassurance that everything was okay. Instead of offering her a hug or words of love, Veronica pointed to the car.

As Veronica took her own seat, she tried to solve the puzzle of the moment: How does one tell a thirteen-year old that her dad had a two-year old son with another woman? She’d rehearsed a couple of ways over the previous hour, but once Glenn pulled away from the house, and said what he said, she lost it.

“Nothing,” he reassured Jodie when she had asked if she had done something so terrible that they had to leave. And then he continued, “It couldn’t be helped….”

“Couldn’t be helped,” Veronica remembered spitting back at him, so furious that he could deny any responsibility. “Couldn’t be helped….” she practically screamed.

“Not now, Veronica…. think of Jodie”

“Think of Jodie?” She felt her voice drop at least an octave, sounding, even to her, colder, angrier, than the scream had. “You’re telling me to think of Jodie? Me? Did you really think that we would never find out? Oh my God! Are you that…. That……I don’t even know the word!”

“Find out what?” Jodie was leaning between the two front seats. “Find out….”

“Your dad,” Veronica began before he cut her off.

“Vee, don’t, not now….” She remembered ignoring him, wanting only to hurt him.

“Your dad has a son. He’s sick in the hospital. Your dad needs to be there for him.” She paused, then added, “And, I suppose, for her.”

The words hung in the air, freezing everything into a profound moment of silence. Glenn stopped the car, his hands clenched the steering wheel, Veronica stared straight ahead.

Jodie’s scream “No!” pierced the silence. Sobs broke free from within Veronica. She watched Glenn as he released the wheel and turned towards Jodie in the backseat. “I’m sorry, Jodie,” he said. “I didn’t mean for you to find out like this….” They drove home in silence.

He hadn’t intended for them to find out - those words still stung five years later. The bed rail cutting into her shoulder blades, Veronica shifted. Had Glenn really thought they would never know? How long had he intended to live that double life? Only because that little boy had come down with an infection, did he leave them. If not for that, Veronica wondered, might they still be together?

As it was, Glenn moved out within days to be with Dorie and her son. Six weeks later, Jodie and she moved into a house that Glenn bought for them.

At first, it hadn’t been so bad. Given Jodie’s anger, Glenn agreed that visitations need not start until the new school year was well underway. Veronica devoted herself to Jodie, taking her to counseling sessions, and supporting her at soccer games and school events. Together they fixed up their new home, spending hours choosing colors, painting walls, hanging pictures. Occasionally, Glenn and Jodie would Skype. Outside Jodie’s closed door, Veronica secretly applauded Jodie’s ability to say as little as possible.

Then came Jodie’s eighth grade graduation from the Catholic grade school she’d attended since kindergarten. Arriving just as the graduates were to enter, Glenn slipped into a back pew, alone. At the reception that followed, when he approached Jodie, she let him hug her, and accepted his flowers and card, but did little else. No parent dared to greet him. He left within minutes. Veronica didn’t say a word.

When the twice monthly required visitations began, the tension between the two persisted. Whenever Veronica picked her up at the agreed upon halfway point between their two cities, Jodie would list complaints about Dorie’s unreasonable expectations, Glenn’s awkward attempts at normalcy, and Evan’s many tantrums. Veronica listened, offering sympathetic words.

In one day, though, everything seemed to change. Six weeks into her freshman year, Jodie called her on a Friday afternoon after her soccer practice. First, Jodie told her, the entire freshman team was going for pizza - so, of course - it was okay for her to go, right? Then she added that they would be going to the biggest football game of the season - the rivalry between the two boys Catholic schools in their area. Again - Jodie asserted - it was okay, right? Of course, it was. Veronica understood how reasonable her requests were. And yet, without her own plans, Veronica wound up cooking their dinner, then eating it by herself - or at least some of it. Without Jodie, the food seemed tasteless.

From that point on, every weekend Jodie wasn’t visiting Glenn, one event or another beckoned her away from Veronica. She knew not to take it personally. But she didn’t dare make plans of her own. Every so often when a plan did fall through, Veronica wanted to be available.

At least, she assumed, Glenn’s situation was worse, imagining a sullen Jodie sitting on a chair in his house, cell phone in hand, texting constantly, refusing to cooperate with family activities. Given the fact that Jodie reported only basic news on their rides home from the chosen halfway point - Evan was getting older, a baby girl was born within that first year, then a baby boy joined them two years later - Veronica had no reason to think otherwise.

A different reality was revealed on the weekend of Jodie’s 16th birthday. While Glenn put Jodie’s bag in the trunk, Jodie plopped into her seat. Within seconds, she pushed a large piece of white construction paper atop the steering wheel.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” she asked Veronica.

Veronica looked at the mess of colors spread across the paper. Black lines and circles seemed to connote some form.

“It’s a peacock!” Jodie told her. “Look at the words below it. Evan drew it for me. It’s my birthday present from him..” She snatched it back and folded it carefully. Seeing that Glenn had closed the trunk, Veronica turned the ignition.

“I’m going to get it tattooed on my back - it’s so beautiful,” Jodie told her.

“You’re what? A tattoo?” Veronica couldn’t help herself. “Over my dead body!”

“Really? Over your dead body?” Veronica could feel Jodie’s hard stare. “It’s not your body, Mom. It’s mine. I’ll do what I want with it.” Having tucked the picture safely into her backpack, Jodie pulled her cell out. They drove home in silence.

Veronica reached over to the nightstand and touched the gun again. This time she picked it up. “Over my dead body.” Why’d she say that? It was such a stupid thing to say….. and yet…..

Just five months earlier Jodie graduated high school. To celebrate, Jodie insisted they celebrate together - Veronica, Glenn, Dorie and their three children - all by going to dinner at her favorite restaurant. Veronica suggested that it might be best if the two of them go out the following night, but Jodie was adamant.

“It’s my day, and it’s time for us to just get together. The past is gone.”

At the graduation, itself, because Glenn and his family arrived late, they didn’t sit together. Once the graduates streamed out of the building and tossed their caps high in the sky, Veronica, Glenn and his family gathered around Jodie in the parking lot.

Pictures had to be taken. Once Glenn snapped a shot or two of Jodie and her, he began snapping photos of Jodie with his kids. First, Evan and Jodie stood side by side, their auburn curls so red in the sunlight. Then, the three-year old Amelia joined them. For the next, Dorie handed the infant Everett to Jodie; so sweetly she cradled the six-month old in her arms. Finally, Glenn handed Veronica the camera so he and Dorie could join them. Framing the family, Veronica couldn’t help but notice their comfort in shifting, wrapping arms around each other, timing their smiles for her. As she snapped their picture, a thought arose: “That should be me.” It ruined her dinner.

Later that night, just as Veronica had settled into her recliner with a glass of red wine beside her, Jodie walked in, wearing only a bathrobe. Puzzled, Veronica watched her as she turned so that Veronica could see her back.

“I want to show you what I gave myself for my 18th birthday and graduation!”

As Jody allowed her robe to slip down her back before resting on her hips, an array of colors emerged, an array that Veronica immediately recognized: the drawing that Evan had given Jodie. On paper, it had looked as it should - an awkward explosion of color named a peacock by a kindergartner. On her back, it was stunning. Veronica couldn’t speak. On her back - permanently imprinted - was a design that should never have existed. Her throat tightened.

“Well?” Jodie looked over her shoulder to see Veronica’s reaction. “Why are you crying?” She pulled up her robe. “What’s wrong now?”

Veronica didn’t know why she was crying. She didn’t want to cry, but she couldn’t stop either.

“You just can’t be happy for me, can you?” Jodie stepped closer to her chair.

“That’s not it,” Veronica struggled to control her voice. “It’s just that….”

“That they’re my family, too, isn’t it? All day I could see how miserable you were…”

“You know I’m introverted, Jodie….”

“It was more than that, Mom. I saw you watching me the whole time at dinner. You couldn’t take it, could you? To see me with them?”

Veronica pushed her feet towards the floor to stand. “I’m sorry, Jodie. It’s just been so hard….”

“Hard? I know it’s been hard for you, Mom. What Dad did was horrible, but that was five years ago. I’m so tired of needing to pretend that you are the only person in my life, that I don’t love my little brothers and sister, that I don’t love Dad, that I don’t love,” she paused, “Dorie. You’re asking too much.”

“I’ve never asked….”

“Really?” Jodie demanded. “You can’t even tell me that this is a beautiful tattoo like everyone else has.”

“It is,” she offered, “and I guess since it’s your body….”

“Since it’s my body I can do what I please…. I know. But you still won’t be happy for me.” Jodie turned and began walking towards the living room door. “I’m done.” She said as she left the room. Two weeks later, she moved into the house that Glenn purchased for her to use when she was in college. Veronica was alone.

Alone. Again. Naturally. Veronica reached to pick the gun up from the nightstand. “Funny how those old songs come to mind,” she thought. She toyed with the gun, thinking again of that dinner in the restaurant. Glenn, even Dorie, had done their best to include her in conversation, but Veronica couldn’t help but watch how happy Jodie was among her - Veronica didn’t want to use the word - siblings.

Veronica recalled the day that Glenn told her he was seeking an annulment. They were in the parking lot after one of his visits. He had told her he needed to talk. Upon hearing his intention, she laughed at him, telling him no one would grant him that given what he had done. In response, he raised his eyebrows, and then, partially smiling, explained why that wouldn’t be the case:

“You’re the one who wanted only one child. You’re the one who insisted on using birth control each and every time we had sex,” he reminded her. “You’re the one who maligned the vows we made to God, to each other within the Catholic Church,”

“So that’s why you had the affair?” Veronica challenged him. “To have another baby?”

He drew back, grew quiet before responding. “No, not intentionally,” he said. “You know I was traveling more. Things were changing…. and deep down, I wanted something more. I didn’t know what. I just did, and then, somehow, all this happened.”

“‘All this happened.’” Veronica repeated his words. “That’s how you describe this mess? I guess you can, now that you have what you want. Another baby too.” Jodie calling out from that car at that moment, Veronica turned on her heel and left him.

She could still feel the anger of that moment. All of it occurred because he wanted something more, something that she - he told her - wouldn’t/couldn’t give him. But why not? The question that had haunted her through the years arose once again as she sat on that bed: Why didn’t she just agree to have a second child? If she had - everything would be….

What? she asked herself. Perfect?

She thought of those early days after Jodie was born. Glenn was traveling even back then. She was working in design - or trying to work. How hard it was to get her to daycare, to get through the day without worrying about her, to pick her up, to make dinner, to meet her needs, to polish designs….. And then Glenn would get home on Friday night, eager to play a round of golf in the morning.

No - it wasn’t perfect back then - but it did get better as Jodie got older. The possibility of beginning again with another baby - of sacrificing her love of design work - she couldn’t do it. And so - each and every time he asked - she said no. Why? Because - Veronica admitted - she, too, wanted something more. She knew that. She glanced down at the gun in her hands. But was this really what she wanted?

A good death - she reminded herself.

Veronica breathed deeply. She knew what she was doing. Just like everyone else, she was going to die, so why not choose the time and place? Whether she died in thirty years or that night, she knew, within another fifty, it would be as if she never lived. And if it was that night, then, she thought wryly, the components of her own body would already have been incorporated into some other life form fifty years hence. And she would be at peace.

Again, she looked at the gun, the gun that Glenn had given her. But, she realized, he hadn’t given it to her so she could destroy herself. Glenn gave it to her so she could protect Jodie and herself. He wanted Jodie and her to be able to live - without him.

She froze. “Glenn wanted her to be able to live….”

How many times, she asked herself, in these final moments of life - had she referenced Glenn? She couldn’t help but see that everything she had pondered centered on Glenn, what he had done, his family, his relationship with Jodie. Everything. But why?

She looked around the room. Thin rays of light streaming through the blinds’ slats revealed its cheap and dirty interior. She recalled her shoes sticking to the bathroom floor.

She looked straight ahead into the mirror. In that dim light, she was barely visible, and yet, there she was, a woman so focused on her ex-husband that she…. that she had come to that room to kill herself? That wasn’t true, she told herself.

The reality of the previous five months pressed upon her. Jodie was in that house with her two roommates, attending college, rarely texting her, much less stopping by. In contrast, on Facebook, Veronica saw how Dorie was constantly tagging Jodie in pictures of Jodie’s monthly visits - all so happy. And at work - so many mistakes. Her supervisor had talked to her more than once - offering sympathy for her restless nights, while also acknowledging that things needed to change. And her insomnia - would it ever disappear?

Nothing helped - not the exercise routines or the acupuncture she tried offered relief. Not even the pills her doctor prescribed. She’d go to bed and fall asleep, only to be awakened by what - a noise, a light, a variance of temperature? It didn’t matter. Once awake, she’d toss and turn for hours only to doze off minutes, it seemed, before the alarm sounded.

She looked down at the gun. “It’d be so easy,” she thought, “to just do it now.”

Veronica looked around the room again. She wasn’t in that motel room because she wanted to be, she realized. She was there because she felt she had no choice….. because she was desperate. Because she was so alone. Because, she realized as she stared into the mirror, she hated who she had become: a woman clinging to the past, unable to move on.

“But, that’s not who I am.” Veronica protested aloud. “I never did that before! In fact, that’s what Glenn once said….” She stopped before finishing the thought. “…he loved most about me.”

She had become that woman.

She felt the gun in her hands, its metal warmer than before. Still so alone, she studied the gun. She couldn’t believe that she reached this point.

“No,” she told herself. “I am not that woman. I am the woman who …” She fell silent. Jodie’s words returned: “The past is gone…. You’re asking too much.”

She pictured Jodie, seeing her that last day before Glenn’s truth was revealed. At the community pool, she was atop the high dive, holding the rails, waiting for everyone to look at her. Only when she had everyone’s attention, did she release the rails, run forward and leap high into the air, somersaulting not once, but twice, before cutting into the water in perfect form. When she bobbed up, everyone cheered as Glenn swam to her, and then hoisted her onto his shoulders, shouting out, “My daughter! My daughter!!”

My daughter. My daughter, Veronica thought. She saw, too, Jodie’s back, the peacock’s colors undeniably vibrant. Beauty possible only because a five-year old lived. Beauty, Veronica dared to ignore.

Her stomach churned. Her throat burned. She needed to admit the truth.

“I am that woman.” Veronica inhaled deeply.

Another memory arose. She and Jodie were at a different pool, the club pool, where they were going to celebrate her tenth birthday. For months, Jodie had been telling everyone that she was going to dive off the high dive. There was only one problem: her fear. Each time she had climbed up and stepped on the board, she couldn’t release the rails.

“I’m scared. I can’t do it!!” she’d cry out before inching backwards, then crawling back down the steps, even if it meant making others move out of her way.

That day, finding the pool empty upon their arrival, she told Jodie to go up the ladder, promising that she’d be right behind her. Together, they stood on the board, Jodie in front, grasping both rails.

“I can’t,” she said.

“Yes, you can,” Veronica reassured her. “Let go and just stand here, okay?” Jodie did. “Now take a small step, and then, once you’re ready, another. Don’t hurry.” Bit by bit, Jodie walked further out. She looked down, over the side, upsetting her balance. She moved back between the rails and grabbed hold of both. Veronica got on her knees.

“You need to just look forward, okay? Don’t worry about anything else. Then, once you reach the end, just go for it, okay?”

“But can’t I just jump from here” Jodie asked, pointing over the side. “I don’t want to walk out there. There are no rails.”

“There are no rails,” Veronica repeated, aloud. She looked down at her hands, cradling the gun. “I don’t want to walk out there,” she added. “Out where?” Veronica asked herself. She looked at the door.

“I don’t want to walk out there,” she asserted. She saw herself eating meals alone, watching TV by herself, checking doors and windows before bedtime.

She looked forward, into the mirror. She was still there, but, so too, she realized, Monet’s water lilies - behind her and in front of her, at the same time. She remembered seeing that very painting at the Art Institute in Chicago. Alone, she had gasped, its beauty so beyond her expectations. Longing to know each detail, to perceive each variation of color, she stood, unaware of anyone else around her. Only when Glenn tapped her shoulder, did she realize that she must have been there for twenty minutes or more. He laughed when she acknowledged the time, incapable of understanding how she could stare at one picture for so long. But she knew. For that moment, she and Monet were one - just as they were in that mirror, she realized.

She looked at the door. She wanted to open it, to walk out. And yet fear arose, insisting that nothing had changed since she checked into that room. Nothing, she realized, but herself. Finally, she saw who she had become, someone even she despised, a woman who needed to die.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, then placed the gun on the table. She turned on the lamp above it. The gun’s safety box was lying on the dresser under the mirror, so she strode across the room to get it. Sitting back on the bed’s edge, she packed the gun back in its box, then stood up. She picked it up, stashed it into the oversized purse in which she brought it, then walked the few steps to the door.

Before opening it, though, she looked one more time in the mirror, her standing form only partially visible.

“Good-bye,” she said, then snapped off the light. Placing her hand on the sticky knob, she turned it, knowing it to be a good death.