Cheryl Tardif - Children of the Fog

“Thanks for the ride,” she said, unlocking the front door.

Leah’s eyes filled with concern. “Want me to stay with you tonight?”

“No.” She stepped inside the house and began to close the door, but Leah’s arm shot out.

“Sadie, don’t push me away. I want to help—”

“There’s nothing you can do. I just want to be alone.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Thanks though.” She closed the door and leaned against it. “There’s nothing anyone can do to help me.”

She drifted from one room to another, calmed by the anti-depressants the hospital had given her and by the pitter-patter of raindrops against the windows. Every time she passed in front of the door to Sam’s room, she’d pause and rest a hand against it. But she could never quite bring herself to open it. Eventually, she’d have to pack away his toys, his clothes… his life.

Not yet. Later. When I’m ready.

They decided to have a service, complete with burial.

“For closure,” Philip had said when she visited him in jail.

At first Sadie had been hesitant. A funeral would make Sam’s death more real. And she didn’t want it to be real. Then there was the matter of a coffin. Philip had argued that they could just bury a plywood box, something symbolic.

“A box.” She gaped at him as if he had lost his mind. “Sam deserves more than a cheap wooden box.”

She ventured out alone and bought a child-sized coffin.

The morning of Sam’s funeral was appropriately dreary and filled with a flurry of well-meaning but unwanted visitors who dropped off indistinguishable casseroles and obligatory fruit baskets. By lunchtime, Sadie had run out of counter space and there was no room in the fridge.

Then there was the family to deal with. Philip’s brother, sister and father had bused in from Seattle, while her parents, looking tanned and healthy, had flown up from Yuma. Her brother had shipped out to Afghanistan the week before, leaving her sister-in-law Theresa with the kids.

“Damn, Sadie,” Theresa said on the phone. “I’d give anything to be there. I know Brad would too. I-I’m so sorry. I’m going to miss Sammy so much. His sweet little face, his laugh, his—”

Sadie hung up on her.

She felt a flicker of remorse. She hadn’t meant to be rude, but hearing Theresa talk about missing Sam made her clench her hands into fists. This is my loss, she wanted to shout. Not yours!

Philip called at lunchtime. “How are you holding up?”

“How do you think?” she said, trying to keep the resentment from her voice.

“A wreath is being delivered to the cemetery at two-thirty.”

“You should be here for this, Philip.”

“I tried, but they won’t let me out. It’s not fair.”

“Sam is dead,” she snapped. “How fair is that ?”

There was an empty pause. Then she heard him clear his throat. “Say goodbye to my boy for me, Sadie.”

“I can’t even say goodbye to him for me,” she said bleakly.

Two hours later, she allowed her father to tuck her into the backseat of the Mazda and they headed for the cemetery, her mother beside her, sniffling into a tissue. Chuck, her father-in-law, drove Philip’s brother and sister in the Mercedes.

The service was painful yet brief. Other than family, Leah, Liz, Jean, Bridget and Jay attended. Matthew Bornyk sent his condolences, even though Sadie hadn’t thought to invite him. And why should she? His daughter might still be alive.

After a short prayer from a pastor her father had found, she waited while everyone placed a single white rosebud on the coffin lid. Since there were no human remains, they were burying a single object—the blackened baseball cap. Slowly, the small white coffin with its white satin lining that only Sadie had seen was lowered into a muddy pit in the Cherished Children section of Hope Haven Cemetery. She watched it disappear into the gaping hole and her heart sank with it.

Tears streamed down her face, and she shuffled closer. As she hovered at the edge, she yearned for someone to push her in. She wouldn’t even fight them if they did.

She closed her eyes, inhaling the soft scent of a white rose.

Then she tossed it into the pit.

“Sleep, little man,” she said in a trembling voice. “Snug as—”

She broke down, sobbing hysterically.

“Come on, honey,” her mother said, gently taking her arm.

“I’m so sorry,” Sadie wailed. “Forgive me, Sam!”

“Let him go, Sadie.”

“How do I do that, Mom? How do I say goodbye to my baby?”

“I don’t know, honey,” her mother said, batting away a tear. . No mother should ever have to bury her child.”

They shuffled toward the car, each engulfed in misery.

That evening, Sadie couldn’t take it anymore. The constant bodies and mundane conversations in every room irritated her. She wanted nothing more than to be left alone, and she told her mother so. Finally, Philip’s family went back to their hotel, and her friends went back to their own homes, their own lives.

She curled up on the sofa and rested her head in her mother’s lap. “I’ve lost everything, Mom. Everything.”

Her mother stroked her hair. “I know it feels that way, Sadie, but it will get better. I promise. It’ll hurt less, with time.”

“Time. That’s all I’ve got left.”

“Time is a gift, honey. Use it wisely. Do something for Sam, something to remember him.”

But Sadie wasn’t listening. Another voice spoke to her, and it was far more compelling.

“Mommy, where are you? I can’t find you.”

As soon as her parents went to bed, she armed herself with another bottle of Philip’s Cabernet and barricaded herself in the bedroom. Within an hour, she had polished off the entire bottle and had staggered downstairs to dispose of the evidence.

Back in her room, she passed out in the chair.

The next morning, she walked unsteadily into the kitchen. Disheveled, reeking of stale wine and suffering from the most god-awful hangover she’d ever had, she almost didn’t see her parents seated at the kitchen table. They were waiting for her, and the look of disapproval on her mother’s face told her that something was up.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

Her mother frowned. “You look terrible.”

“Gee, thanks, Mom.”

An empty wine bottle was dangled in front of her nose.

“I found this,” her father said. “In the garbage can out back.”

“What on earth are you doing, Sadie?” her mother asked.

Sadie massaged her pounding head, then moved to the window and crossed her arms. “I’m forgetting.”

What else could she say? They didn’t understand.

“You need help,” her mother said firmly. “Counseling, AA, whatever you need, do it. We’ll stay with you for a while. Until you’re better.”

“I don’t need a babysitter, Mom.”

“No, but you do need help.” Her mother moved toward her, hands outstretched, pleading. “Let us help you. You’ve been down this path before, Sadie. It doesn’t lead anywhere good. You know that.”

“Don’t tell me what I know! I know my son is dead! I know it’s my fault. I know that drinking makes me numb. And I like that.”

“You’re saying that because you’re grieving,” her mother cried. “We’re all grieving. You lost your son. We lost our grandson. We don’t want to lose you too.”

“Just go home, Mom. I’ll be—”

“We’re not leaving,” her father interrupted. “Not until you agree to see a psychologist and go to AA.”

Sadie clenched her teeth. “You’re giving me an ultimatum, Dad? I’m not a child. I’m an adult and I can make my own decisions. Right or wrong, I have to do this my way. If that means I drink to forget, then I drink. Right now I just want to be left alone.”