Why does life have to be this hard? Why does sin have to enter the Earth and allow death to be a part of our world? It’s pure torture, seeing loved ones having to learn to walk through life with grief. It becomes a torment, carrying the grief upon your shoulders. Each person that leaves this Earth also leaves a missing piece in our lives.
I try my best to not be angry with death, and instead, I dig deep in my memories for an answer for Earl. It takes me a second, but as I pull into his driveway and put the truck into park, I remember something Pops said to Mom one day. I was eavesdropping, like a typical kid, and was listening in on their conversation about her depression after we first arrived in Covewood.
She suffered for months, could hardly make it through the day without crying, and it held her back from moving on to the life she wanted to have here. My Pops had to snap her out of it, and I remember something that has stuck with me since.
“You just keep living until you’re alive again. At least, that was something he said and seemed to do after losing Nan.”
Earl chuckles. “Of course he’d say something dumb like that.”
“Yeah,” I offer and try my best to smile. “It didn’t make sense to me either, but it always seems to stick with me during the hard times. Life has to move on. No matter how much we don’t want it to.”
“That Cliff, he never did give advice that would make sense. To say goodbye is to die a little. How can you keep living when a piece of you is forever missing?”
I wish I had the answers for him. I don’t have the words of wisdom or comfort to provide for him, so I decide to stay silent. He’s right. When you lose somebody, it’s not only when they pass away but each time when you are reminded of them, when memories of them flash across your mind in broad daylight, when you yearn for their presence.
When you lose somebody, you lose them not only once, but over and over again for the rest of your life.
He coughs and takes a moment to collect his thoughts. He reaches over to tug against the door handle but comes to a stop, hovering his hand for a bit before turning back to me.
“You still care for her, yeah?” he asks, and I know instantly who he’s referring to.
“Yes, sir,” I confess to my friend. There is no sense in denying it.
“Would you look after her for me? I don’t know how much help I’ll be for her during this grieving process. She was there for you, you know, after Anna. She seemed to help you back then.”
I give him a nod. Raine was the only person who could have pulled me out of my sorrow and helped me find the strength to be the strong one for my Pops. “She did. And I’ll make sure she’s okay.”
“Thank you,” he says before pushing his door open and hopping down to the ground.
I feel my eyes soften. “You know I’m always here for you. You’re welcome to come stay at the cabin if you need to get away. Either way, don’t be quiet.”
“Alright, Cliff Junior.” He manages another soft chuckle, and I know right then that Earl Wiley is the strongest man in the world.
Chapter Ten
Thirteen Years Before
Ryland
It’s my favorite time of year. The turning point between summer and fall. The days are long with hints of warmth still clinging to the air. However, anytime a breeze flows by, it sends goosebumps over my skin with the reminder that autumn is near. As I walk along the stone path that leads to the dock, I notice the leaves are starting to show a hint of color as they begin to die. They sway in the wind as if dancing for one last time.
Even so, it does nothing to lift my sour mood.
“Ryland.” Pops’ raspy voice stops me in my tracks.
Oh, how I would love to have the option to ignore him. Instead, I loudly exhale and turn to face him. We had an argument earlier this morning and again just moments ago when I went inside to grab some snacks. Apparently, he isn’t going to let things go. My jaw clenches as I mentally prepare for more lecturing.
“I won’t tolerate you walking out when I’m still speaking to you. I’m not trying to be hard on you. I just?—”
“Yeah, I know, you want what’s best for me. I get it, Pops,but having you nag at me over every little thing sucks. It feels impossible to live up to your expectations of ‘the perfect grandson,’ and no matter how hard I try, I don’t think I’ll ever become who you want me to be.” I ball my fists and look at him, silently begging him to back off.
His face falls as the words leave my mouth. He blinks, running his hand over his thick white mustache, and then places the same hand onto the back of his neck. He struggles with finding the words he wants to say, and as badly as I want to turn and storm away for a second time, I fight with myself to remain in place. I might as well allow him to finish what he needs to say so I can get back to my friends who are waiting for me on the dock.
“Is that what you think? That I have expectations of you being perfect?” he grumbles, dropping his hands to his sides, the movement making me flinch.
I hate that it’s my first response to the quick movement of someone’s hands. It’s a side effect of my relationship with my father that I desperately wish I could get over. Pops has never threatened me. Although his tone can be harsh at times, I know he means well. I can’t seem to control my defensive reaction.
He notices the flinch, and his brown eyes soften with realization. He takes a step toward me. My instincts tell me to step away, but I ignore them. I allow my grandfather to place a hand onto my shoulder. He bends his face down so he can look into my eyes better, and all the anger he held for me a moment ago disappears. He reaches up and gently places his other hand onto my cheek.
