tension, grief, and anger. Hysteria and madness channeled into the rituals of coping with death. She pictured somebody pushing somebody else, and that would be the only thing necessary to turn the room into a violent bloodbath.
She recognized members of the congregation, some neighbors, a few friends. The simple act of breathing seemed to demand every bit of energy they had. She saw Coral and resisted an impulse to offer some comfort, maybe even get some herself. She didn’t have the energy. Moments later, her friend blurred into the background with the rest.
We’re all alone now . Look at us. Packed in here like sardines, but we might as well be miles away from each other.
One of the mourners sent up a keening wail. Then others joined in, the urge to scream washing over the congregation like a wave, filling the enormous space with the heartrending sound of their grief—
Get out of here NOW.
Joan rushed out the doors and stopped on the church steps, taking deep breaths. She’d left just in time. She’d been about to join in. It would feel so good to lose control, but once she started, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to stop.
In any case, she’d learned something valuable. There were no answers to be found in there. Just unyielding horror. Emptiness.
A bearded man in a long black coat stood smoking near the chain-link fence at the edge of the congested parking lot. She passed him on the way back to her car.
“Pastor Gary?”
The man stared at her. “Hello, Joan.”
“I didn’t know you were a smoker.”
“I quit when Jane was born,” he said. He took another drag.
“I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“We lost them all. All three.”
“Nate and Megan are gone as well.”
“I’m sorry too.”
“I was at a movie when it happened,” Joan confessed.
“And you feel guilty about that?”
She bit her lip and nodded.
“Let me tell you something. It might give you some perspective.”
“Please do.” She listened closely.
“My youngest died on the stairs. He was always getting himself hurt, and I found him lying there in this little”—his voice cracked—“this little tangle of arms and legs. The first thing I felt was irritation. The first thing I actually thought was, What did you do to yourself now? ” He glared at Joan, his eyes wet and fierce. “What kind of father am I to think that? To feel that?”
She recoiled. “That’s awful.”
“ That’s guilt. What you feel is something else.”
“I am so sorry.”
“We’re all sorry, I guess. Did you come for a service? We’re not doing anything formal today, as you probably saw. People are free to use the church for whatever they need.”
“No, I came to see you.” Joan thought her request seemed petty now. The man had the loss of his own children to cope with. “We’re taking Nate and Megan to the burial ground tomorrow night, and Doug and I will be hosting a wake at our home. I was wondering if you might come over and say a few words. I hope you don’t mind me asking.”
Pastor Gary dropped his cigarette and stepped on it. “I don’t think I can do that.”
“It’s all right. I figured you’d be too busy.”
“I’m not busy at all. I just don’t want to do it. I really don’t want to do anything, to be honest.”
“Oh,” said Joan, surprised.
He lit another cigarette and coughed. “Please don’t take it the wrong way. I always liked you. I mean, you came to church every Sunday to listen to my sermons. What a different world it was only a few days ago, right? There was so much to believe in. We had no idea. No idea at all.”
Joan nodded. The truth was she didn’t know which was more like a dream, the past or present.
“When you get home, you should look up the Kübler-Ross stages of grief,” he told her. “That’s what I was trained to use as a pastor to provide comfort. I could tell you a little about it if you want.”
“Please. I’d like to hear it.”
“When you’re ready to process
She recognized members of the congregation, some neighbors, a few friends. The simple act of breathing seemed to demand every bit of energy they had. She saw Coral and resisted an impulse to offer some comfort, maybe even get some herself. She didn’t have the energy. Moments later, her friend blurred into the background with the rest.
We’re all alone now . Look at us. Packed in here like sardines, but we might as well be miles away from each other.
One of the mourners sent up a keening wail. Then others joined in, the urge to scream washing over the congregation like a wave, filling the enormous space with the heartrending sound of their grief—
Get out of here NOW.
Joan rushed out the doors and stopped on the church steps, taking deep breaths. She’d left just in time. She’d been about to join in. It would feel so good to lose control, but once she started, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to stop.
In any case, she’d learned something valuable. There were no answers to be found in there. Just unyielding horror. Emptiness.
A bearded man in a long black coat stood smoking near the chain-link fence at the edge of the congested parking lot. She passed him on the way back to her car.
“Pastor Gary?”
The man stared at her. “Hello, Joan.”
“I didn’t know you were a smoker.”
“I quit when Jane was born,” he said. He took another drag.
“I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“We lost them all. All three.”
“Nate and Megan are gone as well.”
“I’m sorry too.”
“I was at a movie when it happened,” Joan confessed.
“And you feel guilty about that?”
She bit her lip and nodded.
“Let me tell you something. It might give you some perspective.”
“Please do.” She listened closely.
“My youngest died on the stairs. He was always getting himself hurt, and I found him lying there in this little”—his voice cracked—“this little tangle of arms and legs. The first thing I felt was irritation. The first thing I actually thought was, What did you do to yourself now? ” He glared at Joan, his eyes wet and fierce. “What kind of father am I to think that? To feel that?”
She recoiled. “That’s awful.”
“ That’s guilt. What you feel is something else.”
“I am so sorry.”
“We’re all sorry, I guess. Did you come for a service? We’re not doing anything formal today, as you probably saw. People are free to use the church for whatever they need.”
“No, I came to see you.” Joan thought her request seemed petty now. The man had the loss of his own children to cope with. “We’re taking Nate and Megan to the burial ground tomorrow night, and Doug and I will be hosting a wake at our home. I was wondering if you might come over and say a few words. I hope you don’t mind me asking.”
Pastor Gary dropped his cigarette and stepped on it. “I don’t think I can do that.”
“It’s all right. I figured you’d be too busy.”
“I’m not busy at all. I just don’t want to do it. I really don’t want to do anything, to be honest.”
“Oh,” said Joan, surprised.
He lit another cigarette and coughed. “Please don’t take it the wrong way. I always liked you. I mean, you came to church every Sunday to listen to my sermons. What a different world it was only a few days ago, right? There was so much to believe in. We had no idea. No idea at all.”
Joan nodded. The truth was she didn’t know which was more like a dream, the past or present.
“When you get home, you should look up the Kübler-Ross stages of grief,” he told her. “That’s what I was trained to use as a pastor to provide comfort. I could tell you a little about it if you want.”
“Please. I’d like to hear it.”
“When you’re ready to process
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