I pulled the U-Haul truck to the sidewalk, looked over at the house and sighed. It was time to get out of this place. It was long overdue. I got out and smelled the ozone in the air after the rain had fallen. I loved the smell of ozone. I opened the front door and shouted at Jagger.
"You all done?" I shouted up at him.
"Yes, just about Mom." He would be twelve this year, already a serious little man. I trudged up the stairs for the fiftieth time that weekend, Jagger was dragging a box out of his room and I bent down to help him. When we had made it downstairs with the box, he insisted that he could do it alone.
"Okay, get the other boxes in the kitchen too will you please?" I was too tired to argue. He nodded. He had inherited far too much of his father for me to be able to look at him and not think of Sam. I didn't want to think about Sam. I had stopped thinking of Sam, I reminded myself irritably. The flame dimmed but it did not go out. There was only one closet left to clean out. I had left it for last. I turned into my bedroom and went to my second closet, Sam's closet.
I opened the doors slowly, as if I had no idea what I would find inside. When the closet doors were all the way open, I took a slow, deep, haggard breath. Without taking my eyes off the inside, I stepped backward slowly until I felt my bed behind me. I sank down on it, slowly, gratefully, determined not to cry - not this time. I sat there, staring numbly ahead, focusing only on two things. Firstly, not to allow the first prick of tears to wet my eyes, or it would be too late to stop them. Secondly, and this was harder, to keep the door to the memories locked and shut tight. I must not allow a memory, however fleeting to cross my mind, I must not allow an emotion, however harmless it seemed to enter my heart or I would not be able to get up from this bed and leave this place. I know that sounds dramatic. It sounds dramatic when people say their hearts drag on the floor behind them. It sounds dramatic until you feel the pain for yourself. Then no other description will do.
I laughed a bitter little laugh. Sam's closet in a house Sam never entered, didn't know about. Sam's son, born into a world he had already left. Sam, Sam, Sam... where did you go? The door in my head opened and I was swept back fifteen years in a second. I searched for and found the memory I always search for first; one afternoon in May, in our senior year. As my eyes opened to the sights and sounds of that day so long ago, I closed them against this time and place.
I was screaming with pleasure, Sam was chasing me with the hose, squirting water at me when he caught me. I squealed in delight and not even pretending to be affronted, giggled and turned myself toward him, so that he could see my nipples against my wet t-shirt. I arched my back at him, pushing my breasts out even further.
"You can look but you can't touch." I said spitefully, laughing.
"Oh yes I can!" He made a grab for me but I was too fast and I fled around the back of the house. Sam chased after me with the hose and got me twice on the legs before he caught up and pinned me against the wall. I had nowhere to go.
"No, no, no..." I said laughing, clutching my arms over my chest. He dropped the hose and then looked me in the eyes, deeply and intently. There was a message for me in his eyes and as I understood it, my arms found their way around his neck and my mouth blindly found his. Everything seemed to slow down, yet spin around us at the same time. My heart wanted to burst for the love of Sam. He carried me up to my bedroom and laid me on my bed. Slowly he lowered himself on top of me, kissing me deeply and deliciously. That was the day, the first time. Afterwards we lay in each other's arms, feeling perfectly loved and content.
"Will we always be together Sam?" I asked.
"Always Jenny." He promised.
Now I spoke to an empty room.
"And now Sam? Are we still together, or am I dragging into the future what should be left in the past?"
I gave a small laugh and brought myself back to the present. I looked at the corner of the closet and took the hanger off the rail. I stood in front of my mirror and held my wedding dress in front of me. We never got the chance to that either. The wedding was planned, we were waiting on Sam. They told me to get rid of the dress, that I was torturing myself by keeping it. The joke was on them, they had no idea of the size of the shrine I kept for him in this closet, this heart, this mind. Pain is not tangible, we cannot grab at our grief and throw it bodily from our hearts and minds. The dress was my tangible sign of denial. He wasn't dead, he would come back. When there was no more pain in the barrel of denial for me to feed on, the dress became useless and I had hung it right at the back of the closet. Denial had fought me and I won. This day was coming and now it was here - one day, when I would get rid of the dress. I laid it gently on the bed.
Turning back to the closet, I pulled two boxes out. They were filled with Sam's shoes, his t-shirts, his jackets, his books, his sunglasses. It knocked the wind out of me and I sat down heavily on the bed. The problem with Sam dying, was not Sam dying - the problem was packing Sam up. Those were the only tangible things left of him. I felt as if I had betrayed him when I packed his things away, that I somehow deleted his life as I packed him away. Each item in my precious boxes was a memory of Sam. I needed to see evidence of his life. I thank God that the pain of losing him has dulled over the years and even when I want to feel that first stab of my heart (if only to prove to myself that I have passed this way and survived) I cannot. What I feel now is bad enough. I thought I could leave him here and remember him only in my heart - nobody else seems to remember him, I thought I was strong - I was wrong.
I didn't know what I would take with me and what I would leave here on this bed, in this house, this life. Sam smiling at me behind sunglasses, looking like an insect with huge eyes. Me smiling back, looking even more stupid with pink rims. The jeans he tore ice-skating, patched by me and later cut off at the knee. The torn tickets from the Bon Jovi concert. I smiled - what a night. Suddenly my smile faded. Before I could even remove it from the box, my tears were falling from my cheek, little rivers of sorrow gathering into drops on my chin. I pulled out the flag, wrapped as his father had given to me, as it had been given to him, as I promised I would give it to Jagger. I sat swaying, holding the flag like a baby to my chest. This is what he died for, I repeated to myself over and over. If I sat there for the next fifty years trying to convince myself that it was fair, and that it was true, that it was worth it - I would have wasted fifty years. Under no sun could I find justification in his death, fairness in war, his death wasn't worth anything, it didn't change anything. It was bullshit, unfair and he had no choice. The flag had gathered dust, they must have gathered there when I was trying to forget. I would never forget that day, the sun was hot, the earth was dry and dusty. There was a stripped awning next to the grave and fake grass around it, to hide the piles of earth they would use to cover it.
The little baby had begun wiggling in my womb. By the time we were seated at Sam's grave enough time had gone by that I cried dry tears. I had used all my tears up. I bargained with God then, if He would take my little baby and give Sam back to me, I would for as long as I lived be devoted to Him. I bargained over and offering everything including my own life. Did God hear me? I think so, but He could see today and I couldn't.
I closed my eyes and Sam stood before me in uniform. Of all my memories, that is always the last one. He was going and I was staying. He was smiling but I couldn't smile back. Saying goodbye, trying not to cry for his sake. He passes through the barrier and turns and blows me a kiss, I blow one back and wave madly, then Sam is swallowed by a crowd of men wearing the same army uniform as he is. My mouth forms the word 'Sam' but it is a soundless call. I'm hesitant to drop my arm in case I spot him again. The memories rushed past as unstoppable as a train, inertia carrying them forward in the gravity of my mind. The letters and phone calls and care packages. I couldn't quite remember the sound of his voice anymore. He didn't get older in my memories either. I laughed another bitter laugh. The picture is hazy around the corners, the corners as dull as the pain. I am afraid of letting go. I am afraid I will forget completely.
I took the flag and the packet of letters we had exchanged. Did you know how much I cried for you while you were still alive Sam? You belong to the past Sam, I told myself harshly. The scary part is I answered myself and called upon my treacherous heart to agree or disagree with my brain. Nothing is mortal, there is no time in immortality. Sam belongs to the past, the present and the future. I remember my anger with God, the President, the military - it was a long list. I wanted someone to take responsibility for Sam's murder. It was murder, his enemies laid in the desert, camouflaged, waiting for his platoon to pass in front of them, intent on killing them. That's premeditated murder in any court in the world. I was angry with Sam for dying, simultaneously, rationally knowing I was not angry with Sam for dying, but for abandoning me.
There is so much healing the heart and the human spirit must do, before one can remember the joy his life brought and not only the searing pain. It was too slowly moving, the river of healing for me to recognize it. It happened while I was surviving and then when I was living again. It happened when I smiled again. Now I remember the joy of loving him as much as the pain of losing him. I turned slowly, taking in everything in my room for the last time. And then I walked into the hallway and down the stairs.
We arrived at our new home two hours later and parked behind a similar U-Haul to the one we had. Jagger jumped out excitedly and ran to the front door shouting.
"Bumpy! Bumpy! We're here!" I picked up Sam's flag and the letters and followed my son through the front door, Nick was telling Jagger and Chris to go to the back yard, which was massive. He told Jagger he saw some children playing just past the fence. The boys flew outside, eager to make friends. As far as they were concerned, their part of the moving was done.
Nick came over to me and lifted my chin to look in my eyes.
"Was it hard?" He asked, he is the most patient and tender man I know. I love him deeply and his love is like a lazy wave washing up on my shore. The tide rose around me and by the time I noticed the love of him, I couldn't live without it. I nodded.
"This is all I brought." I said showing him the things I carried.
"Where do you want to put it?"
"How about on one of the shelves in the library?" It was time I shared Sam.
"His medals?" Nick asked.
"Here in my bag."
"I was on the laptop for a bit this afternoon. I saw something strange. Do you know that there are veterans selling their medals on e-bay?" I was shocked, horrified.
"No!" I cried. "Why would anyone want to do that? They were bought with blood, if not theirs, then others!"
"They've run out of options, they have to eat and some have families too. There's nothing else they can do. Some guys are selling their kits as well."
