Cry of an osprey, p.22
Cry of an Osprey, page 22
That didn’t surprise me.
All of us circled his bed. I watched as each of his friends leaned down to kiss his cheek or tap his hand, saying: I’m going to miss you, God speed and Rest in peace, Jax. Then turning and waking away, tears falling. Some arm in arm as they left.
Fredrik giving Jax one last kiss, rubbing his face as he whispered, I love you.
Eventually everyone had filtered out including Fredrik, leaving Ben and me alone in the room. I was next to Jax; Ben was in his usual place across from me, up against the wall, shaking uncontrollably, his hands in his pockets. His eyes looking away from the man he loved.
I crawled up beside Jax one last time, wrapped my arms around him, put my face against his and whispered, “You were the best brother I could have ever asked for. Goodbye, Jax. I love you more than you’ll ever know.” After one more hug, I got out of the bed, went to Ben, and together, arms around each other, we left.
It was 8:30 a.m. now, and I was thankful that we hadn’t had any guests staying with us. We had decided not to hold the celebration of life right away. Because Jax was being cremated, we’d have time. We were thinking around November 3, giving more guests time to make their arrangements to be here knowing there would be many.
Ben was coming over around eleven, and we were to meet Mom and Bart at the funeral home. Fredrik didn’t have a ride from the city, so I said we’d FaceTime. That way he could be with us too. Predictably Dad didn’t want anything to do with the planning. “I think you will make it wonderful, my darling daughter,” he’d said over the phone. I’d never heard him cry so much.
A friend of Jax’s that worked at the funeral home had messaged me early this morning and said he’d be taking him around Toronto’s gay village for one last drive before going to the crematorium. Last drive. Nausea set in. My insides actually felt like they were shaking. I don’t think I’d ever felt that before. My life as I knew it was gone. I had to sit down. I closed my eyes, wishing I never had to open them again.
I needed Ben there with me, despite his thinking he didn’t belong. We had talked on the phone more after we got home from the hospital. He was the one person who knew how I felt. We cried together. We recalled times with Jax that made us laugh, and we cried some more. We agreed that a part of us had died with him. He told me that he’d need me in the coming months, that he didn’t feel he could get through this without me. I felt the same. Somehow being near him made me feel close to Jax.
Jax would want a celebration of life. Not some stuffy, religious funeral. He wasn’t like that. He’d want it to be the biggest and best party of our lives, with all of us laughing and talking about the crazy things he’d done. He’d want us to dance, waving our hands in the air just like he would. I had to honour that. Mom, Fredrik and Ben agreed. The problem was finding somewhere large enough to fit all those who knew and loved him.
I walked to the bathroom to get a tissue. My eyes had cried so many tears. Looking in the mirror, I could see they were puffy and sore-looking. The centre of my forehead hurt. It reminded me of that first day, five days ago, when I’d looked at myself in the mirror at the hospital. How had it been only five days? I struggled to breathe through my stuffed-up nose. I wandered into the kitchen, but my stomach couldn’t handle any food; even the glass of water I poured was hard to swallow.
The silence was too loud, so I turned on the television, putting a music station on for background noise. I looked out the living room window. To the left, Blue Mountain was enveloped in its signature blue haze. Sunbeams shining from the east bounced on the slopes. All the leaves had dropped, leaving only the evergreens with colour. For the first time in days, the sun was shining. Strangely, though, while the sky to the northwest, over the mountain, was a bright, robin’s-egg blue, to the northeast, over the water, it was an ominous grey.
And then it appeared. The most striking rainbow, a full arc. All the colours visible. I stood there, mesmerized. I thought again about the last few days and how grey they’d been. And now, here was this rainbow, radiating colour, like someone had painted it for me. Could it be? It seemed so close I felt I could almost touch it, and for just a moment, I felt better—but it didn’t last. As the rainbow faded, disappearing into a dark sky, so did my will.
I stood there, unable to move. Not knowing how I’d make it through the rest of the day, and the rest of my life without Jax. I really didn’t want to. Life felt too long, stretching out before me. I’d relied on my big brother for everything. I didn’t even know who I was without him. I had Stu and Larissa, and I loved them both so much, but in that moment, it didn’t seem enough. I needed Jax. I needed him to get through this. He was the one person who truly knew me, had always known me. My thoughts took a dark turn. How easy it would be to end it all. To be with him again.
I heard Stu come up from downstairs. He must have sensed something, and asked how I was doing. I didn’t feel much like talking, couldn’t tell him what I was really feeling. Lying, I said I was okay. He knew I wasn’t. He held me tight. I knew he wanted to take away my pain, but he couldn’t. No one could. I felt bad that I wasn’t able let him help me. I also felt bad because I knew he must be grieving too. We let go of each other, and I stepped into the living room. Stu sat down at the kitchen table to read the newspaper and drink his coffee. He was just a few feet away, where I could see him, and that was a comfort.
How could I make sense now of my forty-four years? All those years merged into a moment. And what did they mean? The next forty-four years without Jax seemed impossible.
How would I ever laugh again when he wouldn’t?
The song playing on the television suddenly sounded louder, as if someone had turned it up. The lyrics said something about travelling down an unfamiliar road and holding on to him as we go. And then something about demons.
“Wow, Stu, are you hearing this? Who sings this song?”
He didn’t know, so I checked the TV. It was “Home” by Phillip Phillips.
When American Idol was on TV, Jax would often text and ask who my favourite contestant was. That year it was Phillip Phillips. Jax said he didn’t like Phillips, said that in every song, he sounded the same. But I really loved him. I felt that his passion for music showed every time he sang. We continued to bring it up, each of us trying to convince the other. Phillips actually won that season, so I teased Jax that I was right.
What were the odds that it would play just now??
Suddenly I didn’t feel alone. Somewhere deep inside, I knew I would survive, because my brother would be right by my side. Maybe Larissa was right. With all my heart, I wanted to believe she was. That Jax would be just like the sun: although you couldn’t always see him, he would always be there.
I could almost hear him telling me that I was stronger than I thought. He certainly wouldn’t want me to kill myself, and he wouldn’t want his memory to sadden me. He would want me to live my life as he had—to take chances, to embrace all that life had to offer, to jump in with both feet. To go after my dreams and write that book.
Perhaps I’d just have to close my eyes to see the world he sees.
I knew I’d continue to grieve, and it wasn’t going to be easy, but I would move forward, one foot in front of the other. And I’d throw Jax the best celebration of life anyone ever had.
I’d have to live for both of us now.
26
BEN
July 2013
T
he blue heron took flight and disappeared around the curve of the island. Feeling the morning coolness of the rock underneath me—its strength and tenacity—gave me comfort. So many things were different, yet this place would remain the same.
It had been nine months since I’d lost Jax. Nine months of no texts, no dinners, nothing. I missed his zany personality and our long talks. Going to the movies and spending time with my kids. Nintendo. His smile. I’d never forget it and the way he looked at me, the delicate way he’d run his fingers through my hair or touch my face.
That last day in the hospital would be forever imprinted in my mind. Seeing the life leave his body. I wondered if the pain would ever fade. Would those dark images ever be completely replaced by those of the fun times, when we were younger and in love? Or even later, 12 years later, when we were moving toward love again? Would my heart ever heal?
That was the hardest thing I’d ever had to go through. Watching Amelia lose her brother and best friend, her mom lose her son, and all the other people who loved him lose him too. Even watching Fredrik lose him was hard. And after it was all over, Jax’s mom had wanted to ride home with me, because she was worried for me.
There had been so much love in that room.
I thought by now that I’d be sleeping better, eating more. I wasn’t. I hadn’t expected that I’d still be thinking of him constantly, but I was.
The poplar seeds had showered us like stars from Heaven on that first date in the canoe, showing us who we were from birth. I could never un-live it or relive it.
Was this as good as it would get?
I wondered if Amelia was up yet. If so, she’d wonder where I was. I’d brought her to the island because she’d decided to write a book about Jax—the brother she’d loved—and because I wanted to share this special place with her. She was the sister I’d always wished mine could be—supportive and loving. I couldn’t have gotten this far without her. We’d become so close. Relying on each other for support every step of this journey.
Placing my hand on the infinity symbol dangling from its chain around my neck I held it. Tight. His ashes inside were never far from my heart. Amelia had surprised me with the pendant. She was so much like her brother. She’d said it would help, and surprisingly, it had. It wasn’t the infinity I thought I’d have with Jax. That would have to wait.
Amelia had given me another unexpected gift. Shortly after Jax passed, she and I met for lunch. She told me something he had confided in her.
After Jax moved in with me, bringing Nikko and Girdy, we had built a dog pen that happened to be right outside Mom’s bedroom window. One day when Jax went out to clean it, he’d heard my mom crying and praying to God to keep me safe. Jax knew he shouldn’t listen, but he couldn’t help himself. If God could love me, Mom had prayed, so could she, but she was petrified of losing me. She’d lost her foster child Chris to AIDS, and she couldn’t bear to lose me too.
Amelia said Jax had struggled over whether or not to tell me, and concluded that it wasn’t his place. But he’d shared this story with her. I’m not sure why Mom couldn’t just tell me her fears herself. All those lost years of misunderstanding... But I was happy that Amelia finally had.
Mom didn’t know that I knew. I’d decided to keep it that way.
Looking out over the rock formations, the Aboriginal figure and the monkey—the elephant, my heart sank. I thought of the egg salad spilling onto Jax’s shirt. I took a deep breath in, bowed my head and closing my eyes, whispered I love you. The smell of Cedar had returned. I blinked back tears while seeing myself slumped over with my legs dangling off the edge. My head in my hands, that first time, on this very day sixteen years ago when we came here. How Jax had lifted my chin and made me look at him. I thought of all the kind words he’d said to make me feel like less of a freak and accept myself as a human being. Who would do that now? I would have to do it for myself.
My hand still trembled resting on the knapsack. I could feel the tiny keepsake urn Amelia had given me in the front pocket. I reached in, pulled it out, and set it beside me up against my thigh wanting Jax here with me for a while longer. I would keep my promise to embrace the person I was and live the life he’d always wanted for me. To do anything else would dishonour him—dishonour our love. The view was just as it had been that first day, so clear you could see for miles. The clouds had lifted and the sun rose further creating pinks, yellows and purples that melted into the same shades on the water. The horizon was hard to see. The waves smashing up against the rocks below no longer sounded soothing. They sounded insistent, demanding. Were they trying to tell me something?
I grabbed the urn with my left hand and brought it to my lips, kissed it softly.
A large bird soared in front of me. I thought at first that the blue heron had returned, but as this bird flew closer, I squinted.
The osprey.
Thank you.
Carefully I removed the top of the urn and tilted it, spilling a thin stream of ashes into my palm. As I watched, they fell through my fingers, and then were swept up by the wind and sent swirling out beyond the cliff, beyond the waves, into the morning light.
Epilogue
August 2014
T
he sun was shining when Stu parked the car along the wooden fence near the farmhouse around five o’clock p.m. I got out and retrieved from the back my platter of devilled eggs, then rose looking at the property. Jax had been right about this being the best spot for a barn party. In front of me stood Ben’s house, more than a century old, its entrance flanked by white columns. Directly behind the house was the red and white livestock barn, currently unoccupied. To the left of that was Ben’s workshop.
As I walked toward the newer barn, I heard Adele’s voice, growing louder as I got closer. Stu followed with the cooler. A gust of wind almost blew off my cowboy hat. Ben had insisted that we all dress up western style, just like last year—though that hadn’t been part of the original kiki. Who said you couldn’t make a good thing better? At least it was a warm late August wind. Throughout the day, the sky had shifted from grey thick clouds to blue and back to grey. The sun had finally won the battle.
To the right of the barn stood the old steam engine. It was as if a locomotive and a tractor had a baby. The large black iron spoked wheels on the back and smaller ones on the front allowed it to drive. Steam blasted from the smoke stack upfront. A sweet whiff of cooked corn on the cob filled my nostrils. I remembered Jax standing in the doorway of that barn telling me all about how he and Ben had built it together. He was so proud of how it looked, and rightfully so—it was stunning. Ben always told me, “Jax makes sure it gets done, and I make sure it gets done right!”
The entrance was two barn doors wide, and it opened up to a vast space, the barn boards separated just enough to let the setting sun laser through. A hefty oak to the left of the entrance welcomed us, its outsized branches hanging close enough to sit on.
Immense fields and rolling hills, a Sound of Music view but without the Alps, spread wide behind the barn. It made me want to twirl and dance like Julie Andrews. Hopscotch patterns of gold and many shades of green led your eye straight to Blue Mountain, far off in the distance.
This morning on the phone, Ben had asked, “Are you still bringing the devilled eggs? Yours are the best.”
“Yep. And did you make a gazillion pies?”
Ben laughed. “Of course. I thought of making a coconut one, but I figured Jax’s ghost would just knock it on the floor.”
“He really didn’t like coconut, did he?” Remembering that made me sad, which seemed silly—but even now, two years later, the smallest memories of Jax would tear at my heart.
This would be the second country kiki without him. It had been Ben’s idea, and a wonderful one, to carry on Jax’s legacy.
As I walked into the barn, I saw some of Jax’s friends from the city talking and laughing, sipping their drinks. I didn’t count how many, but Ben had said at least thirty people would be coming. Overwhelming happiness filled my heart. Jax was still gathering people.
Greg and John were here, and Kyle and Ritchie, Bobby, Judy, Maxine, Mom and Bart, as well as a few people I hadn’t met—all assembled here for Jax. As I placed the devilled eggs on the counter against the side wall, one by one they came over to hug me.
After the hugs, I headed back toward Ben’s house to use the washroom inside. I spotted the painting Jax had me paint for Ben years ago hanging in the main living room. It was Ben’s Christmas present from him. Ben took me to see Flowerpot the summer after Jax passed. I stood in almost that exact spot in the painting. The Osprey soaring in the back ground stood out more than before. Jax had insisted one be in the painting.
Starring at it had me remembering something that happened in Mexico this past winter. I hadn’t really thought much about it until now—other than it being pretty cool. Stu and I had gone with some friends and while playing volleyball on Mexico’s day of the dead, a large bird hovered above our heads then moved closer to the water, dove down scooping up a fish in its talons then flew off. I’d been so distracted by it, I missed the volleyball completely. When I asked Rene—the entertainment guy—about it he said it was a sea hawk otherwise known as an osprey. They nest by their resort he’d said.
While turning away to head back outside and to the barn, I decided that I needed to ask Ben why Jax had insisted on it being in the painting. Did it mean something?
Ben had some highlights planned for the night, including a steam-engine sparks show, a hay ride through the woods on the property, and a bonfire.
Even my friends were here. Turns out they had been frozen in their own grief and shock at the suddenness of Jax’s crisis. During those four dreadful days we spent in the hospital, they weren’t sure how to deal with their own reactions, let alone how to try to help me. I understood that more than they knew. But in the past two years they’d more than made up for it.
Along the back wall was a woodpile, and on it rested a 20 x 30-inch framed black and white photo of Jax—the one we’d used for his celebration of life. I’d later given it to Ben. I had snapped the picture just months before Jax died, as a business portrait. It captured his essence. And it was as close to life-sized as we could get. There he sat, with his huge smile, smack dab in the middle of it all. Right where he’d want to be.
