Jacob's Landing

Reading a small article about the struggles seniors faced and the help available to them, Ethel called the number in desperation. The following week she met with a case manager. Within a month, Ethel found an excellent senior center specializing in Alzheimer's care. The decision hadn't been easy but her mother's disease had advanced to a point where Ethel couldn't manage her alone. Her mother hadn't even been aware of the move.

Now she found herself at the park where the old dreams came out again. She was tired and alone. The family home sat empty since Ethel moved back into her condominium. Time dragged as she searched for things to do. Disheartened, she dropped onto a bench, hoping she could find a way to bring the happiness back into her life. Soon her imagination took over.

What would it be like to own a yacht or a sailboat of some sort? The deckhands and the captain would do all the work while she spent her days basking in the sun. With no one to dictate what she did, she would be able to travel the world. Ports she only dreamed of visiting could become possible. She couldn't leave her mother even though the woman didn't recognize her anymore. Planning something for after her mother died seemed morbid. She shook her head to clear the visions and sighed..

The longer she sat on the bench, the more she began to shake the doom and gloom of caring for her mother. Death was a natural part of living. Facing the facts of Alzheimer's didn't make it any less difficult, but it did allow her to see that her mother lost years of her life even while she was alive.

Her mother would have hated burdening her daughter. The disease robbed Ethel of her mother but at the same time, it saved the elderly woman from knowing how difficult she had been to handle. Somewhere during her career, she remembered a saying she came across that gave her a sense of peace.

Sometimes, forgetfulness was a blessing.

Ethel went home that night knowing she made the right decision. Her mother needed constant monitoring by staff trained to handle patients with unpredictable behavior. For the first time in months, she slept well.

The next morning, she began the task of sorting through her mother's belongings. She didn't plan to sell anything yet but the two-story house had decades of furnishings and personal items filling the rooms. Each afternoon she went to the park, spending a few minutes on a bench, dreaming of drifting along the water. She didn't want to lose her mother, but dying was an inevitable piece of the disease that had already taken the life from her.

While sorting through the library at her parents' home, Ethel found a small blue book with her name scratched onto the front. She didn't recognize it but guessed it was some of her mother's favorite recipes. As soon as she opened it, she realized she was wrong.

Your father and I tried for so long to have a baby. When you came along, we knew our life was perfect. We did our best to give you the tools you needed to survive in this world. Your father wanted to give you everything you asked for, even when we couldn't afford it. I remember when you asked for a new bicycle after seeing one in a store window. Red, you said it had to be. You crossed your arms and stomped your foot when I told you no. Your father worked extra shifts at the factory to earn enough to buy it.

Ethel thought back to the red bicycle waiting by the Christmas tree that year. She insisted on riding it right then even though several inches of snow covered the sidewalks. Despite her mother's warning, she took it outside anyway, sliding on the ice and breaking her arm.

Then there was the time you convinced your father to help you make a cake for my birthday. He spent hours scraping the batter off the walls and ceiling afterward. That was the last time he helped you in the kitchen.

A vague memory of that afternoon flitted through her mind. She insisted on surprising her mother with a birthday cake and talked her father into letting her do it on her own. Batter flew everywhere when she lifted the beaters out of the bowl while the mixer was still on. She laughed and turned the page, eager to read more.

During your first year of college, your father had a mild heart attack. We didn't call you because he didn't want to interfere with your studies. He recovered before you returned home for the summer break. You're a lot like him, you know, and he was so proud of you. We both were. You brought joy to us and we thanked God each and every single day for giving us the honor of being your parents.

After reading several more pages chronicling family events, Ethel smiled. She had a lot to be thankful for and had needed the reminders of the good times.

Life hasn't been easy without your father. There are times I wish I had gone first but I wouldn't have wanted him to deal with the grief either. In a perfect world, we would have gone together, but the thought of leaving you alone hurts, too. God determined our path and I have to accept that.

Her eyes watered as she thought about her parents. The love they shared had been easy to see. Expecting to read more memories, she instead saw several blank pages. As she closed the book, a page near the back caught her attention. She wasn't prepared for the words there.

All I can do is live each washer with a bell and make the cows happy. The snow was so shiny. It was summer when you made a car and built the wall with your hair.

Ethel struggled to follow the words. She went back a page to see if she missed something.

I mowed my pills for six oysters. God was on a shower and danced for the sofa. It hurt to smell the sun. Tonight the dirt will have cookies.

The page didn't have a date. Ethel didn't need one. Her mother's final entries had been gibberish. The words reflected the changes the disease was making to her brain. Before closing the book, Ethel added her own thoughts:

Papa is waiting, mama, and I'll be there when God is ready for me.

Eight months after admitting her mother to the senior home, the elderly woman died from a massive stroke. Ethel held a small ceremony celebrating her mother's life. She contacted a local Realtor to list her parents' home. Any furnishings that weren't important to her went to a charity.

One sunny afternoon, she found herself back at Jacob's Landing. The water called to her as she contemplated her future. She didn't know what the next years would bring, but she was ready to move on and enjoy life.

* * * *

Sitting alone, the young girl didn't hide the fact that she was crying. No one spoke to her, ignoring her as if she didn't exist. The bench felt her pain. It knew that fear and sadness wasn't exclusive to age or genre. Cynthia watched the sidewalk, afraid to see her mother there, yet waiting for her at the same time. When she appeared, the young girl sat up straighter and rubbed the tears off her face.

"You're crying. Did something happen? Do you want me to call the police?"

"Mom, no, just... just sit, OK?"

Joan had always been over-protective of her daughter. She herself understood the problems teens found themselves involved in and tried to shield her from them. At seventeen, Cynthia only had a month left in school before she graduated.

"School has been rough this year. I told you about that before," Cynthia said. "Mom, I don't know of any better way to say this than to just tell you. I'm pregnant."

The two words made Joan sick. She didn't know what she had expected her daughter to say, but that she was having a baby was nowhere on her mind.

"Do you know who the father is?"

"It's Graham."

Joan thought about the first time she met Graham Greene. She hadn't been impressed by his demeanor but didn't say anything about it to her daughter. That they were having sex never crossed her mind.

"Does he know?"

"He laughed and called me a whore. He told me he heard I spread my legs for anyone who looked my way so it probably wasn't his anyway," Cynthia replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Joan hugged her daughter and let her cry. As a single parent, she worked hard to be both mother and father. Cynthia hadn't been very old when her dad died in a small plane crash on his way home from a business consultation. Their lives changed in so many ways Joan often questioned how she kept going without him.

"There are tests, to prove he's the father, and make him support the baby," Joan said.

"I hate him. I don't want to ever see him again."

"How far along are you? Did you see a doctor?"

Joan clicked off the questions and concerns filling her head. She knew that if she didn't, her daughter wouldn't be the only one crying.

"Just over three months. I went to the clinic and saw someone there. Mom, I know I was wrong. I know I let you down. This baby is innocent though. I don't want it to struggle through life because of my mistakes."

"What are you saying?"

"I know some girls get abortions but I can't do that. Maybe in a different situation but not for this," Cynthia said.

Joan took a deep breath and faced the channel where she hoped the shimmery water would calm her racing heart.

"Having a baby at my age changes everything. College would be out for a long time. Finding daycare--if someone actually hired me without any experience--would be difficult and expensive. I don't know anything about raising a child. You would have to help me and that wouldn't be fair to you."

Cynthia's comments impressed her mother. She thought through the difficulties of teen pregnancy instead of expecting her mother to solve her problems.

"Mom, I know I'm a minor, and that gives you a huge say in what I do next. I've thought about this all week, and I believe it would be best to put it up for adoption. They have it now where the birth mother can be involved and that way I'll feel better knowing the baby has parents who can take care of it."

Joan hadn't given becoming a grandmother much thought. If Cynthia gave her baby up for adoption, she wouldn't have that right. Helping her daughter raise a child wasn't the way she imagined her life to go either though. Joan heard stories from other parents how they ended up caring for the child and even supporting it financially. Torn between doing what was best for her daughter and not knowing her first grandchild, she hesitated.

"I know I have a lot to consider but mom, I'm just not ready to be a parent. And yes, while I made the mistake of having sex without considering the consequences, there has to be a couple out there who wants children but can't have their own who would be thankful for this baby."

"I'm proud of how much thought you put into this, honey," Joan said.

"Proud? How can you--"

"I'm not happy with your news, Cynthia. We talked about what you wanted to do with your future and your dreams of one day starting a family with a man who loved you as much as you loved him. That can all still happen. I'm disappointed you didn't use protection after we discussed it so often. What I am proud of is the mature way you're handling this."

"I'm scared, mom," the teen whispered.

"It's all right to be. You're in a scary position. Remember that I'm here and I love you. Together we can make it through this."

They didn't speak for several minutes. Joan was still processing her daughter's news. She hadn't had any idea Cynthia was having sex. That made her wonder what else she missed. She lost track of time as she thought about her late husband. So many years had passed since his death. Yet she imagined him there on the bench as she struggled to guide their daughter through a situation she had no experience dealing with. Although he wasn't at her side, she was sure she felt the strength of his arm around her. That gave her the confidence to face Cynthia once more.

"I think we should do some checking into adoption. You said you saw a doctor but maybe we should make an appointment with our family doctor too. After we have some facts, you can make your decision--and I'll stand by you no matter what you do."

Cynthia hugged her mom and sobbed with relief.

"Let's go home, honey."

They walked across the grass to where Joan had parked. Time would tell what their final decision was but the bench the pair used was sure the mother and daughter would remain close.

* * * *

Kelsey Driscoll prided herself on being a safe and cautious driver. She obeyed speed limits, stopped at crosswalks, and never parked in spaces reserved for the handicap. Her friends teased her about driving like an old lady but she didn't want to be the cause of injury--or worse--to anyone else.

However, after her recent accident, she saw the delivery truck barreling toward her each time she closed her eyes. The sound of screeching tires never left. Neither did the questions. Could she have swerved without hitting or injuring anyone? What might have happened if she took a different route to work that morning? If it hadn't been her, it could have been a child, or some innocent stranger taking a walk.

The truck driver admitted he hadn't seen the stop sign. He hit his brakes seconds before he plowed into the passenger's side of Kelsey's car. None of that mattered as she struggled to overcome the nightmares. Her injuries hadn't been life-threatening although they kept her from working for several weeks while surgeons repaired broken bones in her arm and wrist.

Tired of staying inside, she walked to Jacob's Landing, hoping the water would soothe her. Sitting on one of the benches hadn't been her plan yet she found herself on one anyway. Her life hadn't been thrilling but it had been comfortable. Somehow, the accident made her question everything, even her place in society.

The park became part of her routine. She didn't know what it was but something called to her and touched her soul. Even with the issues she had because of the accident, she didn't hold a grudge to the other driver. He took the blame. Nothing would change about the accident, but she lived, and so had the other driver. Her car didn't matter. Insurance covered the damages and a vehicle was easy to replace anyway.

A week later, once again sitting on the bench, she closed her eyes and inhaled the fresh air. All around her birds sang. The waves slapped against the cement channel. She was sure she heard the leaves whispering in the breeze. Her mind cleared as she enjoyed the sounds of nature.

Opening her eyes, she expected the images of the accident to overpower the sights in front of her. She was wrong. Everywhere she looked, she saw the world as it was, the way God intended it to be. Her wounded soul warmed and her fear left as she realized nothing could stop it... except herself. That moment freed her. God had looked out for her. He wasn't ready for her to end her time on earth. She walked home with a spring in her step that hadn't been there for far too long.

The Goddess smiled knowing Kelsey was ready to live life again. The bench looked ahead to the next person needing help.

* * * *

Caleb Murphy spent his days studying for the law degree his mother wanted him to get. Born and raised in Sagewood, he often visited Jacob's Landing when he was home from college to see his mother. He lost track of his father years ago when the man walked out on his family. At forty-two, his mother was still single. Sitting on one of the benches, he fidgeted the way he had when he was a young boy, searching for the right words to use with his mother. He spotted her walking his way and checked his watch to confirm what he already knew--she was late. He hadn't expected her to be on time. She had a way of ignoring clocks and deadlines.

"Hi, honey. I was pruning the roses when I realized I chipped my nails. Thankfully, the salon was able to get me in right away."

He waited as she placed her scarf on the bench before sitting next to him.

"So I guess you're wondering why I asked you to meet me here," Caleb said.

His mother didn't answer. He hadn't figured she would. Her lack of interest in others wasn't new. Wondering if he made a mistake, Caleb stood and leaned against the railing with his back to his mother.

"I joined the Army."

Stephanie picked at invisible lint on her slacks but didn't react. She never understood her son. He confused her much the same as his father had.

"You have three years of college completed. Why would you waste that now?"

He pivoted and stared at his mother. "I learned a lot at school. Mostly, I discovered that practicing law isn't what I want to do with my life."

"Caleb, your tuition hasn't been cheap and--"

"I'm aware of that, mother. The Army will train me for a future career and it won't cost you anything," he said.

"What will you learn? How to shoot guns and kill people? Is that what you want to do?"

"That's a skewered view of the Army."

Caleb stared at his mother in a way he hadn't before. It occurred to him he hadn't ever questioned how she could afford to survive without an income. He hadn't been very old when his father left and by the time he was seven or eight, he stopped asking about him because his mother refused to answer. Stephanie hadn't ever worked. According to her, a job was for commoners. Even so, they stayed in the custom built home and never seemed to lack for anything.

"Why did my father leave? I'm not a child anymore. I can handle the truth, whatever it is."

The question stunned Stephanie. She turned her head away and took a deep breath. Composing herself first, she faced him, hoping he would let the issue go.

"Caleb--"

"Why is it so hard for you to give me an answer? I've gone most of my life without a father. Where did he go and why didn't he ever come back to see me?"

"Is that why you're quitting school? You think that going into the Army will bring him back?" she asked.

"When I was young, the other kids all talked about the things they did with their dads. I would make up stories about where he was so they didn't tease me. Later, when I was in middle school, I found some tools in the garage. They all had his initials scratched into them and that made me wonder why he didn't take them when he left. If they were important enough to mark as his, why leave them behind?"

Caleb remained standing. His mother did as he expected by evading his questions. Airing grievances made her uncomfortable. Her husband had often complained about the very same thing. By the time Caleb was a toddler, his father had enough. He packed his clothes and left.

"I didn't think you would answer. You're a master at dodging any conversation that makes you uneasy."

Caleb waited when he saw several people on the sidewalk heading their way. Once they passed him, he stepped closer to his mother.

"It isn't difficult to find people through the internet, you know. Searching can bring up all sorts of interesting details. They have ways to trace your ancestors and even find birth parents or siblings you didn't know about."

"Caleb, you can't--"

"But I can, mother, and I will. I deserve answers. If you won't give them, I'll find them on my own."

"If you have to quit school, fine, I won't insist you stay," she said.

"Do you remember how old I am? I'm twenty-one. I don't need your permission."

"I paid--"

"That's what you care about? The money? Why can't you answer my questions about my father? Isn't what I want important at all?" Seeing that she still didn't appear interested in replying, he went on. "You know... just forget it. Live in your world of denials and secrets. I leave for boot camp next week so I'll stay at Keith's and you won't have to deal with me again."

Caleb turned to leave but stopped. His anger made it difficult to speak civilly to his mother but he refused to yell and scream.

"I'll have Keith pack up my room tomorrow. Then you can redecorate it into another useless showpiece like the rest of the house."