Serendipity 17: A Glimpse Into the Future

XVII − A Glimpse into the Future

On November 2^nd, our Lauren gave birth to Paul Matthew Blake.

He was perfect.

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Our story -- our stories, I guess I should say -- take a turn here.

Something very important occurs, and it has consequences − for all of us, and for everything that happens afterward.

Also, this brief chapter is not very sexy. But life is often not sexy. In fact, sometimes even sex isn't sexy. But if you stick with us, I think you'll be rewarded -- in every way!

Epilogue — Twelve Years and a Few Months

LAUREN

Candace left us 15 months later.

The headaches and visual distortions she had been experiencing in the last month of her pregnancy were originally attributed to blood pressure or to some accumulation of fluid related to the pregnancy. But after she gave to birth to Shana, the headaches and vision did not improve. Two months later she was diagnosed as having a glioblastoma -- a brain tumor. Prognosis: 12 months, max.

I don't want to dwell on this time. Candace set about her life the way she did everything -- with cheerfulness, positivity, and purpose. She doubled her efforts to care for her new baby, and to make sure that Caleen and Eddie got every bit of attention she could manage. She anticipated every imaginable need and made every possible arrangement for her family's future, including some we didn't know about until after her death.

The one thing she couldn't do was to prepare Teddy for a life without her. But even there, she had a plan.

Jane and I were a mess. Our only resort was to buckle down and do everything we could think of to ensure that her family was taken care of while she was sick, and after she ... left. Ben felt and shared Janey's pain.

Our dads, they were another story. They were wrecks. Candace had stolen their hearts, and they just didn't seem to be able to wrap their heads around a world where such a force of happiness and goodness could be yanked away, seemingly in an instant.

And they hurt for Ted. They realized that whatever pain they were feeling, Ted's was a thousand times worse. I think they were furious at their own inability to do anything for him. The one time Ted had spoken with them to ask if they'd look after Candace if anything should happen to him, they quickly assured him that Candace would always have them, in whatever way she needed. No one even considered the opposite situation.

She refused various experimental chemotherapy regimes, choosing instead to live her remaining days, in pain, but free from the constant fog and nausea of chemo. And she lived her life and loved her family, until she couldn't anymore.

Right before the end, she asked me to call Georgia. I telephoned her, and she picked up on the second ring. I said "It's Candace ..." and before I could say anything more, she said "I'll be there tomorrow. Don't worry about meeting me."

********

She was cremated, as she had requested, because she and Ted thought that he and the children would be able to remember her and communicate with her in the coming years if she were in a beautiful inlaid wooden box, in whatever home they lived, rather than in a plot of dirt somewhere.

Ted was Ted. He was solid. He was able to do his work. He managed the legal and financial complications that accompany a family death. And he tried to support his now-motherless children, which he did with amazing composure. But he was also unmoored and rudderless. We all pretty much took over the non-work aspects of his life.

We had discussed all this with Candace. One of the things we had talked about was where they would live. Matt and Dad found a condo in our building, one whose owner wanted to retire to Arizona but wanted to keep his unit as a rental property. The real estate and relocation division of my financial services company bought their house and arranged their move into the condo. Matthew and Ben also arranged office space and facilities in Matt's company so Ted would be able to continue his graphic design business from there without having to worry about the practical details.

And Georgia. It turns out that she and Candace had arranged that Georgia would move into their home -- wherever it might be -- and would take over the care of the children she loved so much, and who loved her "almost like their mother."

And to take care of Ted, when he was ready -- if, indeed, he ever would be.

As Georgia explained it, "Once Candace was sure of the diagnosis, and of the inevitable outcome, she called me. She knew I was in love with the children and that they loved me, and she asked if I would be willing to take on the enormous responsibility of caring for them." I told her she didn't need to say one word more -- it was done, for as long as they needed me.

"Then she said, 'About Teddy. I'm not going to ask for any promises, and I'm certainly not going pressure you to do something you don't want to do. But in all his life, you are the only other woman he's ever looked at. He loves Lauren and Janey, but with you ... he looks at you with total -- 'admiration' is the only word I can think of. And if you decided you wanted to be with him, you'd both have my blessing.'

"From anyone else, such a proposal would have been difficult to take seriously, but from Candace, I knew she had thought about it carefully, and it was from both her heart and her head.

"I didn't make any other promises, but I assured her that I would care for the children and be there for Ted."

We sold our condos and moved into two houses, in a new development in one of the older Western suburbs. The schools were good, and we were able to find both houses that were within our means. Matthew and little Paul and I, Dad and Mai, Janey and Ben and Christiana shared a six-plus bedroom house -- a McMansion, true, but it fit our needs.

Georgia, Ted, and the three children lived in a four-bedroom on the other side of our cul-de-sac. Eddie had the smallest room, and Caleen and Shana shared the larger one. Georgia lived in what would normally be the "master" bedroom. Ted slept in the fourth bedroom, which doubled as an office when he worked from home. Our children were together constantly.

The children loved having Nonna Georgia as theirs all the time, and they asked her lots of questions about Mommy. Everywhere, there were pictures of them with Candace; and Ted and Georgia got them to believe that they really could talk with her in the wooden box where she lived now. They assured the children that they could talk with her anytime they wanted, and that they could ask her anything and she would find a way to answer them, somehow.

One night, almost six months after Candace died, the children had been put to bed and Georgia had just turned off the bedside light when she heard a soft, tentative knock on the door. She turned the light back on and said, "Yes?" Ted opened the door and stepped in hesitantly. She smiled and turned back the covers and said, "Come in, Darling."

They cried that night.

They cried the next night, too, but not as much. The third night, there was no crying.

Still, it was still another month before the room heard any laughter.

One other thing happened about the time that Ted knocked on Georgia's door.

Everyone was sitting in the living room, settling in to watch a movie, when Ted said to Georgia, "I think the children have something they want to ask you." Then, to Eddie, "Do you want to ask Nonna Georgia something?"

Adorable little Eddie, three years old now, took a half step toward Georgia and said, "Caleen and Shana and Daddy and I want to know if it would be OK if we call you 'Momma' now?"

Georgia held herself together just long enough to say, "Of course you can -- I'd love it if you all called me 'Momma'," before pulling them all together in her arms and burying her face in their hair to hide her tears, which were profuse. She turned her head away from the children to look toward Ted. Through the tears, she could only mouth the words, "Thank you, thank you, thank you! I love you, Ted -- I love you so much!" Ted could barely see her, what with his own tears. He saw enough, however.

********

Georgia and I were sitting in the kitchen, having coffee one Sunday morning. It seemed like there was something she wanted to tell me, but she wasn't quite sure how to begin. I waited. Finally she said,

"I talked with your grandfather last night. I told him there's this man, and he's good, and kind, and a terrific lay -- Arthur would have insisted on that! -- and he has these three magical children ... and he loves me."

"What did Grandpa say?"

"He told me that I should do it, and he gave me his blessing."

"Well, you always said that Grandpa Art was the smartest man you ever met."

One month later, Georgia and Ted were married.

********

One morning over coffee, Georgia told me, "Keeping up with those three kids is exhausting." But then she added, "They make me feel 30 years younger, too."

But, of course, she wasn't 30 years younger. Despite looking decades beneath her age, she was still a 63-ish woman, married to a 30 year old man. Matt and I -- v-e-e-r-y carefully -- once raised the subject with Ted.

"Look, we know the math isn't very kind to us," he said, "but Georgia and I have decided that we're going to treat each day like it's just the first day of an endless number of fantastic days to come."

And, mostly, they did, and, mostly, they were.

And over time, I came to realize what my airhead little college roommate had achieved. For in her final months, her goodness and generosity had led her to secure a loving mother for her three children; a brand new life for my grandmother, Georgia; and for her beloved husband, Teddy, the chance to continue living.

And Georgia helped the children grow up. With school. With cuts and scrapes and childhood scuffles. Shana wasn't even one when Candace died, so Nonna-Momma Georgia was really the only mother she'd known. And Georgia was there for Eddie when it came time to talk about masturbation and sex, and she helped Caleen through puberty.

But she never had to talk with Caleen about boys. For some reason, Caleen already seemed to know everything she would ever need to know about boys. We just didn't understand until later.

********

Caleen and our Paul grew up together. Caleen was three years older, of course, but from the time they became "aware" of each other, around when Caleen was six and Paul was three, they were best friends. At first, he was like a little brother to Caleen, and she was his big sister. But as they grew, it became apparent that their developing personalities were on the same wavelength; and any difference in their ages quickly became imperceptible to them. They were constant companions.

Paul had inherited his great-grandfather's and my "tall" genes, so even when they were younger, they were about the same height. Also, he'd acquired Matthew's calm demeanor and (I flatter myself to think) his mother's sound judgement. Caleen, on the other hand, was petite, like her mother, and had Candace's good heart and perpetual enthusiasm. She also had her father's quiet strength and self-confidence, along with her mother's considerable-but-unobtrusive intelligence.

Anytime you saw them going somewhere, they would be holding hands. If something good happened, the other had to know about it -- immediately! If one hurt, the other comforted. And without us even noticing, she was now 15 and he, 12.

One evening, Matthew and I were cleaning up after dinner. Paul and Caleen were curled up at opposite ends of our big leather couch, as they often were, reading. They both lowered their books, and they looked at each other.

And Matthew and I turned to each other, stunned -- because we knew immediately what we had just seen.

We wouldn't say anything. And, of course, we would never meddle. Besides, they probably didn't even know what they'd done.

Or, maybe, they did.

Because maybe, just maybe, it was the same way that Candace and Teddy had looked at each other, that time back when he was 15 and she was 12.

* * * * * * * *

... and now, I think we're at a place where Georgia is the best person to tell the rest of our story ...