Grace in Deep Waters

Chapter 2

2

A magpie carolled outside Blanche’s bedroom window. She groaned, turned over, and squinted in the sunlight.

She’d never felt less like birdsong and sunshine. It had only been four days. Four days since thirty years of loving had been reduced to a pile of ashes.

The days before the funeral had been full of frantic activity. Now it was too quiet. Eerie. Hushed. Like there’d been a city-wide blackout.

Blanche stretched, feeling the welcome pull along her back and down her legs. Last night she’d collapsed, exhausted. Exhausted from trying to hold herself together. Exhausted from planning a funeral. Exhausted from pain and grief and despair. And joy. Esther had died well.

It was living with her death which was proving hard.

A great bubble of grief pushed up Blanche’s throat and squeezed her heart, but tears no longer came. The well was cried dry. She ached in every joint and muscle like someone had beaten her with a meat tenderiser. She had given everything she had these last few weeks. If only she didn’t have to get out of bed. Ever again.

What was there to get up for? Blanche had nothing. No job, no goals, no purpose. What did a mother do when her daughter died?

The kettle whistled in the kitchen. Her mother-in-law was up. Blanche might not want to get out of bed, but she couldn’t stay here and drown in her memories. She needed activity. Everything might feel pointless without Esther, but they still needed food and a clean house, and Naomi was too old to carry any more burdens.

Blanche rolled out of bed, feeling every stiff muscle and joint. She took the dressing gown down from behind the door and trudged out to the kitchen.

“Morning,” Naomi said, the lines on her face even deeper today. “I won’t ask you how you slept.”

Blanche nodded as tears filled her eyes. So the well wasn’t dry after all. She turned her face away. How were they going to get through this?

“Rachel’s about to head off to work.”

Blanche sniffed, a habit she hated in others. “I envy her. I have no idea what’s next for me.”

Naomi handed her the marmalade. “Why don’t we start with something to eat?”

They busied themselves with bowls and spoons, teacups and toast. The minutiae of daily life.

“Let’s eat on the verandah,” Naomi said.

Blanche nodded, relieved not to have to decide.

Rachel came rushing into the kitchen in her work overalls and cotton shirt. She grunted a greeting but avoided looking at them as she headed to the fridge.

“Slow down a little, can’t you?” Blanche snapped.

Rachel glanced over her shoulder, eyes wide, and no wonder. Blanche had always been a mother who ran from any potential conflict.

“Sorry,” Blanche rushed to say. “I don’t know what got into me. I know you’re in a hurry to get to work.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Rachel said. “I shouldn’t have barged in here before you were finished.”

Blanche smiled a tremulous smile of truce. All three of them had been irritable the last few days. Too many nights of broken sleep and mountain ranges of unresolved grief made them overly tense and self-conscious with each other. They kept apologising unnecessarily and starting sentences that trailed off into nothing.

Better to remove herself completely from the situation before she burst into tears and made matters worse. Again. Blanche picked up the tray and followed Naomi outside. Who cared if the neighbours spotted them in their dressing gowns? She had no energy to present her usual perfection to the world.

They sat in the sun together, the only sounds the crunching of toast and quiet chewing. Ordinary sounds, on this unordinary day. Ordinary sounds to cover her inability to say anything worth saying. Her mind was one vast, aching hole. She didn’t want to talk about Esther. Yet not talking about her didn’t seem right either, as though Esther’s loss hadn’t been important. Was this what the rest of life would be like, a silence pregnant with pain?

Everything she used to spend her time and energy on seemed pointless. Running around for William. Looking right and saying the right thing at the right time for the right people—for what? The death of a daughter? She couldn’t do any of it again—and that’s if such a role even existed for her any more. Her fight with William was weeks back, but there’d been no word. No word as Esther lay dying. No word after she’d sent the funeral details. No word since.

She suddenly realised Naomi was speaking. How much had she missed while she’d been wallowing in her own thoughts?

“We did everything wrong when Ian died,” Naomi said, her voice paper-thin. “We never mentioned him—we curled in on ourselves, nursing our pain.” Naomi stared off into the distance. “My depression, Norman’s rage, and our joint neglect of William were the results of allowing grief to grow and twist in on itself.”

“But how do you avoid grief getting twisted?” Blanche asked, her breath catching in her throat. “How does anyone get through something like this?”

“Step by step.” Naomi leaned across the table and took Blanche’s hand in her arthritic ones. “When Ian died—and then Norman—I had nobody to lean on. No family, no close friends, and I didn’t know the difference Jesus could make.”

“Jesus,” Blanche whispered. “How does he help? How does he help me get through today?”

“He makes all the difference in the world. Somehow we have to help each other look at him.” Naomi’s voice cracked.

“I’m not sure I know how.”

“That’s why we’re in this together. Grief wants to tell us we’re alone, but we’re not. We’re a group of people who loved Esther and were impacted by her life.”

Blanche teared up again.

Naomi patted Blanche’s hand. “There are going to be a lot of tears over the next few months, but we mustn’t fear them. They’re healthy.” Naomi’s bottom lip trembled. “We must talk about Esther and what she meant to us.”

“It hurts to even hear her name.”

Naomi took a lace handkerchief out of her sleeve and blew her nose. “Eventually we’ll stop wincing.”

Blanche shifted in her seat. “Wincing. That describes exactly what it feels like. Like I don’t want to hear her name or think about her, but I can’t bear not to—”

“I know dear. I feel it too.”

Blanche wrapped her arms around her middle. “I’m suddenly thrown into a foreign country where I can’t speak the language and have no idea what’s going on.” She closed her eyes. “And William—” She stumbled over his name. “—must be in a worse state than I am.”

Even saying William’s name made her fume. She’d been distraught when he never came to say his goodbyes to Esther, because she knew he’d eventually regret it. But his no-show for the funeral had really made her blood boil. Hot enough to scald if he’d come within range. Which he hadn’t. What possible excuse could a father give for not turning up to his daughter’s funeral?

Of course they’d had their differences recently, but honestly. She clenched her fists. He and Esther had been close, and she and William had loved each other too. She presumed he must still love her, but his stubbornness was unbelievably irritating.

Naomi shook her head. “If I could do it again …” She looked out to the garden and let out a breath. “Putting William in boarding school seemed the right thing to do.” She corrected herself. “Well, the easiest thing, at any rate.” She gave Blanche a wry smile. “It was hard enough to deal with Norman and me falling apart. I couldn’t deal with a child’s grief as well.” She looked down at her lap. “It’s my biggest regret. We were poor parents, and I’m sorry for it.”

Blanche pulled her chair over to sit next to Naomi. “I have regrets too.” Too many to think of now and mostly entangled with the mess of her anger and feelings about William. She took Naomi’s hand again. “You’ve been a wonderful grandmother, and you’re a wonderful mother-in-law.”

Naomi hugged her. “You are such a gift to me.”

Blanche leaned her head on Naomi’s shoulder. There were a lot of lost years to make up for. “It’s strange, isn’t it? We’ve had such a mixture of joy and pain, sunshine and rain.”

“I’ve often wondered if true joy needs pain to be fully appreciated,” Naomi said. “Somehow the contrast between sun and rain makes us appreciate both more.”

“That’s what I feel about Esther. Even her death and funeral combined sunshine with the rain.”

If only Esther had had anything but cancer. William was almost allergic to the word.

Cancer. Blanche turned the word over in her mind to see what power it still held over her and was surprised to no longer feel the dread and terror it had once provoked. Cancer had sliced its way through their lives, separating father and daughter yet drawing mother and daughter together.

Cancer refined Esther to pure gold.

Blanche wiped her eyes.

Cancer had changed her too. It had given her courage. She smiled to herself. Ironic that she needed courage to stand up to her own husband. She let out a sigh. Perhaps it had come too late, though. If she’d been brave years ago, how different their lives might have been.

“And we can’t begrudge Esther what she’s experiencing now.”

Blanche’s skin tingled. “Being with Jesus forever. Such a contrast to the last weeks of her life.”

“Why don’t we pray together first.” Naomi put her breakfast dishes on top of Blanche’s. “And then what would you say to cleaning the kitchen and doing the vacuuming? Housework has been a little neglected of late.”

Blanche laughed. “It would be a relief. I feel aimless, but I don’t want to tackle anything major.”

“A clean house will make both of us feel we’re achieving something,” Naomi said.

“Yes, and we can do a bit at a time and leave bigger tasks to deal with another day.”

They held hands and bowed their heads to commit the day to the Lord.

How had she survived all those years without Naomi’s support—no, without any real support at all? If only she had dared to stand against William earlier and work at the relationship with her mother-in-law. Her old fear of putting her head above the parapet had prevented her doing what was both right and wise. This fear of provoking anger had kept her silent. Silent when William had vilified his mother. Silent when Rachel had run away. Silent when William had pushed Esther out of the house.

She’d let fear bind her. What might life be like if she walked free?