My Journal

By Harriman Nelson

33. Going Home, Again

It was good seeing Lee in uniform, despite any official reason for it. It was a dismal day with drizzle that could make a cool day feel cold. And windy enough for both of us to don lightweight coats, scarves, gloves, and covers, his the standard naval ensemble, mine, a mishmash of whatever I’d managed to find in the closet in the old house.

Lee assured me his attire was not for a military send-off; it was  just that he’d hadn’t had time to go home to pack when Edith had called to say the burial arrangements had finally been made for Sheamus.

We could have ‘borrowed’ the Flying Sub to take us to Boston, but  Lee advised me against it. He didn’t want the possibility of negative press to hound us about using NIMR equipment for non- business related activities. Burying Sheamus was a family matter, he stressed,  that’s all.

We hadn’t planned on Edith making the burial plans so quickly. This was to be a private affair and we had the cemetery association’s cooperation in helping to keep it quiet, which was fine by them as they didn’t want anyone trampling all over the tenants already interred there.

And so Lee and I had caught the red eye from LAX to Logan Airport, gone to the old house, which was still in a state of disrepair, but at least the power and water were still turned on.  Showered, shaved, we headed to the cemetery. The  caretaker was already there to unlock the gate, another with  the undertaker at the gravesite. They’d agreed to a ‘before hours’ interment, and the cemetery wouldn’t be open to the public for another hour.

 Mrs. Crane, a houseguest of Edith’s, was already there waiting for us. “She must have been delayed,” Mrs. C. said as she explained that Edith had forgotten something and had driven off to her townhouse to get it.

The coffin was already in the vault, awaiting the final farewell, the mound of dirt that had been removed to make way for it, tastefully, if you could call it that, covered with a green tarp. “Lee, sweetie,” she said, trying very hard not to wince at his still blind eyes, “are you okay?”

“I’m okay, Mom. It’s just…he doesn’t deserve all of this.”

“No,” I said, “but you came anyway.”

“He…he’s family.”

“Thank you for that, Lee. Ah, here she comes.”

Edith waved cheerfully as she strode up the small hill where most of the Boston Nelsons were buried. My own, and Edith’s own little plot of green had been reserved for us years before the accident that had taken our parent’s lives. Edith must have arranged for the beautiful new sprays of flowers on their graves. In fact, as I looked around, apparently she’d done so for all of the Nelsons.

“Sorry I’m late!” she said as she took my arm, a small basket covered with a handkerchief in her hand. She had chosen a very pretty pink outfit with matching coat, scarf and gloves. Pink? For a burial? Of course, I slapped myself mentally. It was her way of telling the old geezer that he didn’t deserve any kind of mourning whatsoever.

“Isn’t there supposed to be some kind of clergyman or priest or something?” Mrs. C. asked.

“Oh, there isn’t any,” Edith said. “This isn’t really a funeral. We’re just going to say a few words and have done with it.”

“We are?” I asked, surprised. “I didn’t prepare anything.”

“No need, Harry. I’ve got it covered,” she said, and turned to the hole in the ground, “we’re laying to rest Sheamus O’Hara Nelson. While I’d have liked him to rot in hell, Lee says he’s crossed over to the great upstairs. So we’ll simply have to let his bones rot in this grave. Goodbye Great to the whatever grandfather. You alone of all the Nelsons interred here, will not have the satisfaction of even a wildflower to grace your final resting place. I’ve seen to that. All you deserve are these,” she added, removing the handkerchief from her basket revealing….

“Rotten eggs?” Lee asked, sniffing the air, realization setting in.

“Edith, dear,” Mrs. Crane hissed, shocked, “I know you harbor ill will toward him, the whole word does, but he is your ancestor.”

“I don’t care. Our homes were trashed because of him. Our things stolen, my Mother’s portrait vandalized. Sheamus doesn’t deserve anything but our hate!” she dumped the basket’s contents on the coffin, the cheapest she’d been able to find. Just bones or not, it was required by the Dept. of Health, along with the vault. “I wish he’d never been born!”

“Edith?” Lee said, “I agree with some of what you said, But, without him, you and Harry wouldn’t be here. Think of everything that would be lost, all the things you and Harry have done, if Sheamus hadn’t first taken the  breath of life. No matter what he did with his life, he’s still partly responsible for your very being. When we, when  Harry and I saw his spirit, he was repentant in a way in his perdition before he crossed over. Who are we to second guess God for letting him through the pearly gates in the end? Let the buck stop On High. And what is it that old song says? ‘Let it be’?” he said blindly reaching out for her. “Well, let it be.”

“I don’t want to!”

“Edith,” he managed to grab and embrace her and let her cry her bitter tears. Then Lee turned to toward the grave, still holding her  and spoke to Sheamus. “ ‘What does it profit a man to gain the whole world and lose his immortal soul’. Christ said that. Well, it was His goodness and forgiveness that remembered your  faith and desire to do good once upon a time before you  forgot or deliberately misplaced it.  You richly deserved hell, and all of us here would have welcomed you going there. But we had no say in where you’d spend eternity. You may have been reprieved, but what a wasted life you led. When you look down upon your bones that lay here, Shaemus O’ Hara Nelson, may your heart ache with what you might have been if it hadn’t been for your greed. And be assured that your descendants will have far more peace n the Great Beyond one day than you will ever have. I’m certain of that…. That’s all I have to say.”

I think we were all stunned by Lee’s eloquence.

“I don’t believe there’s any more,” I told the undertaker.

“Miss Nelson didn’t decide on a memorial yet. Stone, or plaque, we need date of birth and death. Should be use ‘Captain’ or just his name?”

“Name and year of birth, that’s all,” Lee said.

“But we know the year he died, Lee,” I replied, confused.

“No, Harry. He died the moment he decided to become a slave trader.”

“I need a decision,” the undertaker said, looking from Edith to Lee to me and Mrs. Crane, unsure which of us was the head of the family.

“What he said,” I answered. “Well, let’s go home.”

“No,” Edith said, “I want to watch them put the dirt on him.”

I could see the professional horror in the undertaker and caretaker’s eyes. It was not common practice to pack earth over a grave in the presence of family, however estranged.

“I think it’s against the rules, sweetie,” I said, much to their relief.

“All right all right, but that’s all he deserves from us. Dirt, smelly, dirty dirt.”

“Oh, by the way, Edith,” Mrs. C asked, “ what did you mean by not even wildflowers on his grave?”

“I’ve arranged that the caretakers are to treat the lawn over his grave with grass and weed killer. And if  that fails, gravel.”

I raised my eyebrow at that.  “Lee? What do you think?”

“It might make the rest of the cemetery look a little weird, I guess. I’m not exactly the person to ask, not being able to see any of it,  but if they’re willing, I’d say go for it.”

“Very well. Let’s get out of this weather.”

I took Lee’s arm, and Edith took Mrs. Crane’s. Just as we started to walk down the hill the dark clouds suddenly opened and for a moment light streamed down to rest on the graves, including the latest.

I couldn’t help thinking that it was a reminder. A reminder perhaps, to us all that God sends the light to everyone, both good and evil. But that He’s also given us the freedom to choose what to do with it.

Choices. That’s what this journey called life is all about. God knows I’ve made some bad choices in my lifetime and will no doubt make in the future. But at least I can rest in the knowledge that I’ve always tried to follow the better path for the most part. Lee already thinks I walk on water, although he never hesitates to tell me when I’ve been an ass. And Edith, of course, is blessed with an insatiable appetite to tell me just where I need improvement.

Still, when it’s my turn to be laid to rest, God willing not for a while yet,  at least my nearest and dearest will be able to celebrate my life instead of shun it.  

 That’s really all I can ask for. Except for Lee to regain his sight. Doc’s still hopeful but then, even he’s wrong sometimes and it fills me with fear.

“Harry?” Lee interrupted my musings after Edith had driven away with Mrs. Crane to her townhouse, and the taxi we’d hailed stopping for us,  “you okay? You’ve been a bit quiet.”

Was ‘I’ okay? When it was Lee who had to face an uncertain future?

“Where to, gents?” the taxi driver asked.

“Didn’t you want to try some of that new blend Starbucks has?” I asked Lee, thankful that I could change the subject before he started to pry.

“Changed my mind,” Lee answered, “Driver, just take us to the old Nelson Estate.  Let’s go home, Harry,” he added with a smile that could put that glimmer of sunshine we’d had to shame.

At least in his mind, I could see now, no matter what the future would bring, everything was going to be okay.