The Empty Jar(86)

I wave her off. “It’s not expensive. Just something I wanted you to have as you started off on your life.”

She nods and blows me a kiss. In my head, I catch it and tuck it into the space closest to my heart, right beside the place where Lena still lives.

Where she will always live.

I don’t wait for the crowd to thin before I make my hasty exit. I don’t doubt that people will stay and party, enjoying the music and the bar until the wee hours, but I’ve already paid the service to take care of everything, so I’m comfortable retiring for the night.

Stuffing my empty hands into the pockets of my tuxedo pants, I stroll slowly along the curb, back toward the hotel.

The street still teeming with people, I’m far from alone, yet I’ve never felt more isolated. More lonely.

I take in the sights.

Remember.

Think.

Mourn.

It’s such a bittersweet day, it seems that’s all I can do. Everything will change now. Again. Only Lena’s not here to save me this time. And neither is Grace.

By the time I arrive at the hotel, I’m unbearably exhausted. It’s been a busy day. Another turning point in my life.

I ride the elevator to my floor and walk to my room on rubbery legs. Once inside, I cross to the window and look out at the view, the view that frames my wife’s head on the video I watched earlier. Alone, in the void of the room and the emptiness of my life, I give in to the urge to weep. I don’t do it often, but sometimes…

I make no sound.

I make no move.

My body doesn’t shake or tremble. It simply bleeds clear drops of liquid that spew from my heart, but leak from my eyes.

I’m tired. So, so tired. I’ve done what I promised my wife I’d do—I raised our daughter. I’ve been there for her, provided for her, loved her, supported her, and now I’ve given her away. I finished my race, and now I just want my prize.

Lena.

A deep, excruciating pressure grips my chest. I gasp once, twice, and in that time, I know that this is something different. This pain…it means something else.

I feel no fear or uncertainty. I feel no sadness or regret. I feel only peace. Beautiful, blissful, warm peace.

I turn from the window and stumble to the couch. I collapse onto the soft cushions and lean my head back, closing my eyes against the pain radiating into my left arm and jaw. Moments later, when I open them again, I’m not surprised to see the most beautiful face of my sixty-five years of existence. Her face is within inches of mine. Close enough to touch.

My Lena.

I smile and reach out a hand, every molecule in my body sighing in relief. “Hi, baby. I’ve missed you so much.”





Epilogue


Grace


In the attic, one day in the future



As I cradle the old Mason jar, my eyes mist over with tears, the remains of a sadness I never quite overcame. The night of my wedding, my father had a massive heart attack. He died in the hotel room that he’d shared with my mother decades prior. It was fitting.

I know he loved me. More than anything on Earth, he loved me. But I also know he welcomed death. He’d always felt separated from the other part of his soul. I didn’t understand that at first—the agony he seemed to live with every day—but after I’d been married for a while, I finally came to see why he felt that way. My dad’s heartache lessened over time, but it never quite went away.

Until he died.

Then he was at peace.

I drag my bent thumb over the inscription on the bottom of the jar.

I love you, baby girl. More than I could ever tell you. Don’t go to bed with dirty feet or an empty jar. Say your prayers every night, and never stop chasing the lightning bugs.

My sweet daddy.

I recall the first time I saw it. Dad had left it for me at our hotel on the night of our wedding. It was a brand new Mason jar at the time. It had been heavily wrapped in tissue paper with a note taped to the front that said, “Although this jar is brand new, it’s not empty. You started filling it tonight, Gracie. All your wedding memories are in here. Keep filling it up. Every day, fill it up as you fill up your life—with happiness and love and family. All the beauty of yesterday and all the promises of tomorrow are kept in here. It will never be empty as long as you have love. Never. So go and start your own traditions, but never forget the old ones. Love you, baby girl. Be happy.”

Catching lightning bugs in a jar—he’d kept that one going for my mother. And I kept it going for my kids. From the beginning, Robbie and I caught fireflies with our children. Those memories are some of my most precious. Robbie and I watching our children and our grandchildren fill this jar with laughter and bugs and family tradition. The beauty, the importance of this simple glass container is something I didn’t understand until I got older. It’s about so much more than just fun summer nights. It’s about life. And priorities.

It’s about love.

Now Robbie and I are getting older, frailer. We’ve seen children, grandchildren, and now great-grandchildren come into the world. A fuller life I couldn’t imagine. Unless I’d been able to share more of it with my parents. That’s the only gripe I have. I’m happy that they found their peace; peace, for them, was just different than most of us think of as ideal. They showed me some valuable lessons while they were here, though. You never know when the angels will come to take you home. You just pray that you get in as much living as you can before then.