Keys To Redemption Page 3
Chapter 3
The day of Mary Walsh’s funeral it was raining. Stacy stood in the cemetery at her gravesite in the blistering cold with about a dozen people from her church. The only family there was himself, Chief Parker and Parker’s wife. His younger brother, who was stationed somewhere on a ship overseas, had elected not to come. All of the funeral arrangements and everything else had fallen upon him, so he’d done it all exactly as his mother had asked him to. It was a simple funeral with a cheap casket, and she shared a burial plot with his father, who died ten years earlier.
Some of his mother’s church friends wanted to come over after the funeral and bring food but he was not in the mood to entertain anyone or host a repast. The truth was he just wanted to get home and start cleaning out all of her stuff.
The rain let up as soon as the pastor finished his prayer. Chief Parker and his wife immediately approached him.
The chief was the only brother of his mother’s father and had acted like a father figure to Stacy after the death of his own father. He was good man. He was a stern, no-nonsense man who ruled with an iron fist, but was always fair. These character traits gained him the respect of mostly everyone in the department. He’d done above and beyond for Stacy when the incident with James Tyrell happened, even putting his own job on the line.
“That was a nice funeral, son. You did your mother proud.” Chief Parker boomed in his baritone voice, slapping Stacy on the back with one of his gloved hands, his dainty wife hanging off of the other one.
“Thank you, Chief” Stacy said, forcing a smile.
“Mary was a good woman. She was more like my sister than my niece.”
Beverly, the chief’s wife, leaned over and pressed her cheek near his, not making contact, but kissing the air.
“So sorry, Stacy,” she murmured.
He simply nodded and said, “Thanks for coming you guys.” Wanting nothing more than to make a beeline for his truck and get out of there as soon as possible.
“That brother of yours should have been here. What is he thinking missing his mother’s funeral?” The chief continued. Stacy’s feelings mirrored his uncle’s, but he wasn’t in the mood to talk about it right then.
“Anyway, I let Captain Brown know you may be out for a few days taking care of your mother’s business. So don’t rush to get back to work. Take your time, son.”
“Thanks again.” Stacy muttered.
Chief Parker and his wife left right after that and Stacy quickly thanked all of his mother’s friends and the pastor, before practically sprinting for his truck. The winds picked up as he tromped through the wet grass, and he pulled his long, thick black coat around himself tighter.
He supposed that he should be crying and completely brokenhearted by his mother’s death, but he wasn’t. This had been something they both expected for the last six months, ever since the doctor had announced that his mother’s breast cancer had returned and spread to her lungs. His mother began to refuse all treatment shortly after this, stating she didn’t want her last days on earth to be in a cold, sterile hospital room all doped up. So she opted to go home and die peacefully there—mission accomplished.
It wasn’t until he’d gotten home and changed from his slacks and button down shirt into a pair of sweats and a sweatshirt that Stacy realized he had two missed calls and two voicemails on his cell phone. One message was from his brother Greg, saying he was sorry he couldn’t come to the funeral and he would be home in a few months or so. Stacey laughed to himself, “Yeah right.” He hadn’t seen his brother in three years, not since their drunken fight. After that night, Greg split and the next thing they’d heard was that he’d joined the military. Chief Parker had been the one to let Greg know their mother had died.
The second message was from his girlfriend, Kelly, saying she was sorry she couldn’t make it to the funeral, she got caught up at work and she would come over later that night and make it up to him. He laughed to himself again. Kelly’s idea of making him feel better would no doubt involve some sort of sexual activity. Well, if not fulfilling, at least it would distract him for a few hours or so.
Stacy ran his hands through his disheveled brown hair and went into his mother’s room. As soon as he stepped through the door he was hit with a sudden wave of sadness. The room still smelled like her, of course. The bed was still rumpled from when the paramedics performed CPR in attempts to revive her already lifeless body. He glanced around the room at all of her stuff, thinking about what he wanted to start packing up first. That’s when his eyes landed on her old, worn leather Bible. It had fallen to the floor when the paramedics moved her onto the stretcher to load her into the ambulance. And now it lay on the ground open, face down. He walked over to it and picked it. Just as he was about to close it and set it on her nightstand, a folded up piece of paper fluttered out. He bent down and retrieved the paper, unfolded it, then sat down heavily onto the bed. It was a letter to him, one that his mother had written at some point in time before her death.
Dear Stacy,
I know I don’t have a lot of time and there’s some stuff that I want to say to you that I know under normal circumstances you won’t let me speak about, so I’m hoping you’ll find this when I’m gone.
You are my first born son and I love you so much. I know you carry a lot of guilt and blame for all that’s happened, but I know in my heart you’re a good boy and you got a good heart, it’s just hard for you to do the right thing sometimes. I want you to have a good life like I did. I want you to have a wife and children. I want you to have a house, drive a mini-van, take your kids to soccer practice, kiss your wife at night before you go to bed, go to church on Sunday and pray with your family. But I know you, and I know you will deny yourself all happiness as punishment for the things you did in the past.
You need to know that God forgives all. There is nothing you can do to make Him hate you. All you have to do is go to Him and give him a chance. He can fix anything. He can take all that pain away.
You need to know that I don’t blame you for Greg going away. He’s always been hot-headed and he’s always known how to push your buttons. It may take him some time, but he’ll come back to you. I already sent him his letter a while ago.
I have only one thing to ask of you: Call it my dying wish (smile). I am a nosy mom, and like most moms I go through my kids things. Forgive me, but I saw that letter you started writing to that woman. I think it’s a good thing. I think it will help you through all of that guilt you’ve packed on to yourself. I’m asking you to finish that letter and send it to her. Don’t be afraid. She won’t know who you are. She can’t come after you. Send it to her. You never know how something like that may affect her life.
Well, my hand is getting tired and I just heard you come in, so I’m going to end this letter. I love you. Be a good boy and do the right thing.”
Love,
Mom
Stacy set the letter down on the bed. Good God, she had known. This whole time she had known about the James Tyrell incident but never said anything. There were only a handful of people who knew: the Chief, his wife, his brother and his brother’s girlfriend. The Chief had thought it was best to leave his mother in the dark about everything, considering she had just been diagnosed with breast cancer right before the incident took place. Somehow she had gone through his stuff and pieced it all together.
Shaking his head, he was about to slip the letter back into the Bible when his eyes drifted to the chapter it was open to. It was Romans 7.
For I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate to do I do. And if I do what I do not want to do, I agree that the law is good……..for I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. For I do not do the good I want to do but the evil I do not want to do – this I keep doing.
At that moment something came over Stacy that he couldn’t understand. He felt like breaking down in tears, but he wouldn’t allow himself to do that. Ins
tead, he stood up abruptly and made his way to his bedroom. He pulled out the chair to his desk and sat down forcefully. He took out his notebook and pen and spent the next thirty minutes filling up five pages with everything in his heart.