Chapter 3: Sandy's Story

Services

The chilly mountain wind chilled me to the core. The small gathered crowd stood at the graveside for the final words and the lowering of the casket. The grave stood in a small alcove amongst the trees. It had a view of the distant mountains. Mom would have liked that. Tim, Randy, Michael, and I stood in a line and each of us mourned. Sadness lay like a dark blanket over the bitter cold Colorado cemetery.

Only one of mom's brothers could attend the service. He stood next to us and offered his support. Dad attended the service, but remained in the background.

After the service, my brothers and I accepted the condolences from mother's co-workers and few remaining friends. Mom did not have a lot of friends. The few friends remaining stayed true even through the past five years. Mom didn't gather any new friends since dad left. As the oldest son, I had been tasked with arraigning arranging the service and coordinating the burial, however, almost all of the arraignments had been made by my mother. She had left detailed instructions for us to follow.

Aunt Shannon was the last to leave the service. She came up to my brothers and offered her condolences. She pulled each of us into a hug. She held me tight. She had tears on her cheeks too. "Robert, can I have a word?" She asked. She grabbed my arm and pulled me off to the side. "Robert, your mother asked me to give you these after she died." She handed me two envelopes. "She would not allow me to tell anybody she was sick. After you read the letter, please call me. Please." She pleaded.

I put the envelopes into my jacket pocket without a glance.

Mom's death came as a complete surprise. I didn't know she had cancer. She concealed it well from us. My brothers and I did not have a clue that she was even sick. Thinking back, I noted that for the past few months, she did not look very good. I attributed it to stress and the issues with Michael. I felt even worse. I should have noticed.

I recall little else of the phone call from Aunt Shannon. When she stated that mom had died, I must have turned very pale. Dad and my brothers noticed and stopped their dinner conversations. After I hung up with Aunt Shannon, I turned to them and said, "Mom has died. That was Aunt Shannon. She had cancer."

Everyone was in shock. Michael began with denial, "It can't be. She can't be gone." Tears began to flow down his cheeks. Dad rushed to his side and grabbed him in a strong hug. Soon after Randy and Tim joined in. I followed. All of us were openly weeping.

After a few minutes, we separated. The remainder of the dinner was left on the table. We all went out on dad's deck and sat in silence. Millions of questions arose in each of our heads. Finally one question won out. "Dad, what do we do now?" I asked. We all looked to our father to guide us through this.

"We all need to get back to Colorado." He stated boldly. With that he got on the phone and ordered the company jet for our trip back home. Three hours later we were in the air. We landed in Denver and dad rented a car to get us back to our house. We pulled into the driveway at about one in the morning. As we pulled in, Aunt Shannon came out of the house to greet us. After hugs, condolences, and brief explanations we tried to get some sleep. We all went to our rooms. Dad left to get a hotel room. We tried to convince him to stay in the house with us, but he said he still could not.

The next few days were busy with notifications, answering the phone from well-wishers, and funeral arraignments.

After the service we did not have a reception at the house. It was just Aunt Shannon, dad and us. Aunt Shannon eyed dad cautiously. And dad wondered about her. Aunt Shannon became an occasional guest at the house for about five years before dad left. When dad left, she was at the house more often. She was a good friend to mom.

Shannon put together a small meal for us and we sat mostly in silence. After dinner we cleaned up and went into the living room. Conversations were very limited with each of us in our own thoughts. Shannon began the conversations by asking a couple of questions. At first they were directed at me, but soon all of us were in the discussions. I noticed that Shannon was very skillful in her questions. She would ask an open question about a good remembrance and lead us to open our hearts.

Dad didn't participate much. Shannon would give him a pleading look and then move on to one of us. This went on for a couple of hours. By the end of the night, we had suffered a great loss, but we were beginning the healing process. Shannon excused herself. She stated that she needed to get home. She said that she would be here for breakfast. Soon after, dad excused himself to go back to his hotel.

I went up to my room. As I took off my coat, I found the letters. They were standard number 10 envelopes, plain white. I could feel that they were heavy with multiple pages inside each. My name was written in mom's handwriting on both. On one letter she wrote, "Open me first." I sat on my bed, opened the letter, and began to read.