Chapter 8: Aftermath

She stood at the graveside looking down as the coffin was slowly lowered into the depths. It was a cold, damp November morning. The rain had quit but the sky hadn't cleared. The dreary day matched her mood perfectly. There were no tears left to shed. They had all been spilled over the last few months. Her worst fears had been confirmed and now she faced the realization that she was to be alone in her bed once more.

On her left, holding her hand stood Marietta, their daughter. Just five years old, tears trickling down her cheeks as her father's remains dropped from her sight. Holding her other hand was three-year-old Pete Junior. He was dry-eyed, confused by the ceremony, only knowing that his daddy was gone. He waved as the coffin was lowered but was otherwise silent.

She turned to see her parents, then Pete's. Tears were evident there but they, like Brenda, had been given time to prepare themselves for this. It didn't lessen the sorrow and grief but it removed the shock. Howard and Adele had lost their only child. Peter was barely thirty when he passed away, a shell of his former self.

The seizures had begun two years ago. They were random and infrequent but they were nonetheless frightening. Their regular visits to Doctor Monsoor in Indianapolis had highlighted a change in Pete's recovery from the accident. He had never fully regained his balance and coordination, although he was quite capable of walking and performing most functions, including driving his car. But Brenda and Pete had resigned themselves to the fact that he would never return to being the man he once was.

It was easier for Brenda to accept this than it was for Pete. He had been an athlete since grade school and had never known a day when he couldn't physically perform at a high level. Those days were gone and she knew it wasn't easy for him to accept. Then, when the seizures began, everything changed again.

Pete was hospitalized for several days as they ran a battery of tests to determine the cause of the events. They had begun as random occurrences, spread out by days and completely unpredictable. There didn't seem to be any external cause that would provoke them and the tests revealed nothing in his brainwave patterns to indicate what was causing them.

It wasn't until they became more frequent, almost daily, that Pete returned to the hospital and a seizure took place while he was there. The brain scan showed the activity while it was underway but it didn't reveal the cause. It had been over three years since the accident and while Pete's recovery had leveled out in the first six months, this was an unexplainable change in his status. Once again, Brenda felt the fear that she had so hoped would never return.

She had given birth to Pete Junior, or Petey as he had become known, just a few months before in June and was still nursing him. Now her concerns were divided in three: her daughter and her demands for her time, her son at her breast, and her husband, once again in danger. She had to will herself to maintain calm and keep her fears under control. It wasn't easy, but with her mother to help with Marietta, and because Petey now slept through the night, she was holding on.

The doctor prescribed a new drug designed to lessen the frequency and duration of the seizures and at first it seemed to work. It didn't eliminate them but it did delay them for a day or two and they didn't last for several minutes anymore. But gradually the attacks began to increase again and their duration lengthened as well. Within a year Pete's dosage had been increased, and then increased again. It was in Brenda's consciousness that the march of this affliction was inevitable and she began to accept that her life with Pete might be shortened.

Pete himself faced the affliction with humor and courage. He refused to give in to self-pity and fear. He was endlessly upbeat around the children and Brenda, despite the increasing debilitation that the seizures caused. He must have considered that there would be no happy ending to this situation. If he did, he kept it well hidden.

He was bedridden now, unable to walk or even hold himself erect with a walker. He would sit slumped in his wheelchair for hours watching television but otherwise was confined to the special bed they had purchased to make both Brenda and him more comfortable. Yes ... Brenda slept with him at night, holding him, praying silently for the miracle that might yet save him. It was not to be.

She had gone to visit his parents in Walnut Grove one morning and when she returned just before lunch time she saw that Pete was still in his bed, apparently sleeping. She put Petey down in his playpen, then began to make lunch for them. As the soup was simmering, she walked to Pete's bedside and took his hand to wake him. It was cold. Stone cold.

When the autopsy was performed, the results were conclusive. Pete had been hoarding medication and apparently decided that morning to end the misery. Watching Brenda bravely face his gradual deterioration must have been too much for him. He probably knew in his heart that this was a cowardly way to go but it was a way to end the suffering of the people he loved and who loved him. He was going to release them from their burden.

He would never know the hurt and turmoil that his suicide left in its wake. It was as if something had been stolen from Brenda and the two families. It was their right to grieve and feel the pain of his impending loss but it was not his right to bring a premature end to it. Perhaps it was the hope for a miracle cure or even just remission, but they felt somehow cheated at his decision.

Now, standing at the graveside as the assembled mourners began to disperse, Brenda almost wanted to curse Pete for what he had done. Almost. A part of her understood. A part of her knew it was Pete's way of lessening the pain. A part of her knew he wanted her to move on. She was young and healthy and had two wonderful children to raise. If he couldn't be there to contribute, then better she was released from this burden. A part of her would forgive him.

It had been three months since Pete's death, and in that time Brenda had restructured her life and established a new routine. It was essential that she find something to keep her mind from dwelling on the past. She had returned to working with her father in the hardware store. He welcomed her, knowing that it was important for his daughter to have a sense of purpose beyond just looking after the children.

Each morning she would rise, dress Pete Junior and sit him in his high chair. While she prepared the oatmeal that was the cold-weather staple for her children's breakfast, she would make sure Marietta was up and getting dressed for school. When they finished, she would put the dishes in the dishwasher, wipe the table, dress the children in their cold weather clothes and take them out to the car.

Fifteen minutes later she would drop Marietta off at school, deliver Petey to the day care home near the store, then head off to join her father for their morning coffee and prepare to greet the customers. At three o'clock in the afternoon, she would pick up Marietta, then her son, and head home to make their evening meal. It was a routine that was set in stone.

Ice storms were unusual in March but on this particular Wednesday it had rained overnight, after which a cold front had moved through, dropping the temperature to several degrees below freezing. The roads became glazed and treacherous. Brenda was aware of the conditions but was confident that her Taurus, equipped with studded winter tires, could handle the conditions. It was an optimistic view.

The road from her home to Fairmount was crowned more than normal to allow the water to disperse to the side more quickly. Unfortunately, it also meant that in situations like that morning, it was even more difficult to drive, as any loss of grip made the car want to slide toward the shoulder and the steep drop-off into the drainage ditch.

Pete Junior was strapped into his car seat beside Brenda, facing the rear as mandated by the law. Marietta was in the back seat directly behind Petey in her booster seat, also restrained by the seat belt. Brenda was driving with extra care that morning. She could feel just how unstable the car's traction on the road was and she used her experience to keep the pace slow and steady, not making any abrupt moves.

It was only bad luck that she met an oncoming car just before entering a slow, left-hand curve. As she allowed the car to move away from the center line, she felt the loss of grip and the car beginning to make an inexorable slide toward the shoulder. Without thinking, she pressed the brake pedal but, despite the noise of the anti-lock braking system being engaged, the slide continued unchecked.

She gripped the steering wheel in fright but the slide continued until she felt the thump of the shoulder as the car dropped off the pavement, first on the right side, then the left. She was completely helpless as the vehicle began to tip to the right and slip down the verge toward the ditch. Nothing halted the drift into the water-filled channel until suddenly the car stopped with a hard bump and then a bang as it hit something solid.

She sat still at the wheel, gathering her wits about her before beginning to act. She turned off the motor and pushed the emergency flasher button on the dash. Then it dawned on her. She was suddenly conscious of Petey's cries coming from beside her. His head was against the side of the door and he was tilted awkwardly toward the door. She had to get him out of there.

It was then she remembered Marietta. She looked over her shoulder and could see her daughter rubbing her head but not crying.

"Are you all right, Marietta?"

"My head hurts. I hit it on the window."

"Undo the seat belt and I'll help you and Pete get out on my side. Whatever you do, don't open your door, okay?"

Pete Junior's cries were steady and distracting. Brenda left her seat belt on, reached over and extracted him from his car seat and pulled him toward her. She cradled him in her arms, checking to make sure he wasn't cut or badly injured. It seemed like he was just frightened and shaken up in the accident, thankfully.

Brenda braced herself against the center console and tried to open her door. It was like pushing a boulder uphill. Undoing the seat belt, she tried again but while she could open the door slightly, she couldn't keep it open and allow herself to get out with Pete in her arms. She was beginning to panic.

"Marietta, climb into the front seat with me, please."

The young girl did as she was told, waiting for more instructions from her mother.

"Can you hold Pete for me, please?"

She held out her arms and took her little brother into her embrace. He had stopped crying and was looking around to see what was going on in this crazy situation. Brenda was now free to work her way out the door but had no idea how to hold it open and help her children follow her.

At last, she had a thought. She turned the ignition key on and lowered the driver's side window. She then scrambled out of the door, using her athletic strength to accomplish the move. She let the door close and reached into the car again.

"Pass me Petey please, Marietta."

The little girl struggled but managed somehow to pass her brother toward the window where Brenda could reach him and pull him out through the opening. She sat him down on the shoulder of the roadway and went back for her daughter. Within a few seconds, Marietta was out of the car and sitting beside her brother. Brenda gave a deep sigh of relief, then stood and looked up and down the road.

She was shaking from the effort and the adrenalin that was coursing through her veins. When she looked down at the car, she could see it was only two feet or so from the water and wondered if it had slid any further would they still all be alive. She pulled her children to her and hugged them, realizing just how close to disaster they had come.

She pulled out her cell phone and pressed 911. In a moment a woman answered and Brenda gave her the details of the accident and their location. As she snapped the phone closed, a car came over the rise from the same direction that she had been traveling. It was driving cautiously in the center of the crown, avoiding the ice-glazed slope that had caught out Brenda.

The driver slowed and carefully stopped just before reaching them. He set his flashers on and gingerly got out of the car. He was tall, perhaps middle-thirties, wearing a long winter dress coat and a brimmed hat. She could see the shirt and tie at his neck but paid more attention to the care with which he navigated his way from the car to the roadside.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"I think so. My daughter banged her head but seems to be okay otherwise. I think it frightened my son but the car seat saved him from any injury."

"What about you?"

"I'm fine. Just a little shook up. I called 911 so the police should be here soon."

"Good for you. Why don't you sit in my car until they come? You don't want to catch cold standing around out here."

"Thank you. Marietta, you sit in the back seat with me. I'll hold Pete until the police come."

"Okay, Mom. Do you know that man?" she asked, looking at the stranger with the nice face and the slight smile.

"No, sweetie, I don't." She turned to him, "I'm Brenda Polson and these are my children, Marietta and Pete Junior. Thank you for stopping and helping us."