Grief’s Trajectory

1 Ultimate Betrayal

Dale took a sip of his beer and gave a toast. Life was good. The love of his life had married him. He had been hired to work at by a local contractor. He had good friends to celebrate with. What more could a guy want?

He was out with his two best friends enjoying a day in the park. His beloved Cynthia had not felt well and stayed home. Home was a house they had just rented and moved into. They were still in the middle of unpacking the few boxes that they had. Their living room was empty. They owned a bed, a chest of drawers, a kitchen table and an old couch given to them by his parents. It was not much but they did not care.

They had each other.

Cynthia was the most important thing in his life.

He, Bobby, and Guy were enjoying day in the park. They had a table and a grill stand where the red-hot charcoal was roasting some brats and sausages.

The beer was cold. The day was warm.

He looked past the newly planted young ten-foot-high maples surrounding the picnic area to the towering predominance of a single huge old oak wrapped by its cloak of dark green leaves as it dominated the hill and the host of red, yellow, and pink wild flowers seemly paying homage to it. The white puffy clouds in added a lofty touch of greatness and seemed to be embracing it.

The world was as it should be.

He watched a group of white boys arrive in a large flatbed truck. They stopped at the next grill, and all jumped off and then reached back and helped themselves from a cooler to some beer.

A short time later one of the group demanded that the three of them give up their table.

He figured that they were looking for a fight because no more than twenty feet away was the table that belonged with their grill.

He told Guy and Bobby not to engage. He turned so that he was looking at the large Oak tree in the middle of the field in hopes that nothing would happen.

When he felt a hand on his shoulder pull him around, he knew it had not worked. He hit the guy as hard as he could with his beer bottle, ducked and kicked him on the side of his knee and to took him down.

He was hit on his back with what he knew as a baseball bat because he heard the attacker shout out, “Home run.”

He fell to the ground and heel kicked the second guy under his chin. He was sure the kick had taken him down.

He lost count of how many times he got hit. The fight ended when a group of folks from some of the other tables around broke up the fight.

He was about as busted up as he had ever been. He was on the verge of passing out.

Guy suggested they get home and get him fixed up.

Bobby threw water on the grill, grabbed their stuff, threw it into the back of the pickup, and jumped into the bed.

Guy said he would drive.

He got into the passenger’s seat and that was the last he remembered.

He started to come too as he was being dragged across the grass. He looked up and realized that Guy was dragging him. He started to relax and then something hit him across the sided of his head and the world went black.

He came awake one more time as the rope around his neck tightened and he could no longer breath.

He looked down and was shocked that he was looking at the person that had been his lifelong friend. They had grown up playing together.

Then the world went black.

The lush dark green oak leaves touched by the morning dew rustled quietly in the morning breeze. The gnarled branches of the ancient more than one hundred-year-old oak tree limbs spread out some one hundred feet in diameter and reached up just as high up into the sky.

Its prominent lone location at the top of the knoll made it the strongest oak tree of the forest around it. It heralded its dominance and strength. It had been compelled to battle for its existence from the wind, rain, winter storms and the blazing sun.

Guy had watched it grow for more than fifty years as he battled his mind over his ultimate betrayal of his friend.

He wished he could embrace the righteousness the oak symbolized. For him it emphasized that it would never let him forget the one most immoral event in his life that for more than fifty years had haunted him.

He and the oak had mutually embraced that moment for all those years.

The oak had flourished and grown more than fifty feet in heigh and diameter.

He had killed his best friend in hopes of taking his place in his Dale’s wife’s side.

She had refused his proposal of marriage three times. Then he had learned she was pregnant with Dale’s child.

That day his soul had shriveled, and he wished he could have died. Each year his soul had taken one more step into the grey of despair and regret.

He sat on the Oak bench made from a limb that had fallen from the tree. He had taken the fallen limb to the lumber yard and asked Bobby to make it into a bench and then he had donated it to the park. It had a brass plaque that commemorated his old friend that had been hung from a limb of the oak tree.

He often came to watch the sunrise and to remember. To remember To remember.

To remember so that he could go back to his farm and for another day do the work that would allow him to live the life that he had lived for fifty years. It had been fifty years on his own. It had been a lonely fifty years. He thought of it as his hell on earth.

He had watched as Cynthia had also lived alone but he saw her with her daughter and saw the bright light that the two seemed to exude.

All around him he listened to the forest humming with life. The birds in the oak tree’s canopy chirped and sang their sweet mating songs. They were singing about life. About a life of that was warm and natural.

He watched the sunrise breaking through the cracks in the greyish white clouds in the sky. The sun highlighted the hiking path out beyond the tree. The path was lined with wild flowers, ripe blackberries and occasionally a bush of luscious gooseberries.

To him it was a path that symbolized a way to a glorious future. A future that he had destroyed and buried for himself. A future that was now behind him and the short future ahead of him scared him because of what he figured was in store for him.

The path went through a forest that hummed with life. He had walked it often to revitalize his soul. A soul that had one very dark malevolent moment that had darkened out the entirety of the rest. It was a darkness that colored what he saw, made sweet wing taste bitter, and made a wonderful and gracious Strauss waltz flat.

He walked a path that was frozen in time and frozen by the repulsive action that he had taken.

The oak drew his gaze back to the limb as if it wanted to remind him of that moment that though more than fifty years in the past needed to be put back to front and center so that he would never forget. The oak was trying to protect the world from the evil it had unwillingly been a part of. It would do so each time he returned to sit on the bench.

He had lived long. He had lived much longer than he had ever thought he would. Diamonds are made under pressure but the diamond that he had become had a major flaw that made it worthless. It would never be shared with another soul.

He looked at the acorns hanging in the tree and realized that it had soon to be small oaks sleeping in each. He had no acorns. There would be no replacement for him. He did not have acorns to drop, and he felt it was better that way. His was not a seed to pass on.

He was not sure whether there was a way for his soul to be embraced by the angels in white or whether it would be embraced by the angels in black. He did not deserve the first and he feared the embrace of the second.

What he was sure of was that a large egregious act had a life of its own and did not shrink with time but seemed instead to grow roots and anchor its self into one’s very soul. These were roots with thorns that gave pain with every thought.

He knew that his sitting in penitence and embracing the righteousness of the oak was not enough. He knew that his donations to the food bank and to several charities were not enough. He knew that there was nothing he could do to undo his past actions. He knew that he would take his damaged soul to the grave with him.

There were now fewer days ahead for him. He was contemplating how he wanted to handle what he saw as his march to judgement. It was a march that held little hope. It was a march he could not avoid nor one that he desired to. It had been a long, lonely life that but for one decisive moment could have been avoided.

He had spent many an hour riding on his tractor, milking his cows, or sheering his sheep and thinking about what he had done and what he should do. But it did not seem to matter the amount of time that he had contemplated. He always came to the same conclusion that there was no righting the wrong he had committed.

2 Resilience

Cynthia ran her fingers along the engraved head stone. These were loving fingers that had memorized each of the letters. She had been tracing the engraving of those four letters on the plain head stone for more than fifty years. They were fifty years of longing and an ache in her heart that never left her. She would come to the grave each week and share what she and their daughter had been doing each week. She had shared every birth day, every holiday, and every school event with Dale. She let him know that she had a good job and had been able to save and help their child, their daughter go through college. She had let him know about their daughter’s marriage to a lawyer in Cincinnati. The stories about each grandchild, two girls and two boys went on for just as long as the stories about their daughter. Each of the grand children had done well. They had all married and were about to bless her world with great grandchildren.

She told him about the good years, but she also told him about her frustration about not being able to solve the mystery of his death. She had not been able to get his case thoroughly investigated.

She had been stonewalled by the local police who said that there were no credible leads. She was sure they were just stonewalling her.

She was a black woman challenging a totally white establishment. She was sure that she had been discounted.

She had asked about the fight that had occurred with the group of the young white men but was told that every one of the group had a solid alibi.

The coroner said that that strangulation was the cause of death but there was not any other evidence that pointed to a specific individual.

Now on her seventy seventh birthday, as she listened to the news, a ray of hope stood in front of the cameras answering questions in a news conference about her need to shoot a person who had attacked her. The person was a young Black female detective. This was a person who was in control, stood proud and was not cowed by the world around her.

Cynthia watched the news, and she knew what she needed to do. Destiny was calling her to act. She needed to go to Cincinnati.

After the grilling from the news crews about the shooting in front of her home, Alex got on her bike and along with Trey had ridden down to the water front. She set a fast pace along the water front. She needed to get over the fact that the person that she had brought to trial had come to her place and purposely shot at her to commit suicide. After an hour of hard riding, she and Trey had returned.

After securing the bikes, Trey said it was time for him to go home.

Alex went up to the house and was pleased to find that Matt was sitting and reading while he waited for her.

He looked up and said that he had heard that it had been a rough day.

She gave him a hug and kiss and asked what he wanted for dinner.

He smiled and said that he had prepared dinner and led the way into the kitchen where he had a candle burning and the boxes of the Thai dinner that he had ordered in.

Alex laughed and said that she was sure she was going to enjoy his cooking and sat down and put some rice on her plate and put a helping of Mongolian beef, several spoonful of mixed vegetables and then put soy sauce over the whole thing.

She related the events of the morning and what a negative effect it had on her.

She suggested an early bed time which Matt said would be great since he was exhausted from a nonstop day.

The next morning, she fixed breakfast and reminded him that the caterers for the big yard celebration would be there at ten to get everything set up.

Their friends arrived throughout the afternoon and soon the backyard was full.

All the friends were present, and a special surprise was the arrival of Annie, Brian, Linda, and Lorie who had flown in from Hawaii. Their arrival topped off the event.

Alex loved that fact that Annie had done such a thing. Annie said that a good friend was worth more than any painting she had ever painted. She then presented her painting of the transformed backyard.

Alex was surprised by the painting and asked who had sent her a picture of the yard.

Annie pointed to Matt and said he was the guilty one.

Alex said she was taking it up to her art gallery on the third floor and putting it in a place of honor. She announced that anyone wanting to see her current display of art and awards were welcome to go up to the art gallery and she would give a tour.

Everyone followed and after putting the gift painting on the very first stand she took everyone through the gallery that she had populated mostly with the works of new local artists.

Throughout the rest of the afternoon, the food flowed as if being attacked by a stream of locust attacking a wheat field.

The drinks were consumed as if they were the main course.

The celebration was an outstanding success.

The afternoon backyard party went well past sunset and into the evening.

Alex had arranged for the caterers to do the cleanup on Sunday and had scheduled the house keeper to come in on Monday.

Sunday she and Matt went for a bike ride starting on the water front and going out along the Loveland trail. She had arranged to have lunch with Sheriff Evin and his wife.

It was a great reunion where she shared the fact that Annie was doing quite well.

After lunch they had ridden back.

Matt left for work at four on Monday morning and left her sleeping.

She got up feeling energized. She spent thirty minutes running on her treadmill then she grabbed a cup of coffee but figured she would make a bear claw her breakfast when she got to work.

She rode her bike down to the stop light and automatically looked up to the roof where the two shooters of the previous attempts on her life had chosen as the best place to get their shots. She had arranged for a plexiglass barrier to be put across the entire front of the roof in order to prevent a third attempt.

She nonetheless reflexively looked up to make sure that there was no shooter.

She rode on and met with Johnnie at his apartment building and then they rode the rest of the way in together.

Alex walked into the bull pen and when she looked at Trey, Bill, Travis she knew that something was up. She walked over to where Trey was sitting and accepted the half of a bear claw that he held out to her.

She looked over at Bill and Trevor and asked what was up.

Trevor smiled and said that a little old lady had walked into the Chief’s office and the Chief had closed the door and the shades.

They all knew that when he did that something of importance was taking place and that he was not to be disturbed.

They were all wondering what that little old lady was telling the Chief and whether it was their next case.

Alex sat down, took a bite of her bear claw, and sipped on her coffee. She knew that if the Chief was serious about what he heard he would soon call her in and perhaps everyone else in.

Trevor nodded toward the door as it slowly opened and said that it was her turn, and she should make sure that no major gunfire accompanied the case that the gentle looking old lady might get them into.

Alex smiled and replied that she seldom had control about the amount of gunfire a case involved but she would keep his advice in mind.

She walked into the Chief’s office and was introduced to Ms. Cynthia Hammer who stood up and shook her hand and let her know that she was counting on her to solve a fifty-year-old crime.

Alex smiled and replied that it seemed a long time to wait to report a crime.

Cynthia nodded and said that she had waited until she could find a person that was good enough to solve a crime that had never been properly handled and certainly not solved. She pointed at Alex and said that she was the reason she had come to Cincinnati to report the murder of her husband.

Alex listened to Cynthia tell her the story of losing her husband only weeks after their marriage and before he knew of her pregnancy. It was a tale that grabbed at her heart. The fact that the family had prospered over the years was the bright side. The fact that Cynthia had endured a lifetime of heart ache was the shadow and the heart ache.

Alex asked if the autopsy and investigation had shed any light on what had happened.

Cynthia said that the coroner had listed the cause of death as strangulation. The investigation ended a few days later and because at the time she could not afford to pay for the burial, Dale was buried a day later in a pauper’s grave in a simple wooden coffin with only a wooden head stone. As soon as she could afford it, she had purchased a granite head stone to replace the wooden one that had been place on his grave.

She had tears in her eyes as she shared the story. She said that she always felt bad about Dale’s burial but over the years came to realize that the burial had little to do with those that lived on. She had focused on using the little money she had to raise their daughter.

She knew where to visit him and had done so every weekend for over fifty years. She had kept his grave well taken care of and had flowers growing there for him. She smile and added that she had done it also for herself. Visiting him let her shed that tensions of the week and look forward to the coming one.

She added that when their daughter was young, she often went with her to visit her father’s grave.

She then once again pointed to Alex and said that she wanted her to reopen the case and solve it.

Alex looked at the Chief and asked him what he had in mind.

The Chief looked at her and said he wanted her to take a look and see if there was anything that might change the situation.

Alex thought for a moment.

She asked Cynthia if the men she suspected were still alive.

Cynthia thought for a moment and said that three of the six were alive and the one she suspected was among them. She added that the sheriff and coroner were long gone.

Alex then asked if Cynthia would authorize having Dale exhumed.

Cynthia asked it that would be necessary.

Alex nodded and said that the technology had changed dramatically, and the dead had a new voice with which to share their story.

Cynthia nodded and agreed to the exhumation, but she wanted to have assurance that everything be done with full respect. She added that she never had the curtesy of having been able to see Dale before he was buried and had always held the picture of him at their wedding in her mind. She planned to continue to hold that picture in mind and did not want to see him as a skeleton.

Alex assured her that Dale would be handled with due respect.

She looked at the Chief and asked if the Cincinnati police morgue could be used so that she could have the control to honor her commitment.

The Chief nodded and said he would let Dr. Rogers know.

Alex got up and asked Cynthia if she could walk with her to the lobby. On the way she learned that Cynthia’s granddaughter, Hadly, had driven her to Cincinnati and was driving her back home after they did some shopping and went to lunch.

Alex smiled and suggested they try one of the restaurants that gave them a good view of the river.

Thank you for reading this far.