Page 40 of The Shell Collector
“Don’t beat yourself up. It’s the grief making you do things you’d never do. People understand.” Maeve’s words eased the pain, a little.
“No. I called him on the phone one night, shouting at him, making him promise he’d never contact me or the kids again. I threatened him. I made a momma bear look like a puppy that night.”
“We protect what we love. When that’s disturbed, everything topples.” Maeve sat quiet for a moment, then seemed toshift her focus on something off in the distance. “It’s survival, Amanda. I sat around in a blind stupor, wishing I’d dieso I could be with my husband, Jarvis. But that didn’t happen. It took me a long time to live again. Friends tried to convince me to move forward, but honestly, just waking up each day and remembering to breathe in and out was almost more than I could bear. The more they told me to move on, the more I wanted to hold on to the past. Surviving is hard work.”
“Yes.” Amanda swallowed a sob. “Exactly. Jack was my everything. I loved him with every bit of my heart.”
“We don’t have to understand any of it, Amanda. We only have to keep living.” Maeve offered her an easy grin. “Don’t you hate it when people say stuff like that? Makes no sense. Death never does.”
Amanda traced her finger through the sand. “For a while it almost killed me when those sweet children would look at me. They have his eyes. I felt guilty every time I turned away from his eyes in them. I know that sounds awful.”
“It sounds honest.”
Why did I tell you all that? I must sound like a horrible mother.“I hope they never felt that.”
“I’m sure they didn’t.”
“Now I treasure the chance to see him in their eyes, but it’s still hard.”
“Here’s the thing I learned: There is a difference between grief and suffering. You see, suffering is solitary, but you share your grief with good people. It’s the way you release the pain and adjust to the loss.”
“But that’s just a big downer. We lived on base. Jack was a Marine. He was supposed to be gone six months, but he didn’t come back. It got so every time I saw one of the other wives coming over, I felt like an anchor. I was weighing down their happiness and stealing their joy. I’m sure I was a constant reminder of the loss they potentially could face too. Who wants to be around that?”
“But see, that’s not how most people view it. Good people want to be of service. Listening and being there for others. Even those ubiquitous casseroles are their way of helping. If we don’t let them do that, they feel powerless. Then nobody wins.”
Amanda groaned. “The casseroles. Oh my gosh.”
“I know, I know. You can only go through so many casseroles. I fed the birds with them. I mean, who thinks one person can eat a nine-by-thirteen casserole in a week? Let alone a half dozen of them!”
“Yes. It’s an obscene amount of food that arrives, and the last thing you want to do is eat.”
Maeve nodded. “They want to help. They want to do their part, and sometimes those casseroles are all people can think of to do.”
“I guess I can see that, but it’s so hard to be constantly reminded.”
“You moving here to pretend Jack hadn’t been the best part of your past—that’s suffering. Suffering is solitary. It’s a barrier to processing your loss. You’ve lost something, Amanda.” Maeve pulled her fists to her heart. “I’ve experienced how deep and heavy that can feel.”
A tear slipped down Amanda’s cheek. “I have to be strong. For the kids.”
“Yes, you do. No question about that.” Maeve looked out over the water. “I can’t imagine how that must be. All I had was me, and that was hard.”
“I know the five stages of grief and that it ends with acceptance. I accept Jack’s not coming back, but I still hurt so much.”
“I know you do, but you don’t have to do it alone. Talk to someone. A good person won’t let you suffer.” She placed her hand on Amanda’s. “Can we talk about this? Can I be your person?”
“My good person?”
“I’m an excellent listener. I won’t ask or push. Just let me be there for you as you’re ready. Don’t make the mistakes I made. I wasted so many years buried in suffering.”
“Thank you so much.” The tears streamed down her cheeks now. She blotted them with her free hand. “I’m sorry.”
“Nope. Don’t apologize. Tears are healing. There’s scientific proof that emotional tears reduce pain. Maybe that’s why the ocean is so good for us—all that salt water. Let those salty tears fall, my dear.”
Amanda laughed, but the tears didn’t curtail.
Maeve leaned forward and wrapped her long arms around her. “You’re going to be okay. Better than okay. Just keep things simple. You’ll see. Each day will be better than the last.”
A weight lifted ever so slightly from Amanda, anxiety and sorrow falling away into Maeve’s arms.
