Thirty-eight Years Later

In June I received an email from my good friend Harry (Ann Harrington), my room-mate from the year I spent in a Jesuit mission in a Yu'pik community.  She wrote that our fellow volunteer, Mary Thiebes, was having a really difficult time with the death of her son Brian, who at 22 years of age had died in an avalanche in Idaho in February, 2005.  Harry wondered if I couldn't plan a trip out to Bellingham, Washington and spend some time with Thiebes.  Having lost a son of my own to aplastic anemia nine years before and survived the experience, Harry thought I might be able to give comfort to our friend. I wrote back that I was open for the visit but that I was not a "model" for a bereaved parent and that I thought I had nothing to offer.  As I wrote in the email:  " There is no cure for the heartache one goes through when you lose a child.  Everyone must find their own light at the end of the tunnel.  Grief is a personal thing...everyone does it differently.  There is no prescription for how one deals with death."

Nevertheless, in August I got off the plane in Seattle and was met by Harry.  "We have to hurry, Bob, Thiebes is out in the car riding around, she didn't want to pay for parking!"  I had to laugh, that was the old Thiebes...always in a hurry...frugal with her money.   As we ventured out to the drivethru, there was Thiebes explaining to a police officier why she was parked in a bus zone.  We hopped in the car real quick and off we sped.  Within minutes we were all talking and laughing about our reunion...so much so that Thiebes said she couldn't drive and talk at the same time.  We drove down to the waterfront, found a parking space and looked for a place to have lunch.  More then lunch, I needed a cigarette...and they were both gracious not to give me the lecture on smoking that I hear all the time.  After a very loud lunch with all of us talking at the same time, we walked around Pike's Market marveling at all the fresh food and remembering a time long ago that Spam cooked a thousand different ways and cans of fruit cocktail or plums were all that was on the menu.

That evening on our way home to Bellingham, Harry mentioned that I would not be staying with her for the ten days, that instead I would be staying in Thiebes' little guest cottage.  Both Harry and Thiebes live on Chuckanut Drive... Harry on the main road whereas Thiebes lives down a small dirt road, Blue Heron Point, off Chuckanut.  They both thought I would be comfortable in the little cottage...a small livingroom with a big stone fireplace, a small utilty kitchen and the most darling bedroom with a log bed. Off the livingroom was a small porch that overhung the seashore below.  At night you could hear the tide lapping the shore and in the mornings the cry of blue herons and gulls.  The cottage was filled with book cases all overflowing with a collection of books that were very famialiar to me.  What a perfect place to spend ten days!  Before retiring to my little haven for the night, Harry mentioned that she wouldn't be available during the day...she had two more days of summer school to teach before she could play.  Thiebes mentioned that I could sleep in on Thursday because she had her commitment to Maple Alley, a homeless shelter and that she would be home by 2.  Although the thoughts of spending a "free" morning hanging out in the cottage was quite appealing, I wanted to fit in with Thiebes' schedule and experience her days as she filled them.  Our day at Maple Alley was interesting and once again I found myself in "trouble" and bending the rules.  After lunch was served, I sat down with our guests and chewed the fat...a real no-no according to the director.  And then I had the nerve to offer to hold a young Native American girl's baby so that she could eat in peace...once again a no-no.  The director, an SS officier, according to Thiebes, brought me into a small food closet to explain the "rules":  "I understand that you are Mary's friend and that you have never served at a homeless shelter but you have to follow the rules...we are here to serve these people...not become their friends."  How odd...you can serve..but not interact and treat them with the respect that every human being deserves.  

Brushing off Maple Alley, we ran home and called Harry, who was now home from summer school.  Did she want to join us for we were going to take out the Boston Whaler and set crab pots.  She said she had errands to run but she would be over for a quick dinner with us before we left for a greenhouse/farm  to make cement leaves.  

The following day Thiebes and I spent a quiet morning in the main house...having a laid back breakfast of bagels and coffee.  As we talked about our living children, Thiebes stopped the conversation and just looked at me, "But Bob, how do you do it?  How do you keep up that positive way of thinking you have when your whole world has died?" I just walked over and gave her a big hug and we cried together.  Later, much later, I looked at her and these are the words I said:  Would that we could go back to the summer of '68 when we were young, idealistic, and a new adventure was around the corner.  But Thiebes, that can't happen.  Bad shit does happen...even to good people like you and me.  We can shrivel up like an old prune and stop living or we can take our hurt and grow from it.  The day after Aaron died, I walked the cranberry bogs behind my house  for hours asking the same questions you are asking me.  In the end, what surfaced was this thought:  What would Aaron expect of me?  He was an exciting wild creature who loved living.  His escapades could fill a book and from what I know of Brian, his stories could too.  What would they expect of us?  And what about our living children?  Is there no room in your heart for them?  They are going through their own process of accepting a death of a sibling, shouldn't we be their anchor?

Over the next several days at odd times we talked about our sons...laughing about some of their escapades that at the time surely drove us crazy.  We sorted through Brian's things and turned his bedroom into a guest room.  We waded through photographs and Thiebes talked about family times of skiing and safari hunting.  We shared our lives...our hopes and our dreams.  We shared our sorrows.  "It's not that you aren't going to have Brian days but as the years pass, they become less and less painful.  I still have what I call my Aaron days...and when I do I slip into the car, put on a tape of one of his favorite groups and sing my heart out, driving no where in particular...just driving."

That Sunday, Thiebes' husband came home from Friday Island where he had been lawyering...I found out later, that was just an excuse.  Dean knew that I would be coming and he wanted to give Harry, Thiebes and I the time we needed alone. Dean is an incredible, sensitive guy...as a lawyer, he has fought for those less fortunate then himself and for the environment.   That night we went to a Jazz Festival and the following day took the big boat (notice, I don't know what kind it is!) out to the San Juan Islands.  We stopped at various islands and hiked up and down mountains. The mountain at Cypress Island is my favorite.  We met some Outward Bound students on a kayaking trip and both Thiebes and I smiled...was this a sign from our boys...both of whom had their own Outward Bound Experience when they were 16?

The days past quickly.  We had an incredible day in Victoria having tea and watercress sandwiches at the The Hotel Empire before spending the afternoon at the Natural History Museum.  On my last evening in Bellingham, the three of us went downtown to a hotel overlooking the bay for a "spa treatment"...mud bath and message...and steam bath.  I think the girls providing the service couldn't believe the conversation they heard as they worked on these three sixty year old woman.  Little did they realize, that despite the wear and tear on our bodies, we were really three twenty-two year old girls having one more adventure!