Miracle Dawn

“Pot or Keurig?” Patricia mused to herself. If she had to stay awake all night she would most certainly consume an entire pot of coffee, and then some. It made more sense to have the whole pot ready for the night. But there was something about having each cup fresh as you needed it that appealed to her. She popped the capsule in the coffee maker and started it up.

As the coffee maker started to bubble and steam, the gargling noise it made reminded her of how Freddy used to sound every morning. Even from a young age Patricia had always been a heavy sleeper and liked to wake late. The first few months of marriage to Freddy had been a cold water shock to find out she had pledged her eternal love to some crazy person who always got up before dawn and got ready for the day. She would lie in bed as he gargled, brushed and sang random bits of songs. In her semi-comatose state she would pull the pillow over her head and feel rage at the unfairness of having to live with someone who prefered–insisted, really–on greeting the sun every morning with a freshly scrubbed face and teeth, already dressed to meet the day. At the time it had seemed like a punishment to have to spend eternity waking up before dawn every day for the rest of her life.

But once the newly married bride would be fully awake she recanted her violent thoughts and learned to accept Freddy’s morning imposition. This attitude was made much easier less than a year later when Sarah was born and then the day had to start at dawn, like it or not.

She came to understand it was part of Freddy’s personality. He was always full of energy, beaming at the world. It was what made her fall in love with him in the first place, it was what made her happy to accept his loud marriage proposal delivered during breakfast. It was part of what put him ahead at work, too.

When he had passed it had occurred to Patricia that she could now stay up as late as she liked. Without the pre-dawn wake up (he doesn’t even need an alarm, she recalled thinking in a fury one morning) night owl activities could be carried out as late as she wanted. But staying up late, that mythical, musical bogey that she had chased as an avenue of late night thoughts and reflections, had proved to be a dark and lonely place, only occupied by the tick-tocking of Freddy’s ridiculous cuckoo clock and one more glass of bourbon. There were no wild airs, no revelations on life in the wee hours. The late night house bore no secrets, just quiet.

The coffee was done, the first of many. She carried it to the roll-top desk and the little secret compartment at the top of the desk. Some cash was hidden here, and two letters–one opened, one still sealed.

She’d found both envelopes in his overnight bag when she brought it home from the hospital. She almost hadn’t taken the bag home from the hospital. She remembered wondering what point could there be in an overnight bag full of men’s razors, and half-used after-shave and deodorant? It was a painful reminder that it had been stupid to even pack the bag. It wasn’t going to be needed. They had been at the end. She needed to do something normal at the time to escape the grief and pain that was swirling about her, threatening to engulf her.

She’d only brought it home because she hadn’t known what else to do with it. He wasn’t going to need them, not ever again. The finality of throwing them in the trash was unthinkable.Plus carrying the bag had given Eric a way to feel connected to his Dad, something to keep his ten-year-old mind from dwelling on what had just happened.

Patricia ran her hand over the rough paper edges where the letter had been opened. She’d been terrified to open it when she first found it. She feared some deathbed confession that would ruin her memories of Freddy forever. She stuck both letters into her pocket, and carried her still-steaming cup of coffee out through the sliding glass doors and to the screened in porch.

In the big wicker glider she sipped coffee gingerly and looked at the dark back yard. It was getting late in the year and a chilly breeze blew from time to time. She lit a candle on the table in front of her and took a sip. The coffee’s warmth settled into her chest like a warm blanket.

Patricia remembered how quickly Freddy had wanted to get married after he’d proposed. She thought an October wedding was silly. Most young couples married in spring or early summer, when the days were long and warm and luxurious. But once Patricia had accepted, Freddy couldn’t be stopped. October had been the longest she could get him to wait for their wedding day. Patricia remembered feeling a little put out at not getting to be a spring bride and didn’t see why they couldn’t wait until the following year. She took another sip of the fragrant coffee. In hindsight it had given them a whole additional eight months of marriage they wouldn’t have had otherwise. Eight months in which they bought their first house, eight months of stewing over Freddy’s morning ablutions, eight months of finding out she couldn’t cook very well, eight months in which the imminent birth of Sarah announced to the world. Looking back Patricia realized it was eight months she always thought she could add to the end, not realizing the end was closer than she could have imagined.

She took the opened letter and slid it gently out of the envelope. A hospital envelope, hospital stationary. Freddy’s handwriting, once so bold, was shaky. She read over the familiar words one more time.

My Dearest Patricia,

I know everyone is doing their best to keep me cheered up, and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it from everyone. I’ve been doing my best to continue to be my same old self, too, just for everyone else’s sake. But I have to get this off my chest. I’m frightened. I know this is the end. And I know it won’t be long before I succumb completely. I’m not frightened of what comes next. But I am frightened to leave you and the kids behind. Everything you will need is in the hidden compartment in the roll top desk in the Family Room–the life insurance policy, my pension, the house mortgage, all our stocks and investments–everything you’ll need. I guess one good blessing to this taking such a long time coming is that I was able to get everything in order for you before I am gone.

It’s all taken care of–you’ll be able to keep the house, and there should be plenty to keep you and the kids comfortable. I took a vow to always provide for my family, and you three should be set for life.

The biggest thing I’m scared of is losing you. I know this is going to be so hard on all three of you. But I want you to know something. I have found a way–a secret way, a mystical way–to stay with you and the kids. You may not see me, but my spirit will always be there, guarding over all three of you and the house, always. Know that I am not ever going to leave you.

And as proof of all that I say is true I am going to leave you a sign. I will appear to you at dawn on what would have been our 50th anniversary. Sit on the back porch and wait for me, my darling, and I’ll show you a wondrous side of life that you never even knew existed.

Your loving husband,

Freddy

A shaky hand, a vague promise, and he was gone. Patricia hadn’t found the letter until several weeks had passed after Freddy’s death. The little black bag sat ignored in the bedroom. She found herself unable to open it and throw away everything that used to be Freddy’s.

When she had first read the letter, all she wanted was to believe it. She wanted to know he was standing beside her when she tucked the kids in at night. She wanted to believe that he was guiding her as she raised them. There were so many moments in those first few weeks where it seemed so much easier to go to sleep forever than to wake up and face another day without him. She knew the only way to keep getting up one more day was to know that it was another day behind her until she saw him again.

For the whole first year it had been like that. She found herself quietly speaking to him any time she thought she was alone. It wasn’t until both her kids were grown that she found out both of them had seen her speaking out loud to their Dad, telling him what was going on and asking what he thought she should do. At their age they believed she was really speaking to Freddy. They lacked the experience and the cynicism to see a deranged widow full of false hope. Sarah and Eric thought while growing up that their mother possessed the ability to still talk to their Dad. It made it easy for them to believe that their Dad was still watching over them.

What they didn’t realize was how much their mother needed to believe that he was there with her. Somewhere deep inside Patricia she thought that one day there would be an explanation of Freddy’s promise to her. The longer she kept believing in his presence in her life the more she found the strength inside herself to keep going through the morning routine, keep paying the bills, and keep raising their children.

That part of her never gave up hope.

Freddy had been true to his word. The house had been paid off on his death, and the money had been wisely set up so that she could keep the house going and pay all the bills without having to get remarried or take on a job of her own. It was from Freddy’s foresight that she was still sitting on the same back porch that she once sat with him.

That second letter, though, that kept her going. There was an explanation for Freddy’s promise. No matter how ridiculous it might be to think that he was a real presence in her life she knew the second letter would make it all make sense. Freddy had been truthful about the house, the finances and everything else he had promised her. The second letter would be the logic behind his appearance and his presence in her life for all these years.She had given him her trust and known all the proof she needed would be in that second, unopened letter.

She had suffered in faith through hard days where she didn’t think she could do it. There were dark nights where she wrote out a letter leaving the house and kids to her sister, right next to a neat line of sleeping pills. But there was always that belief that Freddy was right beside her and was ready to rise before dawn and begin another day with her. She couldn’t have him show up in the back yard on their 50th anniversary and be the only one there. He’d been strong for her, she would have to be strong for him, too. She would always end up throwing away the letter and sweeping the pills back in the bottle after the kids had left for school.

And now, she thought, here we are. Reminiscing about a life spent with someone who had passed away years ago. She took a sip from the wine glass that had replaced the coffee cup around 3:30. After all this time, we’re here. Today would have been our 50th anniversary. God, Freddy, she thought, the things we’ve seen. The birthdays, the graduations, the weddings. The grandkids. I really do hope that you’re here and that you can see everything you wrought. I hope you really have been here every step of the way, because thinking that you were was the only thing that got me through some of the worst times.

The sky in the east was beginning to lighten. She held up the second letter. She’d never opened it, never even tried to open it or look through the thin paper so she could see what was inside. On the outside of the envelope was just a date–today’s date. The gold watch of wedding anniversaries. What was inside? A confession? An apology? A long withheld truth that had burdened his conscience in the final days?

The sky was a little lighter now, not quite dawn–but soon. Soon she would know what was in the last letter.

For years the first letter had kept her alive. It had let her know how much Freddy had loved her. She looked once again at the envelope in the glowing light of the candle. What would it say? What would it reveal?

She looked out at the backyard, where after years of hope something would appear. But what? What sign would she get? What message would she receive?

She drained the last swallow of wine from her glass, and held the envelope over the candle’s flame. It caught easily and began to burn quickly, and she dropped it in a ceramic vase where the flames flickered for a few minutes before going out.

And a few minutes before dawn Patricia picked up her glass, slid open the sliding glass door, and went inside, shutting it firmly behind her.

For all those years she had hoped and prayed for a miracle. And she had one. She had one more day.