Ethel

There’s only one way to brew a beautiful cup of coffee, said no one ever. In recent years my collection of coffee producing contraptions has expanded to bursting at the cabinet doors. Today amidst all the chaos I chose a simple pour over carafe that is just the right size for two cups. He is sitting and waiting patiently at the small table in the corner of the kitchen. I really love that table. I spent a whole week two years ago during a hot summer choosing the olive green paint that I coated over the sanded wood twice. Today it sports a perfect chip on the spindle leg and one long scratch across the right side of the surface, but I wouldn’t have it any other way, I brought it back to life.

As I spoon the rich coffee into the basket I reminisce over the many mornings I spend delicately choosing the means of brewing coffee and the perfect mug that will keep just the right amount of warmth for just the right amount of time. I chose two pale blue mugs this morning that are large enough to hold 14 ounces of liquid. I will meticulously pour about 12 in each with just enough room for cream or sugar.

As I turn on the kettle to boil the water I finally choose to speak.

“So how was your drive?”

He looks up slowly, “I’m sorry to drop in unannounced, I just needed to see you.”

I realize I’m not sure what to make of his visit. It’s been two years. It’s ironic to see him sitting at my little green table, the one I painted as a means of meditation when I found out he had left me. I know now that I don’t need an explanation anymore, but having him here and present in my house again after all this time takes me back to that horrible uncomfortable place. What went wrong? How could it have been different if he had never disappeared like that?

I did my due diligence to track him down, to try to make contact and after that conversation where he told me what he was doing, I knew there was nothing to be done. I lived for 6 months distraught when we lost everything, lost in my occupations and my sorrow. And a short time after he left I no longer wondered if I should reach out but paralyzed in the knowledge that there was nothing I could do.

I remove the boiling kettle water and pour it slowly over the coffee in a circular motion. So smooth, so soothing and therapeutic. I inhale the sweet aromas of the slowly darkening liquid in the basket. The steady drip of coffee reminds me of mornings where I was able to remember who I was before all those instances of confusion. After a few seconds I come back to my senses.

“I’m not really sure what you want me to say? It’s been a while now and I like to believe I have moved on from the past. Have you?”

“Lizzy, you have to understand how all of that affected me….she was my daughter too. I don’t have any excuses for how I handled it but I’m sorry.”

“And now you are back? What are you here for?”

I re-adjust the carafe and settle the two cups next to each other. I slowly start to pour into the first cup…seeing the invisible 12 ounce line drawn toward the top so I pour just enough. When I look up he is simply sitting there. He doesn’t know what to say, so I will say some things for us.

“I want to tell you a story that might surprise you….one I never thought I would tell a soul let alone you. It began just a few days before you left. I went to work like I had been those past few weeks. All my wounds fresh as they had been for several months from what happened to me; to her. My mind was swimming with images of her and what she might have looked like wrapped in a little pink blanket. I arrived at work and I saw several patients right away, a welcome distraction as always in dark times. One of my patients was an older woman who had an acute case of pneumonia. Her name was Ethel. I thought that was funny because I always think of an older frail woman when I hear the name Ethel and here she was incarnate. I know she was very weak and not well but somehow she was still alert. I went to tend to her and she kept looking at me knowingly. She told me she could see sadness in my eyes. I hesitated while I was checking her vitals. She wouldn’t take her eyes off of me as I worked even though I tried to shake her gaze by even going into the bathroom to check on the supplies. She had a way about her that was soft and sweet. She knew things….she knew about my situation, I don’t know how but I decided to sit next to her and felt understood. We spoke for some time and I shared some details that maybe I have never shared with anyone…not you or my counselor about how I felt, the emptiness and the hurt. Lastly she put her hand on mine and she assured me that the emptiness would subside and that hope would fill me with time.”

I paused long enough to walk over to him and serve his cup of warm coffee. I had earlier served up cream and sugar in some trays and I settled myself across from him. He looked at me and his eyes were red and shiny with flushed cheeks.

“So what happened to her? This Ethel?”

“She stayed at the hospital for a few days and we spoke a few more times. In those few days was when you disappeared and the numbness was spreading. Ethel understood when I told her but not the kind of understanding you would think. She understood how you felt but not why you would abandon the one person that needed you most and that you needed in return. I suddenly understood that hope abounds and that even though my cup was empty it would be full again and without a doubt that sweet child that we lost would be remembered and loved. When Ethel was feeling better after just a few days she asked for me to come and visit her because she would be going home.

She had a soft voice and she told me, “Hope is always waiting, whether it be here or there and I know that you feel it now. It might come tomorrow, it might only be a glimmer and come much later but it will come.”

He looked up from his coffee, it wasn’t steaming anymore and he had hardly even had a sip, “I’m so glad you found Ethel. I can’t say that I experienced anything similar with anyone but in my own way I have found a way to move forward. I came back because I just needed to talk to you, needed to hear your voice and tell you that I’m sorry and I want to try again. Do you think that is a possibility for us? Is there a way you can forgive me?”

As I sipped my cup I felt the temperate liquid go down and felt so thankful for where I was in my life. Would I ever be able to forgive and forget with this man? After everything I went through on my own and after all that had transpired since he left me.

“Well there would need to be so much more to the conversation. I will need time, so much has changed. I tried to reach you, I tried to contact you and you refused to respond. I even reached out to your mother and she said you weren't talking to her either. You cut everyone in your life out….are you going to do that again?”

He was so nervous, he was so scared at this moment. I wonder if he had pictured the conversation going differently? Did he imagine I would jump with joy and fall into his arms and we would never mention the gap that existed for all this time? All my heart was coming to my throat as I realized that I was on the precipice of something that I never thought I would be. Letting this man back into my life was going to be a huge risk and keeping him out was going to be a loss all over again…too many losses to count. Ethel had told me this might happen, that I needed to be prepared and know how I would handle it. She said it would surely happen unexpectedly and I would have to answer for my decisions no matter what those were.

There’s only one way to handle a difficult situation, said no one ever. My life had been growing with beautiful things for a while now and I knew finally in this moment that it was enough and that everything else would be extra toppings. Suddenly the garage door started to open and I felt nervous. They were back earlier than we had planned.

“Were you expecting company?” He asked.

I wasn’t sure how to respond but I wasn’t prepared to be in this situation so soon, I thought my mom would have called because she would have seen his car in the driveway. Does she not remember what his car looks like? I should have texted her that he stopped unexpectedly but I hadn’t hardly had time to process any of this. I was also tired from working the late shift last night. But here I was and it was time to deal with the situation.

“It’s my mom.”

He shifted uncomfortably. “Why is she coming in through your garage at this time of the morning?”

I stood up and moved to the back door to open it for her.

“Well she has been helping me out for quite some time now.”

When I opened the door she rushed in absentmindedly and sported a large pink bundle in her arms. Only the bundle was moving and two little eyes peeped over the blanket.

Marcus stood up from the little green table where I had spent late nights nursing and early mornings cradling my sweet little girl.

My mother stood frozen and stared at Marcus with his somewhat disheveled hair and confused face. She hesitated for a moment and then spoke, “Wow, Marcus….I thought that might have been your car but I assumed I was mistaken…” she was having a hard time meeting his eyes. He stumbled over to her and blurted out a half hearted greeting.

“Mary, wow, I didn’t know you would be visiting and I was just here to visit Lizzy and I….” his eyes fell down to the baby and my mom set her down on the floor where she stumbled across the room and threw her arms up at me with a nervous glance over at Marcus.

“Marcus, this is Ethel.”

His eyes widened and he seemed short of breath. He reached back toward the table and knocked over the coffee cup that I had been drinking from. The liquid ran across the table and started to drip on the floor. He immediately turned to straighten up the cup and grabbed a nearby towel to sop up the mess.

“Are you okay, Marcus?”

“Lizzy, I’m sorry I had no idea and I think it would be best if I left.”

He picked up both mugs and went over to the sink and dolloped some soap onto the ceramics which he then began washing in a warm streak of water. My mother stood by nervously and was looking at me with great concern. She held her arms out to the baby and motioned that she would take her to the other room but I mouthed that things were, “OK.” So she went over to the sink.

“I can take that Marcus.” Without making eye contact he handed her the mug and just stood there staring up at me with a shock in his eyes. As my mother finished washing the mugs she dried them and placed them delicately back into the cupboard. The small room was heavy with silence. My mug had come so close to being cascaded to the ground and shattered into pieces but in the end it lived to see another day. Somehow I knew what I needed to say and even though I didn’t know what would come after, it was the right thing for me to do next. I was scared, I had never been sure if this moment would come, Ethel looked up at me and almost willed me to speak because even she seemed to find something in the moment. Her eyes were so sweet and I remembered the moment I felt that I had new life in me and now she stared into my eyes. I mustered all the strength I could and dug deep into my heart where all my sufferings and joy came together and I found my voice.

“Marcus, Ethel is your daughter.”