Living On: Life Beyond the Inevitable

By D. J. Manley

Jeffrey felt nauseous and weak in the knees. One certainty he was fully aware of was that he wasnt ready for his time on Earth to be over.

Surely, if I am dead, I would know it, wouldnt I?

At least for the moment, he didnt feel dead, but then again, being dead wasnt something he was so sure that he would know how to feel. An emotion beyond terror gripped his mind as he tried to bring some sort of logic to the circumstances of his demise. This was impossible and certainly not the way he had planned to spend his weekend, nor was it even remotely feasible in the plans he had made for his future endeavors during and after college.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Dec 23, 2010
• ISBN: 9781414060880

D. J. Manley

Deborah is a Hoosier at heart. She loves the Indianapolis Colts, the quietude of the farmlands, and the solace of being close to her family. Still, she says she yearns for the beauty of Iowa and its rolling hills. She attended college at Indiana University of Kokomo for four years studying English literature. She found herself fascinated by the manipulations required and used throughout civilized time to enlighten the masses to the realities of politics, religions, and prejudices. She has two daughters and four wonderful grandchildren. Both of her sons have passed on to the hereafter, and she confesses that she still misses them every day. Therein lies the inspiration for Living On and her quest for the answer as to whether or not she will embrace them again. “I truly believe I will.”

Book preview

Contents

Part I

The Reaper Comes Calling

Chapter One

Doubt

Chapter Two

First One

Chapter Three

Then Another

Part II

Death Comes to Us All

Chapter Four

A Rude Awakening

Chapter Five

Fictitious Truths

Chapter Six

The Wait

Chapter Seven

The Reckoning

Part III

What Was

Chapter Eight

Time

Chapter Nine

Evolution

Chapter Ten

A Need is a Need was a Need

Chapter Eleven

P & L

Chapter Twelve

The Basic Five

Part VI

What Is

Chapter Thirteen

A Piece of God

Chapter Fourteen

Making Choices

Chapter Fifteen

Emotions

Chapter Sixteen

The Elaboration

Chapter Seventeen

Dante’s Folly

Part V

What Will Be

Chapter Eighteen

Melding

Chapter Nineteen

The Preview

Chapter Twenty

The Transformation

Epilogue

Part I

The Reaper Comes Calling

There was a time before cell phone mania, the 9/11 airport security measures, the computer age, and the seat belt laws of the late eighties. Jeffrey’s mortal self existed during that earlier period.

Chapter One

Doubt

Jeffrey looked westward through the tall narrow farmhouse window. The portrait beyond the well-polished wooden frame meeting his gaze was cold and bitter – to the bone chilling, in fact, thus matching his spirits.

What does it mean to die? He whispered silently in the depths of his mind, but no response came to him from the Heavens above. Had he truly expected one?

He glanced off to the right at the thermometer hanging on the side of the garage. The gauge indicated that the temperature outside had dipped slightly below the freezing point. He shivered slightly.

By way of the cold front passing through during his sleeping hours, four inches of heavy wet snow had fallen to the ground, and regrettably, the dark grey clouds on the horizon held a sure promise of an encore performance later this very afternoon. The mid-morning sun was shining radiantly down upon the acre and a half of lawn stretching between the house and the county line road. Its rays easily gave the viewer a false sense of warmth while the brilliant glare it created felt tangibly like sharp tiny darts repeatedly jabbing at his eyes.

He squinted hard as he searched the great outdoors for a reprieve from his angst. What is it with Death? He inquired internally as he stared out at the desolate rendering. Solemnly, he looked out further still searching for something, anything to rejuvenate his fallen morale until his eyes fell upon the highway leading north and south.

Sometime in the early morning hours street plows had cleared the roadway of the white fluff creating a dark wide strip. Jeffrey smiled slightly. Under different circumstances, he could have conjured up the beginning of a story of a moat protecting a castle from its enemies, and the old Jean would pitch in with finite details of some far off king about to invade their kingdom; only today, his sole enemy was uncertainty, and there was no protection to be found for its probing questions.

Why does death have to be inevitable? Why, pray tell, does the grim reaper seem to strike down upon those who are loved and cherished the most?

The malevolent picture on the other side of the glass pane felt painfully like a reflection of the turmoil existing within his very soul.

Normally, he didn’t mind winter much, but what could possibly be considered normal under the current circumstances?

Why didn’t death simply skip the good and bypass the innocent? Why does it not carry away only those who so viciously harbor true evil through and through? He remained frigid solemnly awaiting a response, but no answers revealed themselves to his straining ears.

The sprawling field beyond the road was filled with hardened clumps of soil complete with the frozen stubs left over from the corn stalks during the previous autumn’s harvest. For the moment, those protrusions remarkably resembled inverted spikes sticking hap hazardously upward as though intended for some torturous ritual by the devil himself.

Indeed, his frame of mind was desolate and undeniably full of doubt for the first time in his life. And for the first time, he could not shake off this unseen foe as it crossed hairs with everything he trusted and believed in relating to the God he worshipped and glorified and the Heaven he lived for.

He allowed his gaze to wander to where the ground kissed the sky, and in between he noticed a line of naked tree limbs stabbing at the ominously low snow filled cloud cover.

He shivered again.

During the passions of the summer months, he had barely been able to see the tops of those trees that grew along Lazy Creek more than a quarter of a mile across the field, but in the midst of this blistery cold day, he could see that far and beyond. Everything within his line of sight appeared lifeless, and the hostility of the howling January winds added little enthusiasm to his disposition. At this particular moment, he hated winter, or maybe, he just hated the cold emotions he felt within him.

Perhaps, they are right.

They being a collective representation of those who did not or could not believe that God existed or that life after death was feasible. His father was one such person - a pronounced atheist. He refused to believe in miracles, the Almighty, and especially in life after death.

We are conceived; John maintained adamantly one evening while debating religion with his youngest son. We live our lives; and we die. From that point, we become worm food. That’s it. There is no more for in my way of thinking no true and compassionate God would allow the atrocities I have seen take place.

Although he never divulged what those so called atrocities might have been, Jeffrey concluded that they must have been pretty darned horrific for nothing in his eighteen years on Earth could compare to the circumstances his father referenced.

Jeffrey had often speculated since that night that perhaps the allegation resulted from his father’s experiences during the Korean War. Still, in his youthful demeanor, he could not imagine anything so atrocious beyond what he had witnessed via the fictional television versions of combat. With that logic in mind, the soldiers never managed to stay dead. They came back to life to play in a new drama the following week or within the next year miraculously re-embellished with the grossly severed extremities. Appalling physical scars disappeared notwithstanding, and all was right with the characters once more.

But far beyond those disappearing physical scars, Jeffrey could not perceive the mental disparities incurred by the soldiers who literally engaged their enemies in the real world, nor could he fathom the psychological wear and tear incurred from the destruction of the constant bombings. He could not honestly imagine the weeping eyes of parentless children or comprehend the gripping pain of a bullet piercing a body’s flesh, severing arteries, shattering bones, and impaling one or more of the vital organs. There was no way for him to envision the mangled bodies awaiting identification or the agonies of those who knew of true battle fatigue.

Therefore, his father’s words were not enough to convince the youth to give up hope for a better world or in his faith of the ever after.

Slyly, the questions returned. Why do You allow Death to occur? He beseeched of the God he adored. Why do You create so much pain and agony for those left behind to bear? The menacing silence gave way as doubt steadily crept into his inner mind. Perhaps dad is right? Perhaps, there is no more life beyond our time on Earth. He closed his eyes as the possibility took root much like the overbearing weeds in his mother’s flower gardens.

Instantly an inner voice admonished the thought. "No, there is more, his conscience reassured him. There is a Heaven."

Yes, there is more, he confirmed in a hushed tone as he turned away from the window.

His eyes fell upon his sister sitting quietly on the sofa staring unknowingly at nothing. It was her son - her future quarterback for the Cleveland Browns - who had brought about the uncertainty in Jeffrey’s resolve.

At best, he understood that she was hurting but by no means could he begin to comprehend the depths of her pain. Helplessly, he watched as she suffered the complexity of her grief. It was her burden that was so difficult for him to bear. For all of the days he could remember she had been his mentor and best friend. Now, when she irrefutably needed his support, he felt at a loss on how to lift her from her darkness.

Where does one begin to console the grieving? He wondered desperately. What happens to the dead? Maybe that is what I need to know to restore her confidence that all will be well.

The silence remained tautingly as no solution swept miraculously upon him.

Chapter Two

First One

Disheartened, Jeffrey’s thoughts traveled in time to the early days of his fifth year. Joseph, the oldest of his nine siblings, had been killed in a car accident due to the wintry road conditions or so he was told. While the recollections of his brother were vague, the youth remembered well the emotional upheaval he witnessed in his mother. She had cried often and for no apparent reason. For how long, he could not recall, but he did recall the condolences offered by the many well-wishers, clergy, and friends. In hindsight, they were all good words to be spoken for all of the obvious reasons, although they hadn’t seemed to ease his mother’s angst.

Out of his mother’s earshot the words that fell to his ears were less consoling.

There is no greater trepidation than for a parent to bury a child. Jeffrey overheard an elderly gentleman proclaim. It has to be the greatest burden to bear.

The young child then overheard an aunt relay to his mother that Joe was in a much better place now. He was in Heaven.

Now that comment literally made little sense to the youngster for wasn’t his brother simply asleep in the blue box on the platform? Why didn’t someone just wake him up? Then, his mommy could be happy again.

Being the confused tot that he was and in need of some sort of explanation, he innocently asked those towering over him, But where is Heaven? Can’t we visit him there?

Several of the patronizing adults actually laughed out loud at his remarks while others surrounding the youth smiled condescendingly. They commenced to explain to him that Heaven was a place high above the sky where even rocket ships cannot fly.

Then, why did Joe go there? the boy further inquired.

He went there because it was his time, a kindly woman announced. See, Jeffrey, Heaven is the place where good people go when they pass on from this planet to the nether world. There is a beautiful pearly white gate barring its entrance from all evil, and a wise gentleman so named as St. Peter who stands beside it with a list consisting of the names of all those who may pass through to the glory of life beyond it. Gold paves its streets while jewels such as diamonds, rubies, and emeralds furnish it with light. There is never any sadness in Heaven, and angels with feathered wings tend to your every need.

But you must beware, another interjected as if providing him with a sacred but grave warning, if you misbehave too much or too often and St. Peter learns of it, he immediately removes your name from those who may pass him by and your soul is sent straight to the eternally burning fires of hell.

The child grimaced as he recalled the foreboding fear that penetrated his world of innocence and engulfed his subconscious when he considered the consequences of being naughty or disobedient. More than one nightmare resulted in the months that followed due to his naive but traumatized mind. He made the unyielding choice to be on his best behavior for the remainder of his mortal days, or at least, to the best of his ability to do so.

He vowed to relentlessly obey his elders and attended church religiously every Sunday. The members of his parish quickly grew accustomed to his presence after services as he skipped about gathering the hymnals, bulletins, and whatever else a parishioner may have left behind. As he grew older, he joined Bible study groups as they availed themselves and passionately practiced being righteous.

He volunteered to help in the numerous activities provided for those less fortunate and was an active member of the church choir. He trusted in the Almighty and prayed persistently for all the right things to happen to all of the right people. When questions arose regarding his faith in God he trusted in the logical explanations offered by the deacons and clergy and moved on. His good nature and constant smile became a motivation for all who crossed his path in life, and no one he met would hesitate to believe in his unwavering devotion.

And perhaps in the end good deeds, hard work, and persistence provide their own just rewards.

At seven, two years after Joe’s death, the boy begged for a set of drums. His mother finally agreed but only if he promised to practice on them in the far barn. It took him a while, but eventually the annoying banging resembled a consistent and rhythmic pattern. The time came time when he opted to add to his musical exploits so he diligently saved every coin and dollar he earned mowing yards, raking leaves, and shoveling snow for a guitar at the age of ten. In his eleventh summer, he was strumming the sunsets away while entertaining his parents on their spacious front porch.

In his first year of high school, he decided to try the clarinet and even toyed with the trombone. He had grown to love music as much as music loved him. He joined the chorus in school; and played with a Christian band on the weekends, performing often at revivals and the numerous other social functions about town.

During the course of the past six months, he had managed to compose three songs of his own creation for their debut compact disc; not to mention the ribbons and trophies he had acquired from his many competitions throughout his teen years. His voice grew strong and enchanting, and those who heard him sing felt his innermost spiritual strength flowing within them.

It was not surprising that in his junior year of high school, he received an offer for a four-year scholarship to a prestigious music college in Tennessee. He was anxious about leaving the homestead and braving the world so young, but Jean had trumped his every excuse repeatedly.

She relentlessly waylaid any doubts he conveyed and instilled upon him the benefits of expanding his horizons. Three days prior to the deadline of May 10th of the previous year, he chose to accept the promising opportunity for growth. Having had graduated mid-term in his senior year, he was to begin his first collegiate semester in three short weeks taking something his counselor had referred to as core classes. He was nervous, but life had been good to him thus far; he prayed hard that his good fortune would continue.

He had grown to be a handsome young man, too, having had just turned eighteen in December. His thick wavy blonde hair and sky blue eyes accentuated his well-defined facial features, which blended prominently well with the six-foot-two, broad shouldered muscular framework. He felt he was a privileged individual indeed to have inherited such well-defined traits.

‘He knew not a stranger’ many would say because of his easy going personality. His faith in humanity, his belief in a better world, and his sincerity were ever present upon any given introduction. And even with all of his personal endeavors, he never seemed to falter in showing genuine concern for anyone who may have crossed his path.

But on this day, confusion muddled his mind. Watching his sister in so much anguish tore a gaping hole in his eagerness for his upcoming transition to adulthood. He prayed for hours to find a way to help her, but unfortunately, His God was not providing him with guidance. His thoughts again recessed. This time they unfolded upon the Saturday past.

~

The phone rang shortly after eight that morning. It’s mighty early to be getting a call from Iowa. He teased upon hearing his sister’s voice on the other end of the line.

Jean had adamantly boasted that she rarely got out of bed before nine on that particular day of the week for any reason. That was her husband’s day to care for the little ones giving her the morning off from her mothering duties.

Allen proudly took on the responsibility as his employment consumed him throughout the week often keeping him away from his home and family until late in the evening or on occasion even overnight. He enjoyed the picnic breakfasts he served in front of the early morning cartoons and the outings to the park, zoo, movies, or the riding stables in the early afternoons with his otherwise estranged children.

I need to speak with mom, she hoarsely whispered into the receiver.

What’s up? her younger brother asked with his usual verve.

Please, Jeff, just let me talk to mom. She pleaded urgently.

Her little brother felt impaired by her unyielding refusal to confide in him as to the cause of the distress in her voice. Concerned, he hovered close by as Marie took the phone from him.

Hello, she jested as she knowingly winked at her son. Isn’t it a little early for you to be up and about on a Saturday morning?

The young man watched the smirk disintegrate from his mother’s lips. She sank swiftly onto the chair beside the desk as a sudden wave of shock overcame her senses and weakened her in the knees.

Oh, my God. What happened?

Despair became all too evident in both her facial expression and her voice as she listened earnestly, and then there was silence.

How are you holding up? she asked, as more silence fell to Jeffrey’s ears.

Finally, she asked Jean to call with more details as they became available and informed her that she would make all of the necessary arrangements on this end. She placed the phone back in its cradle and inhaled deeply as she, too, ignored Jeff’s probing questions.

Reaching into the top desk drawer, she pulled out the phone book and leafed through to the yellow pages. She stopped in the F’s as Jeffrey peered over her shoulder. It wasn’t long before he understood that the newest member of the family, Seth Allen, had suddenly passed away during the night.

How’d he die? Jeffrey asked when she hung up after her third call.

SIDS. It’s short for Sudden Infant Death Syndrome, she explained to him. Jean said she found him at four this morning when she went to give him his feeding. Apparently, he had already turned blue. The doctors made a strong effort to revive him, but it was too late. Basically, he stopped breathing in his sleep.

Her look was somber, and Jeffrey felt it was not advisable to press on for any more information.

In the hours that ensued, he struggled to understand how anyone could just stop breathing in their sleep or otherwise. He even attempted to hold his breath on several occasions, but in less than three minutes, his autonomic reflexes forced him to suck in the much-needed oxygen. People don’t just quit breathing, he decided. It happens to be a necessary part of being alive. But then, that was the point. The baby was not alive; it had died.

As the day progressed, family members assembled at the country home as word of the tragedy spread through the grapevine. The foremost concern on everyone’s mind remained fixed on their sister. ‘How is she?" they would ask when they arrived. Their mother repeatedly relayed all that she knew, but obviously, she knew very little. As they sat congregated at the kitchen table waiting to hear from Jean, constant speculation, remorse, and compassion filled the conversation.

The phone rang often throughout the afternoon and early evening. Each recurrence would startle the clan to complete stillness until the source at the other end of the line was revealed. One could literally hear everyone exhale as the caller’s identity turned out to be another well wisher or curious town gossip. Then, the guesswork would renew itself as each mutely gave appreciation to the fact that it was not one of their own children that had brought forth the gathering.

Shortly after seven, Jean called back to relay the details of the funeral arrangements and more importantly their travel plans. She didn’t remain on the phone long and declined the pleas of her siblings for a moment of her time. She was tired - exhausted really, and didn’t want to converse with anyone. Marie understood her daughter’s need for some time to accept her child’s fate and supported her decision not to respond to their requests.

Over the next hour, Jeffrey’s remaining seven brothers and sisters with their respective spouses and children dwindled to their own homes while probing within their minds as to what could possibly be going through Jean’s. By eight-thirty, Jeffrey and his parents were alone again each leaving the other to their own private thoughts.

As the clock struck nine, Jeffrey decided to call it a day. He felt tired from all of the hubbub and stress. It was out of the norm for him, he supposed, as he lay in bed. Jean had never declined a conversation with him; his concerns focused on her emotional well-being.

John, too, rose from his chair at the head of the table and donned his coat. He stepped outside in the cold to smoke a cigarette and stare at the black night sky. Marie didn’t hear him come in twenty minutes later and retire. She was oblivious to all that surrounded her now, and in the solitude, she cried.

Throughout the day, flashbacks had infested her thoughts to the day when she learned of her eldest son’s fatal accident. She recalled the emotional upheaval she suffered, the anguish, the sleepless nights, and the grief. It felt as though it was nothing more than yesterday as the wounds to her heart throbbed from the painful recollections. Her greatest wish was that none of her children ever meet that same fate. Now, one had and to bury one’s child truly was the hardest trepidation Marie had ever incurred in her lifetime.

In retrospect, Joe wasn’t her only dance with death. She had also lost both of her parents and her first husband, Vincent. Vinnie, too, had died in a car accident leaving her as a widow with six children, three teen-age boys and two up and coming young girls. Jean had been less than a year old at the time.

As it was, John became her hero really. He accepted a lot when he asked her to marry him with her rather large brood of grief stricken children.

In the wee hours of the morning, she rose from her chair, turned off the lights, and sauntered to bed with tear-strained eyes although her mournful heart kept her from finding a moment of rest.

~

On Sunday afternoon Jean called again. This time it was to inform the family of the changes to her travel plans. Allen would still be driving out with their three remaining children, Little Marie, Shane, and Lynne, on Monday, but it was her intention to fly in with the infant. Allen had profusely objected to the arrangement, but in the end, she had won the argument. Her flight would arrive around 8:30 on Monday morning providing that there were no weather delays.

John contacted his boss at home to explain the family crisis and asked for some time off. Without hesitation, Jeffrey begged for permission to tag along.

Early the following morning, the two set out on the seventy-six mile journey to meet his sister’s plane. His father seemed unusually quiet as he stared at the road stretching out before them. His thoughts, like Marie’s, ached for the history it had survived. His memories wandered aimlessly between the soldiers that had died at his side in battle, his own parents, and Joseph. His sympathies for his stepdaughter were empathetic as he felt the devastating pain still living within him as well.

Death is cruel and takes life at will. It never seems fair. It never seems righteous. More so, it is a wicked thing. Better it be that on one’s fifty-eighth birthday their time on Earth should automatically terminate than for so many to experience grief through the reaper’s whim.

Jeffrey had to bring his father’s mind back to Earth as he almost drove by the exit to the airport.

~

As Jean stepped out of the vestibule, the two barely recognized her with her drawn face and the dark circles surrounding the sockets of her lifeless hazel eyes. She wore no make up; her hair was disheveled, and even her clothing was rumpled and in disarray. Jeffrey’s thoughts traveled invariably to the homeless people he had witnessed on a field trip to the science center when he was still a freshman in high school. Maybe, he should be embarrassed for her.

Without giving the slightest acknowledgement to either her father or her brother she crossed over to the plate glass window and stared at the activities on the ground below where several attendants busily off-loaded the luggage from the plane’s cargo hold. Jeff approached her from behind and peered over her shoulder just as two of the men carefully removed the tiny casket and placed it into the rear compartment of the limousine sent by the funeral home. They handled the all too tiny white box with the utmost respect for the inert body within. Jeffrey was profoundly grateful for their prudence. Do they know she is watching?

He tenderly touched Jean’s shoulder, and she audibly winced as she turned to face him. Looking at her even closer, he wondered when she had last slept. Her glassy-eyed gaze immediately slipped back to the actions outside the transom, but it was too late; the vehicle was driving off with her son hidden inside its black tinted windows. She stood silently watching the pavement for several minutes after the car had disappeared between the outlying buildings.

Do you have any luggage? Jeffrey asked breaking her trance.

No. she whispered.

Come along then, he instructed as he took her by the arm and gently led her to the parking garage.

~

On the drive home, her eyes remained fixated on the nothingness that whizzed by at sixty-five miles per hour. On several occasions, her younger brother attempted to draw her into conversation, but his father gave him a look that implored him to let it go for now. Leave her to her thoughts, John told his son when they stopped to fill the gas tank and grab something to drink. She needs that more.

~

Allen called a little while ago from the rest area just this side of Chicago. Marie declared as the trio entered the house. He wanted me to let you know that all was well, and that he should be here around three this afternoon. He thought you would want to know that he stopped in Chicago and fed the little ones lunch. The way he spoke they were asleep in the back seat. Her voice was anxious as she studied her daughter’s unkempt appearance. It wrenched savagely at her heart.

Jean nodded, and after answering a few of their questions as best she could, she excused herself to the living room and the sofa where she studied the floor in complete mental isolation. Jeffrey followed her with a brush in hand and quietly eased it through her tangled tresses. She seemed unaware of his efforts as she gave little notice to his presence.

~

Her children rejoiced when they re-united with their mother after the long drive. They rushed to her side filled with exciting tales of their adventure. She smiled weakly as she gave them each a hug, and after a short reunion she sent them scurrying off to relay all of the details to Gramma.

Donnie, the oldest of the siblings, and his family arrived around four with a large platter of home fried chicken, and Ronnie followed shortly behind him toting a platter of sliced ham equal in size. By 4:30 several other family members and friends arrived with various dishes to accompany the meats. Dinner was served as a casual affair and everyone ate except Jean. She refused all offers adamantly asserting that she wasn’t hungry and that she had eaten on the plane. No one bothered pointing out how many hours had passed since then.

Allen badgered his wife of seven years for her lethargic behavior throughout the evening as his frustration with her behavior was becoming all but too obvious.

As the following day wore on, his constant nipping became a nuisance. He needled her for not keeping her poise and snipped at her to stop with the whiny whimpering while insisting she care for the children they still had living.

His pestilence fell to deaf ears as she withdrew further and further from those surrounding her. He went so far as to blatantly order her to snap out of her shell. At that point, she frantically pleaded with him to at least allow her the time it took to bury the one that was dead before he asked any more from her. Her words cut deep, but he remained resolute in his opinion that the ones at her feet were in dire need of her attention.

~

Two days prior to his death, Seth had been in to see the pediatrician for his first shots. The doctor was impressed with the