Angel in My Closet

By George Scanlon

An inspirational memoir short-story collection of controversial psychological, spiritual, philosophical, and sociological origins. Tom’s ten-year-old grandson blows his mind when he tells Tom that he saw his mother sitting in the closet after she died and told him, “Everything is going to be alright.” It inspires Tom to change his life.

Tom emerges from drug rehab a new man, taking self-revelation and being reborn to new heights as he embarks on a spiritual adventure, journey quest in psyche back to his youth in the voice of a ten-year-old child in search of the truth of how he made such a mess of his mind as he rewrites his past trauma and lows into highs because he was still an angel in God’s eyes.

Young Tom starts life as a fatherless child of a broken home—neglected with no role models or discipline. His curious nature for adventure in a world with no fences finds him running wild in the streets of south St. Louis and two years behind from failing in school. One step ahead of the social workers, he must figure out how to fit into a world that’s as broken as he is—religious fanatics, child molesters, poverty, racial hate, girls, bullies, and social injustice are conflicts he tries to make sense of, but all he can get is, “That’s just the way it is.” Feeling insecure and inadequate with low self-esteem, he’s falling fast as he searches for truth and facts to fix what is broken like new to rise up and account before he falls through the cracks.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 26, 2020
• ISBN: 9781984585585

George Scanlon

This author is thankful for the call to the angel in us all. He has hope and faith that the world will be a better place. He resides in St. Louis, MO.

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Copyright © 2020 by George Scanlon.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 07/06/2020

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Contents

Dedication

Acknowledgments

PART 1

Everything Is Going To Be Alright

Angel In My Closet

PART 2

In Search Of The Lost Chord

Sea Hunt

In The Beginning

The Bogeyman

Skating Rink Wall

Water Under The Bridge

The Beach

In Search Of The Giant Candy Cane

A Hole In The Roof Or A Whole New Roof

Don’t Feed The Swans

Easter

The Highlands

Kindergarten

First Grade

Dog Scraps

Empty Bottles

The Carnival

Men In Black

Battle At Wounded Ear

Lafayette Park

Puppy Love

Holy Crap

Park Avenue

Secrets

Gateway To The West

Lemon Cookies

‘N’ Means ‘No’

Patches

A Tale Of Two Pities

Frankenstein’s Dog

The Seeing-Eyed Teacher

Puff The Magic Dragon

Candy Apples

Out Of Order

The Schoolyard

The Next Step

Home Alone

Note From The Author

We The People

Dedication

This is for all the lonely people.

Acknowledgments

First and foremost, I’d like to thank my daughter Kerri, whose ultimate sacrifice saved my grandson Brian and me, and who I’d like to dedicate this book in her memory so that her life meant something for all posterity.

I’d like to thank my grandson Brian for speaking the words, Everything is going to be alright that inspired me.

I’d like to thank my niece and nephew Shanna and Brian Helms for answering God’s calling to give little Brian a loving Christian home and giving us all hope.

I’d like to thank my sister and brother-in-law Debbie and Tom Jasper for opening their hearts and home to me with open arms and letting me have the time to grieve and the serenity to write this book and find my peace.

I’d like to thank my daughter Shannon for opening her arms to let me be a part of her life again.

I’d like to thank my stepdad Kenneth Guethle for all his love and support and never-ending prayers and never giving up hope on me.

I’d like to thank Xlibris Publishing for their excellent professional service meeting all of my needs.

And last but not least, I’d like to thank my ex-landlord, Joyce Siliven, for her support and encouragement to write this book if only for me, and for letting me slide on the rent when I fell behind instead of throwing me out on my ear. She’s more than a landlord. She’s my lifetime friend.

Part 1

EVERYTHING IS GOING

TO BE ALRIGHT

Angel In My Closet

Kerri died on July 25th, 2016. She was only thirty-one years old. I remember the knock on the door at 2:30 in the morning, the hard, cold, impersonal knock mastered and reserved for only the police. There stood two state troopers in their official neat, pressed uniforms and wide-brimmed hats.

Does Kerensa Scanlon reside here?

Yes, she does, she’s my daughter.

There’s been a fatality on the highway.

I knew right then and there that she was dead. Oh no, no, no, no, no, no, I wailed. How many no’s does it take to take the real away from reality? I did not know. I fell apart on the officer closest to me, who had delivered the fatal news. He tried to back away, but I already had him embraced in a hug as I struggled to remain upright on weak, bended knees. He wasn’t prepared. I felt his body stiffen to a board. He must’ve thought that I was going for his gun or something by the way he backed up and forced me away from him. He wasn’t trained for sympathy. He wasn’t there to console or pacify. He was there to do his job. He stood there dumbfounded, red-faced from embarrassment that he momentarily feared for his life in his ignorance for compassion. It takes a lot of nerve for police officers to enter strange houses late at night to carry out their duties, but even more to be human. Being human can get you killed.

Well, they did their job and couldn’t get out the front door fast enough as the second officer stumbled into the first officer when the screen door jammed. I felt sorry for them in a way. I would have liked to have heard what they said to one another as they sped away and left me standing there in my nightmare.

I was up the rest of the night crying and trying to figure out how I was going to tell that ten-year-old little boy sleeping in the next room that his mommy was dead. The only thing that kept me from falling apart and losing my mind completely was knowing I was going to have to be strong enough to take care of that little boy. Little did I know at the time that it was going to be me who needed taking care of.

His daddy died of a drug overdose a few months before he was born. All he had was a couple of photographs of his dad and mom together for any idea of having a dad. I was all he had now, and it was going to be up to me to be strong and raise him the best I could.

Brian, wake up, honey. I lay beside him and held him in my arms. Wake up, honey. It’s time to wake up. Papa has something very important that he has to tell you.

What, Papa? Where’s Mommy?

That’s what I have to tell you. Mommy’s not here anymore. She never made it to Grandma’s last night. She was in an accident on the highway, and, well, she died and went to heaven. It’s just you and me now.

What time is it?

What do you mean, what time is it? Didn’t you hear what I just told you?

Yeah, I heard you. I’m supposed to start Bible school today. I want to go to Bible school.

You want to go to Bible school?

Yeah, Mommy wanted me to go to Bible school this week.

Are you sure, honey?

Yeah, I’m sure. Mommy wanted me to go.

I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, but if you want to go to Bible school, you can go to Bible school. I’ll walk you up there and pick you up later. You’re sure you’re going to be alright?

Yeah!

I couldn’t believe my own ears. Was he pretending not to understand the weight of what I had just told him? Was he pretending that it wasn’t real? Was he in shock? I know I was. I didn’t think it was normal behavior. I thought that he needed to be with me right now. He was taking this way too well, better than I was. Who was the child and who was the adult here?

What could I do? I got him dressed and took him to church.

I spoke to his teacher outside and explained to her what had happened and my concern. I told her to keep an eye on him.

I went home and cried my eyes out and wondered if I had handled this the right way.

Kerri’s mom called and she asked me if Kerri made it home alright because she never showed up at her house…a long silence.

Tom, hello, Tom?

Kerri’s dead, Kathy. She got run over by a Mack truck on the highway last night.

What! she screamed. Don’t say that!

What do you want me to say? I’m not kidding. Two state troopers were here at two-thirty in the morning and told me the news.

I heard her go into hysterics, screaming and crying. I heard my son, Tommy, asking her what was wrong, then more screaming. Tom said Kerri got run over by a truck last night on her way here and now she’s dead!

Hello, Dad?

It’s true, Tommy. Kerri’s dead.

Well, what happened?

I told you what happened. That’s all I know. I’ll let you know more when I know more. I have phone calls to make. Go take care of your mom. I love you.

What the hell did I just do? What kind of monster am I? I just got done criticizing the hard, cold, impersonal way the police delivered the news of Kerri’s death to me without any remorse or human compassion. At least they had an excuse. It wasn’t personal to them. They were just doing their job. What was my excuse? Does that make me a hypocrite? Or something worse? I think that I had it right the first time: a monster. Are monsters human? I think maybe they are.

Why would I choose to hurt this woman, my ex-wife, whom I had made a solemn oath to God to love and to cherish til death do us part? This woman I once loved and with whom I shared my hopes and dreams? This woman who had once been loyal to me, had cooked my meals, washed my clothes, cleaned and managed the house, raised my children, and provided a home?

I wanted to hurt her the way that I hurt. I had a choice to share our grief in losing the one thing that we got right together with consoling and compassion, or blaming ourselves separately in our own personal selfish grief for failing our daughter in her moment of need. I chose the latter.

I owe her an apology. She’ll never forgive me, at least not in her heart, but I need to ask to be forgiven just the same.

My daughter and I argued a lot, but we always forgave one another. I’m going to miss that sweet forgiveness. The love between a father and daughter, between Kerri and me, was the sweetest, purest, unconditional love I’ve ever known.

Dear God, dear Lord in Heaven, how am I going to get through this? How am I going to continue to live in this house, this empty house with so many memories? How can I drive by that fatal spot on the highway, where she took her last breath of air, day in and day out? How will I ever get the strength to go through her clothes and personal belongings and decide what to keep and what to throw away? How will I take care of Brian and fight my drug addiction? Dear God, help me!

I pondered these questions as I made the necessary phone calls to relatives and funeral arrangements. I watched myself from a place outside myself go through the motions.

I picked Brian up from church and asked his Bible school teacher how he did. He did fine, she said.

Did you notice if he cried at all?

No, we did arts and crafts and rehearsed the play we’re having at the end of the week. He was alert and talkative and interacted quite well with the other children, I thought.

That’s what bothers me. He should show a little remorse, don’t you think? I mean, am I right?

Well, you might give him a little time. It’s hard to say just now. Everyone handles death and loss differently, even little boys.

He’s handling this better than I am!

Well, we’ll see. Be patient. He’ll express himself in his own way and in his own time.

I knew she was right, but I would have felt a lot better if he would have shed at least one tear. I was concerned that he might develop feelings of resentment and abandonment that I knew I felt from my own childhood. To not be able to let anyone get too close to you, to build a wall that no one can cross over, to not be able to trust someone enough to give all your love to. Trauma like that can do that to you. I wanted him to be healthy in knowing that he was loved. I didn’t want him to think that he wasn’t enough for his mother to live for.

Upon our return home from church, I noticed several yellow flowers blooming from the cactus that Kerri had planted several months ago underneath the tree outside the front door that I hadn’t noticed before. How long ago had it bloomed? Brian and I walked right past it on our way to church, and neither one of us noticed it. I asked him about it. It was the first time he noticed it too. Very strange. Very strange that cactus would bloom today of all days. I remember when she planted it. I told her not to, that she would just be wasting her time, but she already had her mind made up, so I said no more about it. I don’t know anything about cactus plants, and that pretty much proves it. I didn’t think it would grow, but I guess if they can grow in the desert, then they can grow anywhere. It was the blooming part that would weigh heavily on my mind for years to come. Very strange. Very strange indeed.

I had a hard time trying to keep my mind busy. It kept trying to slip into oblivion. I kept telling myself that I wasn’t going to get high anymore. I couldn’t. I had to stay strong for Brian, but somewhere in the back of my mind, I kept thinking of when I might have an opportunity to do just that. That’s the nature of the beast: the more you feed it, the more it grows until it takes over your thinking and demands to be fed. It truly is a disease. They say that if you work with your mind, that your mind will work with you, but I hadn’t worked with my mind in a long time. It was going to be a struggle for control, and I damn well knew it. Dealing with the guilt, grief, and shame of my daughter’s death was not going to be a good time to confront my demons and come out on top. It was the most traumatic experience of my life at the worst time imaginable. How was I going to deal with it? Help me, God.

God works in mysterious ways. He’s not supposed to give us more than we can bear. Well, He gave me more than I could bear, and He most certainly gave Kerri more than she could bear, and He damn well knew it. That’s why He sent me Shanna and Brian, my niece and her husband. It was just a coincidence that Brian’s real dad and Shanna’s husband had the same name. One of the many coincidences that made me wonder. They wanted to adopt Brian, and I knew in my heart that it was God’s will.

Shanna had two failed pregnancies and it was too risky and heartbreaking of an ordeal to go through again. They were young and they both had good jobs, but more importantly, they loved Brian and could provide a good Christian home for him. They could do so much more for him than I could. I mean, it was a no-brainer.

Needless to say, it left me free to go where I was longing to go. I fell into an abyss of full-blown drug addiction, the likes of which I had yet to explore. I was on a mission, a mission to self-destruct. I stopped trying to manage my life. I stopped paying my bills and threw them in the trash can without even glancing at them. All my money went for drugs. I lost my car. I lost everything, including my self-respect. I was spiritually and morally bankrupt. I isolated myself inside my house and wouldn’t talk to anyone. I even stopped eating. I lost so much weight that I couldn’t even get up without getting dizzy. Finally I checked myself into rehab. I needed taking care of. I would get myself back to health only to start all over again. Of course I told myself all along that I wouldn’t. It’s easy to do when you’re in a controlled environment, talking all that good talk when you can’t get any drugs anyway. Walking the walk when you can get them is not so easy.

I did pretty good for a time. I couldn’t stop thinking about that damned cactus. It really messed with my mind. In a good way, though. It made me feel close to Kerri, that somehow she and that cactus were spiritually connected. I’ve always believed in God. God, help me do this. God, help me do that. God has always been here. God is God. But that’s about the extent of it. I mean, I don’t have any degrees in theology, philosophy, psychology, or what-have-you. They’ve been trying to figure it out since the beginning of time, have even fought wars over it since the beginning of time. Who the hell am I? I’m nobody. I’m not going to kill anyone over it and not even going to argue about it. I’ve never tried to figure out the nature of God before, but now I’m beginning to wonder if God might be nature. It’s that damned cactus. It was really doing a number on me. I thought that maybe Kerri was trying to help me stay grounded to my sobriety. I could use all the help I could get, so I thought on it even more because I needed more.

About that time my best friend called me. I hadn’t seen him for a spell because I was staying away from people who were using. He had gotten evicted and was out on the street with nowhere to go. I told him about the drug rehab I went to and how it helped me to get clean and back on my feet. He agreed to go because I told him he couldn’t stay here. After he completed the program, he still didn’t have anywhere to go, so I let him have the back bedroom where Kerri used to sleep until he could find a place of his own and get on his feet. Well, it wasn’t long before we both were using again, and he never got around to getting his own place.

It was the same result all over again. I stopped paying the bills again. All my money went for drugs. I isolated myself from family and friends until they all washed their hands of me.

I called my stepdad and told him straight out that I wouldn’t be going fishing with him this year because I was using. I knew he wouldn’t want me in the boat with him, and I didn’t want to be where I wasn’t wanted. He agreed! I told him I was too weak. All I did was cry all day. Drugs and sleep