1989
Jillian’s Journal
January 1, 1989
Mom and Leni Jo are spending the day together, and this gives me a few moments to myself. Since Monty’s death, the holidays have been especially difficult. Being alone has been a painful adjustment. I never thought I’d be a widow at thirty-eight, but then I didn’t expect Nick to die at age twenty, either. Life is full of unpleasant and unwelcome surprises.
Even now, a little over two years after Monty died, I struggle with bitterness and self-pity. My emotions are like an undertow, and the current is deadly and silent. Just keeping my head above water is a struggle. The only one who knows how hard these past years have been is Lesley. I dare not let on to Mom or Leni Jo how I feel. For them I put on a smile and pretend.
I’ve discovered something noteworthy about pretending. It’s a highly underrated skill. I’ve gotten quite good at it. Good enough to almost fool myself into believing I’ve adjusted to widowhood. There are days I pretend I’m happy to such a successful degree, I actually feel that way. Some days it completely slips my mind that Monty won’t be walking in the door just in time for dinner. It’s late evening before I remember that my husband and I won’t be snuggling in front of the fireplace or reading briefs together. For Leni Jo and my mom, I can pretend, but at night, when I’m alone in our bed, the reality chokes me.
I don’t believe I’ve slept an entire night since Monty was diagnosed with cancer. Certainly not since his death. Some nights I wake and just stare at the wall. Every man I have ever loved has died. Nick, my father, my unborn son, and now my husband. But I can’t allow the losses in my life to diminish the good things. It’s times like this—when the weight of my grief nearly overwhelms me—that I pause and remember everything I do have. My daughter is my very heart, and my mother is healthy and whole. I have a satisfying career that keeps me focused and challenged. Lesley has been my best friend my entire life, and without her I don’t know what I would’ve done.
Monty left me well enough off that I need never worry about money. I can work or not, whatever I desire. Yes, there’s been great pain in my life, but on the other hand I have much to be grateful for.
Okay, onward and forward. This is the dawn of yet another year. Leni Jo turned eleven in November and astonishes me with her wonderful, wry sense of humor. Not surprisingly, my daughter and my mother are the very best of friends. They spend at least part of every day with each other. Often when I get home, the two of them already have dinner started. Mom is currently teaching Leni Jo to embroider tea towels and pillowcases. Their relationship is strong, bonded by love and laughter. In ways I can’t, Mom has helped Leni Jo deal with the loss of her father.
My antidote to grief has been painting. Daddy took up oil painting after he retired, and later Mom dabbled in it for a while. When Mom moved East, she sold quite a few of Daddy’s things, rather than transport them across the country. But she couldn’t bring herself to get rid of the oils and brushes. Not knowing what to do with them, she gave the whole kit and caboodle to me. I put the equipment in a closet and completely forgot about it until just recently.
To my surprise, I’ve discovered I enjoy painting. I don’t think I’m particularly gifted, but it calms my spirit. So far, I haven’t shown anyone my paintings (other than Leni Jo and Mom). I’ve done several small canvases now and am taking classes on Saturday afternoons. It’s my one indulgence.
I wonder what 1989 will hold. More work, of course! I’m grateful to have a demanding career, otherwise I might have allowed the tide of loss to sweep me beneath the surface. My friends are few in number, mostly peers and attorneys. My life is so hectic I can’t take the time to develop deep relationships. Lesley is and always will be my best friend.
Soon all her children will be raised and out of the house. David’s in the Army. He enlisted last year when the military offered him a way to receive advanced computer skills. He jumped at the opportunity, certain that computers are the wave of the future. Lesley wasn’t happy, since he didn’t discuss the decision with her or anyone else. He’s stationed in California and although he misses his family, he loves the work.
As for computers, I swear they’re taking over the world. Monty claimed that by the end of the century there’d be one in every home and I’m beginning to believe he is (was) right.
Lindy’s a sophomore, attending Pine Ridge Community College. Her note at Christmas mentioned that she’s considering medicine, but she enjoys her drama classes, too, and joined a community theater group. It wouldn’t surprise me if she went into nursing, like her mother and her aunt Susan; perhaps she’ll even become a doctor. I’m sure Lindy could accomplish anything she set her mind to. For years Lesley said that her daughter was the one most like Buck and in some ways she’s right. But Lindy has a lot of her mother in her, too, and no one should discount her ambition and drive.
Doug graduates from high school this year and is already talking about joining the military like his older brother. He sounds pretty determined. I doubt Lesley will be able to dissuade him.
Christopher is in his last year of junior high and making quite a name for himself as a cross-country runner. He’s good enough to run varsity for the high school, although technically he’s still in junior high. Last spring he was eligible to compete in the state tournament. Lesley derives a lot of pleasure from attending his meets. Dr. Milton has always been very flexible and accommodating, so there’s no problem about leaving the office early to watch Christopher run.
It won’t be long now before all the kids are gone and Lesley will be alone. I wonder if she’ll think about dating then. I hope she does—but if not, I’ll understand. I’ve been a widow for just over two years, and the thought of another relationship has no appeal. I can’t imagine that it ever will.
Brad Lincoln
30 Market Street
St. Simons Island, GA 31522
February 8, 1989
Dear James Murphy,
This address came from an old telephone book, so I don’t know if you’ll ever actually see my letter. I’m looking for the brother of Nicholas Patrick Murphy. The Nick I knew died in Vietnam in 1968. He often talked about his little brother, and I’m hoping you’re him.
Let me start by introducing myself. My name is Brad Lincoln. I don’t know if you remember Nick mentioning me, but I suspect he wrote home about me the same way I did him. After all these years you’ve probably forgotten my name. I’m hoping your memory will kick in, though. Your brother was the best friend I ever had. He saved my life and died doing it. I took his death hard. The only thing that kept me sane for the next few years was the knowledge that I would’ve done the same for him had the situation been reversed.
In the twenty-one years since Nam, I’ve married, had a couple of kids and made a decent life for myself. For the most part, I buried the experiences of war as deep inside me as I could. In other words, I did my damnedest to forget. But I want you to know I never forgot Nick. Not one day in all those years.
Last summer I visited the Vietnam War Memorial with my wife and kids, and made a point of looking up Nick’s name while I was there. I have to tell you I got pretty broken up when I saw it. You don’t need me to tell you that your brother was a good man. An honorable man. Plenty of guys cheated on their wives and girlfriends while they were in Nam, but not Nick. He loved his Jillian heart and soul. That’s what he always used to say—heart and soul—and it was true.
This brings me to the reason for my letter. I think Nick must’ve had an intuition about what was going to happen because he gave me something that belonged to Jillian and asked me to return it to her. He wrote a letter to go along with it. I’ve never opened the envelope.
When I got out of the hospital and home from the war, I tried to contact her, but her mother wrote and asked that I leave her alone. It’d only been a couple of years and Jillian was just beginning to get on with her life. Her mother didn’t want me disrupting whatever peace she’d found. I understood. I always intended to deliver this to her, but set it aside and waited for the right time.
She’s had more than twenty years to heal and so have I. At the Wall in Washington, D.C., Nick reminded me that I still hadn’t done the one thing he asked of me.
I wrote Jillian at the address I had for her, but the letter was returned. Apparently she doesn’t have any family left in Pine Ridge. Do you know where she is and how I might reach her?
Your help would be greatly appreciated.
Sincerely,
Brad Lincoln
LESLEY KNOWLES
March 5, 1989
Dear David,
It was great to hear your voice yesterday. You sounded so excited—although I have to tell you I don’t have a clue what you were talking about. I’m sorry, but the announcement of a million-transistor microchip doesn’t mean much to me. Thank you for explaining that a million transistors can fit on a surface half the size of a postage stamp, but I don’t see how that’s going to affect my life. Still, if you’re excited about this, it must mean good news for all of us.
I know it’s more than the news from Intel that prompted your phone call. You might not think I picked up on the fact that you mentioned your girlfriend. Meagan, you said her name was? It sounds as if this is more than a casual relationship. I’d love to meet her. You like this girl, don’t you? I’ve waited a long time for you to mention someone special. We’re very much alike, David. You’re careful and deliberate in your choices, which is the same way I approach relationships. Life has taught me that. And yet...there are chances worth taking. I don’t have a great deal of experience with falling in love, but I know you didn’t come to me for advice. You’ll have to trust your own emotions. Protect yourself—but not too much.
If Meagan’s the one to bring that smile to your voice, then I love her already. I want for you what every mother wants for her son—your happiness.
We’re all doing fine. There’s no need to rehash the news, but I will tell you that Lindy applied for the summer session at the University of Washington in the premed program.
Doug talked to a Navy recruiter yesterday. He’d enlist right now if it didn’t require my signature. I hope to God we don’t go to war any time soon with two of my sons in the military.
Christopher sends his love and says he wishes you were home again. So do I.
Some sad news. Dr. Milton’s wife was recently diagnosed with a brain tumor. Please pray for her. Both Dr. Milton and Gloria have been very good to all of us. I’m not sure what’s going to happen, since Dr. Milton isn’t one to bring his personal problems to the office, but her condition is obviously serious.
Take care of yourself and write when you can.
Love,
Mom
Leni Jo Gordon
April 3, 1989
Dear Exxon Company,
The pictures on television showed what happened when your tanker spilled 11 million gallons of oil in Prince William Sound in Alaska. You should be ashamed of yourself. My mother is a judge. You’re lucky you won’t appear in her court because she’s as angry with you as I am.
Sincerely,
Leni Jo Gordon
Age 11
LESLEY KNOWLES
May 14, 1989
Dearest Jillian,
Help, I’m in a panic! I just got word that the Army is transferring David to Panama. My son’s going to be down there with those rebels! From what the evening news said, we already have ten thousand troops in place. This is sounding scary.
David’s work so far has been with computers, but now he’s in the field and not behind some desk. You can understand why I’m freaking out. The kids think I worry too much. How can I not?
I’m still a little shell-shocked over David’s transfer, but your news was just as unsettling. So Brad Lincoln contacted you after all these years. Incredible! You’re going to meet him, aren’t you? Promise me you won’t let whatever he says upset you. It goes without saying that if you need to talk you can phone me anytime, day or night.
I have an idea. Last year we both turned 40—without any fanfare. It occurred to me that it’s been ages since the two of us had any serious time together. I’m thinking white sandy beaches, piña coladas and lots of sunshine. I generally take my vacation in October, but I’m game to go whenever you can fit me into your busy schedule.
Dr. Milton has been preoccupied with his wife’s condition and I don’t think he’ll care when I take my vacation. However, I do feel it’s important for me to be here during the next few months. Unfortunately things aren’t going well with Mrs. Milton. The tumor is inoperable and growing. I don’t need to tell you how devastating this is to their family. No one’s saying very much here at the office.
Get back to me about a “We’re 40 Getaway” vacation as soon as possible. Let’s kick up our heels and enjoy life while we can. The one truth I’ve learned is that life is both precious and fragile and needs to be grasped with all the passion we have inside us.
What’s that old saying? Life Begins at 40? Are you ready? Because I am!
Love,
Lesley
Outside Khe Sanh in South Vietnam
September 15, 1968
My dearest Jillian,
Word came just after dark that we’ll be lifting off at first light. The fighting lately has been fierce. I’ve seen good men die. The fact is, Jillian, I might not come home. Holding you, loving you and marrying you is all I care about. But the way things look here, I don’t know if that will be possible.
If you read this, the worst has happened. I know Brad will find a way to get this letter and my mother’s medallion back to you. There’s one thing I want you to know, and I hope you find peace with it. I’m not afraid of death. Not when it’s been an unwelcome passenger on damn near every mission I’ve flown. I don’t want to die, but I’ve come to believe in God and accept His will in my life, however long or short that is. Personally, I’d choose to end my days in some rocking chair with you at my side and a grandchild on my knee.
Your love for me is everything I’ll ever need. You believed in me and showed me I could be and do anything I want. If I die, Jillian, I want you to know that I will love you through eternity.
Remember how much I love you.
Nick
Doug Knowles
Senior Creative Writing Class
DYING TO BE FREE
It happened 200 years ago,
And it’s happening today.
In Boston it was a Tea Party
And freedom fighters of yesterday.
Now students stand in Tiananmen Square,
And their hearts are filled with dreams.
They have hopes for Democracy
And all that it brings.
The fire in their hearts
Is reflected in their eyes.
The rage of the army
Is heard in battle cries.
Their Goddess of Democracy
Lies crushed in the square.
She symbolized their purpose;
Now she warns each to prepare.
The cry for freedom is louder
Than any bell can toll.
The government can murder people
But never destroy their goal.
What began as a demonstration
Has begot civil war.
Deng hoped that by killing,
Things would return to ways before.
But people are no longer happy
With what used to be.
They are ready for a change.
They are dying to be free.
The Class of
Nineteen Hundred and Eighty-Nine
Pine Ridge High School
Announces its
Commencement Exercises
Sunday afternoon, June fourth
At three o’clock By Invitation only
LESLEY KNOWLES
June 5, 1989
Dear Doug,
Congratulations! You did your mother and your family proud this afternoon.
It looks like I’m not going to be able to change your mind about joining the Navy. All right, Doug, go ahead with my blessing. You’re a strong, capable young man, and you have a lot to offer.
Love,
Mom
July 14, 1989
Dear Mom and Christopher,
Davey was right, Basic Training is hard. It’s probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but I’m going to see it through.
I have some news. We were tested last week and remember how I always got top grades in French with hardly any studying? Well, it seems I have a flair for languages. That’s what the tests say. I talked with the Staff Sergeant, and he says I’ll probably be sent to Linguistic School. I asked him what languages I might be learning. I don’t hold out much hope that I’ll be taking French again, but who knows. It seems there’s an emphasis on the Middle Eastern languages, especially Arabic.
I got a letter from David and he’s hoping to get out of Panama soon. He complained about the heat and the bugs, but I think he’s missing Meagan more than anything.
Hey, Christopher, have you moved into my bedroom yet? You’d better not, ’cause I’ll come back and kick your butt if you do. I’ve learned a hundred different ways to maim and kill and I have no qualms about using any of them on you. PSYCH! It wouldn’t hurt to write your big brother once in a while, you know.
Take care,
Doug
LESLEY KNOWLES
August 4, 1989
Dearest Jillian,
I just got back from the travel agent’s and I’ve booked everything on my end. I’m so excited I feel like a kid again. The last real vacation I had was when I was thirteen and our family went camping.
I fly into Miami on October 17th with a plane change in Atlanta. My flight lands just fifteen minutes after yours. I’ll meet you at the gate and we can go collect our luggage together. We pick up the rental car at the airport. I don’t mind driving as long as you navigate.
I’ve never heard of the resort, but then how would I? Marathon Key. Any reason it’s named that? Not that it matters. I’d go just about anywhere as long as we could be together for nine glorious days. I’ve already got a few books I’m saving to read. One I’m bringing is The Joy Luck Club by Amy Tan. It really looks interesting.
Taking this time off isn’t going to be a problem at the office. Dr. Milton has booked a two-week cruise for him and his wife, also in October. She appears to be responding to the treatments. Dr. Milton is devoted to her. I’ve always respected him, but seeing how much he loves his wife gives me faith that there might be a good man in my future.
Christopher thinks it’s ridiculous that he has to go stay with Mom and Eric while I’m away. But I don’t feel right about leaving a fifteen-year-old boy on his own. I’m determined not to give in, even though he has a way of talking me around. I remember how Mom spoiled Bruce, and now I catch myself doing the same thing with my youngest.
I’m so anxious to see you, I can hardly stand it. Just two more months!
Love,
Lesley