reached for those words that had so touched, yet
pained, her heart. Kevin’s letter rose even higher toward the clouds, far beyond Anna’s grasp.
With a moan of frustration, Anna sank despondently to the sand. She sat there staring at her letter, helplessly watching as
it gently drifted to the sea below. The paper first rode the swells, then surrendered to the rhythm of the ocean. Anna stood
up and wandered into the water, oblivious to the cold waves pounding at her feet. She watched as Kevin’s words disappeared
into the sea.
As the letter slowly faded from her sight, a very strange sensation came over Anna. She felt the wounds that had just reopened
in her heart slowly close, then permanently fade away. And, once the raw shock of this revelation had sunk into her awareness,
she experienced a peacefulness that made all the pain disappear.
It wasn’t until she was on her way back on the North Road that she realized John had walked toward the lighthouse, not the
road.
Anna pinched her arm more than once on that ride back to Tisbury. Exhausted from the experience, she began to focus on all
the questions she wished she had asked John. She should have asked about Beth. Of course, she wanted to know a lot more about
Kevin. She had questions for Father John Duffy, the priest. Or were they questions for John Duffy, Ph.D., the theologian?
Questions for a theologian she could entertain; questions for a priest were too much for her exhausted mind to handle.
She gave herself permission to relax and not think about any of it. She would call Becky in a few days when she had sorted
things out, and find out how to reach John. He, too, was going to want to stay in contact with her now—she was certain of
that.
Anna checked her watch as she pulled onto State Road. It was close to one o’clock. She’d be cutting it close as usual, barely
making her flight, but this time she had an excuse no one would believe. This is a story that is mine and mine alone to keep,
she thought, missing Beth more than ever. For a brief, fleeting moment Anna actually wondered if she might be losing her mind.
She then looked down at the bruises that were beginning to appear on both arms, examined her reflection in the window, and
smiled.
“No, Annie, you are not losing your mind,” she heard Beth say. “This weekend has just been an experience that your mind is
having difficulty accepting.”
Grief does strange things to folks, Anna thought, and accepted that feeble explanation so she could focus on getting packed
and to the airport in time for her flight.
Pulling back out onto State Road, Anna remembered that she had never checked the answering machine. Well, it was probably
Becky or Chris, and if it was important enough, they’d get in touch with her later. She looked at her watch and saw that she
had miraculously changed clothes, cleaned her muddy shoes, and packed in time to be on her way by 1:55. She was grateful it
was November and not the summer tourist season as she noticed that her Explorer was the only vehicle on the road.
As she drove down the country road toward the little airport, she remembered the stories her mother had told her about women
whose lives had changed in an instant. Women who had lost husbands or children, in a time when it was not all that unusual
or unexpected to suffer such a loss as part of life. Families were so much bigger then, Anna thought, and certainly much closer
in a physical, if not an emotional, sense. Not that that was comfort to the survivors; the losses were still tragic and forever
changed people’s lives.
On Anna’s street back in the fifties and early sixties, there had been close to a hundred children of all ages, and all the
families had two parents, except for one where the father had died. All the mothers were at home, hanging wash, talking to
each other over backyard fences, and creating all sorts of good smells in their shiny white
pained, her heart. Kevin’s letter rose even higher toward the clouds, far beyond Anna’s grasp.
With a moan of frustration, Anna sank despondently to the sand. She sat there staring at her letter, helplessly watching as
it gently drifted to the sea below. The paper first rode the swells, then surrendered to the rhythm of the ocean. Anna stood
up and wandered into the water, oblivious to the cold waves pounding at her feet. She watched as Kevin’s words disappeared
into the sea.
As the letter slowly faded from her sight, a very strange sensation came over Anna. She felt the wounds that had just reopened
in her heart slowly close, then permanently fade away. And, once the raw shock of this revelation had sunk into her awareness,
she experienced a peacefulness that made all the pain disappear.
It wasn’t until she was on her way back on the North Road that she realized John had walked toward the lighthouse, not the
road.
Anna pinched her arm more than once on that ride back to Tisbury. Exhausted from the experience, she began to focus on all
the questions she wished she had asked John. She should have asked about Beth. Of course, she wanted to know a lot more about
Kevin. She had questions for Father John Duffy, the priest. Or were they questions for John Duffy, Ph.D., the theologian?
Questions for a theologian she could entertain; questions for a priest were too much for her exhausted mind to handle.
She gave herself permission to relax and not think about any of it. She would call Becky in a few days when she had sorted
things out, and find out how to reach John. He, too, was going to want to stay in contact with her now—she was certain of
that.
Anna checked her watch as she pulled onto State Road. It was close to one o’clock. She’d be cutting it close as usual, barely
making her flight, but this time she had an excuse no one would believe. This is a story that is mine and mine alone to keep,
she thought, missing Beth more than ever. For a brief, fleeting moment Anna actually wondered if she might be losing her mind.
She then looked down at the bruises that were beginning to appear on both arms, examined her reflection in the window, and
smiled.
“No, Annie, you are not losing your mind,” she heard Beth say. “This weekend has just been an experience that your mind is
having difficulty accepting.”
Grief does strange things to folks, Anna thought, and accepted that feeble explanation so she could focus on getting packed
and to the airport in time for her flight.
Pulling back out onto State Road, Anna remembered that she had never checked the answering machine. Well, it was probably
Becky or Chris, and if it was important enough, they’d get in touch with her later. She looked at her watch and saw that she
had miraculously changed clothes, cleaned her muddy shoes, and packed in time to be on her way by 1:55. She was grateful it
was November and not the summer tourist season as she noticed that her Explorer was the only vehicle on the road.
As she drove down the country road toward the little airport, she remembered the stories her mother had told her about women
whose lives had changed in an instant. Women who had lost husbands or children, in a time when it was not all that unusual
or unexpected to suffer such a loss as part of life. Families were so much bigger then, Anna thought, and certainly much closer
in a physical, if not an emotional, sense. Not that that was comfort to the survivors; the losses were still tragic and forever
changed people’s lives.
On Anna’s street back in the fifties and early sixties, there had been close to a hundred children of all ages, and all the
families had two parents, except for one where the father had died. All the mothers were at home, hanging wash, talking to
each other over backyard fences, and creating all sorts of good smells in their shiny white
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