Sanctuary of Mine (18 page)

I hear the screeching of rubber on the asphalt first. Someone is applying their breaks – hard. The next thing I hear is the thud of a body against crumpling glass. I can’t see my dad anymore and that scares the shit out of me. What I can see is a red Metrobus, at a complete standstill and holding up traffic. The light is still green up ahead. There is no reason it should be stopped. But I know. I know even on the surface that something horrible has just happened, yet my mind is not willing to go there yet.

Tyler is running fast. He rounds the front of the bus and I see his hands grip the side of his head, anguish written all over his face. He just stopped.
Dead.
It must be bad. Real bad. But I’m drunk enough to believe that this could be a horrible dream I might just wake up from if I shake myself really hard. I stumble carelessly towards Tyler, willing myself to keep moving, forcing each and every step so that I can keep putting one foot in front of the other.
Please be okay, please be okay.

I’m almost there, but already a crowd is gathering, halting my access to Tyler and my dad. I push through them; not hard, but I just keep moving.

‘Don’t come over here Mackenzie, just stay there!’ Tyler’s voice sounds hysterical, which is oddly out of place seems he is normally so controlled and confident. I ignore him, still moving. I know something bad is waiting, but like a train wreck, I just can’t help myself from taking a look.

Tyler

I have never seen a more sobering sight in my entire life. I can barely comprehend what I’m seeing and I know it has nothing to do with the amount of beers I’ve consumed tonight. Watching in slow motion as Mackenzie’s dad leapt out from behind the cars to catch the football was like a movie gone wrong. I wish there was something I could have done to stop it, but I know there is no way on earth I could have got to him in time. He seemed entirely unaware of the surrounding traffic, perhaps for a moment forgetting we’re in an urban jungle. He made the leap for the ball, and in doing so, came face to face with one of Sydney’s passenger transport buses.

Looking at him now, I can tell he hit the front windshield first before being sucked under the front wheels of the bus. He’s not moving, but then again, how the hell can you when your head is smashed in and your entrails are leaking out of your stomach that is crushed beneath the rubber tyres. Completely and utterly deflated, the popped football lies next to the carnage.

I’ve told Mackenzie to stay where she is. There is no way she would recover from seeing this. No way at all. But she keeps coming, as if drawn to the scene even though she must know it can’t be good. In the distance, I can hear the wail of an ambulance. Or maybe it’s a police car. Hard to tell when I feel like I’ve just landed in a horror movie. She’s close now, pushing through the last of the people who’ve formed a circle around the front end of the bus. Their exclamations speak volumes of the scene in front of them.

‘Please baby, stay there for me, will you?’ I plead with her, knowing it’s best for her to never see her dad like this. I mean, there is no doubt in my mind he’s dead. He’s not moving and his injuries look worse than anything I’ve even seen in a horror flick. But she keeps coming, like a moth to a flame. She rounds the front of the bus, her eyes zeroing in on the mess before her. A tiny sob escapes her throat before she turns sideways and empties the entire contents of her stomach. Bits of vomit splash against my shoes as I reach to pull her hair back from her face. This can’t be good. Not for her, not for me.

By the time her retching finally stops, the emergency services have both arrived. Police are moving bystanders away and are erecting drop sheets around the bus. Paramedics are assessing whether they can do anything to help her dad, but I already know it’s a lost cause. I can see the bus driver and passengers are being led away from the scene, several Constables taking down statements and offering counselling as they try to secure the area. George Street has erupted in chaos. Impatient drivers beep their horns, unsure of what the holdup is, while pedestrians fight for a glimpse of the body. Slowly, reporters start to trickle in, eager to get their vulture-like claws on the story. All the while, Mackenzie is shaking like a leaf in my arms, wailing uncontrollably. I’m at a loss as to what I should do for her. So, I do the only thing I can. I hold her. I stroke her head and shush her, trying to calm her down.

When it’s ascertained that there is no pulse and they do in fact have a deceased man on their hands, they turn their attention to us. I insist I’m okay, but I’m worried about Mackenzie. While she’s not hurt, she’s in a serious state of shock. When the paramedics try to get her into the ambulance, she erupts into a screaming fit that drowns out the external chatter.

‘Let me go! Let me go! You can’t leave him here, you can’t!’ I can see that the officers are going to have difficulty if I don’t step in. I pick her up in my arms and hold her tight against my chest, her tiny fists beating against my hardened muscle that feels every bit of her pain as she lashes out at me. But I don’t care. She can keep it up all she likes. I will still be here, holding her.

She cries, shedding tears from her eyes like the storm water drain run-off after the heavens have opened up. I carry her to the ambulance and hop in with her, still clutching her frame to me as we’re strapped onto the stretcher. They close the doors on the chaos, but it is far from silent inside. Each time she cries out, a little bit of my heart breaks for her. With the sirens on, we’re taken to the hospital so they can admit Mack and sedate her. After what she’s just seen, she’s going to need it.

We’re taken straight through the back entrance of the ER where reporters are already lining up with their cameras and flashes, keen to be the first to get an exclusive picture and be the first to go live with our breaking news story. If I didn’t have Mack in my arms, I probably would battle ram them all, just to get them the fuck away from her. But she’s more important, so I keep my head down and concentrate on her as we’re wheeled into the hospital on the stretcher.

After a doctor assesses her condition, he sedates her and instructs one of the orderlies to admit her to the hospital for the night. We’re taken up to the general ward where she’s placed in a private room. I’m grateful when the on-duty nurse informs me I’m welcome to stay with her, especially when I’m not legally her family. It’s almost one am, and it is the first time since the accident that I can actually hear myself think clearly. The medication they gave Mack to sedate her must have been strong because she’s out for the count, finally getting some rest from the nightmare of reality. In the dim glow of her room I pace back and forth wondering what the fuck I’m supposed to say to her when she wakes tomorrow. Right now
, though, I need to let her mum know what the hell has been going on.

I call their home telephone and am thankful when Jim answers. I’m not sure I can do another hysterical woman tonight. I’m man enough to admit, seeing Chris under the wheels of a bus has rattled me to my core. I relay what has happened and Jim tells me they’re on their way. Gratefully I sink into the visitor’s chair next to the bed and take hold of Mackenzie’s hand. Drifting into a fitful sleep, I pray like hell that she has the strength to come through this.

****

It’s the crying that wakes me. I finally managed to fall asleep, but have awoken a short time later to Mackenzie sounding as though her heart will break. It doesn’t sound human, her crying, it sounds like a feral animal calling out but not finding what it desires. What it wants. What it needs. Instead, she’s left with the kind of emptiness that only comes when you lose someone you love. I should know. I’ve been there.

Her mum is holding her, rocking her gently as she rubs her back. I reach for her too, but she seems barely capable of seeing me at all. Tears fill her eyes, making the hazel colour sparkle like pebbles at the bottom of a clear stream when the sun shines on them. I want to be the one to comfort her, but I don’t think she wants anything right now other than to vent. Jim seems to recognise the predicament, sensing us men are of better use elsewhere right now. I don’t want to go, I want to stay here and be with Mack, in whatever capacity that may be. Begrudgingly, I allow him to convince me to go to the morgue with him to pick up Chris’s personal effects. Kissing Mack’s head before I go, I promise her I will meet up with her at her mum’s house after she’s checked out of hospital later in the morning. I don’t think she hears me, but her mum promises she’ll let her know when she’s more responsive.

The morgue is worse than the hospital. It doesn’t smell like
dying
people, no, these bodies are already
dead
. Despite the refrigeration and air-conditioned climate, there is a strange smell in the air that can still be deciphered amongst all the chemical cleaning products.
Decay.
I’m glad I’m in the profession I’m in, because there is no way in hell you’d catch me in here under normal circumstances. Jim and I meet with the coroner who hands us the paper work to sign to collect Chris’ belongings. There is an Omega Seamaster watch with a horribly scratched face, a wallet and a set of keys. As I look at the few items, I’m appalled that this is all that remains of the man who Mackenzie doted on so much. And all because of some stupid fucking game of catch. Right now I feel low, so low, because deep down, I feel responsible for this happening. It’s my fault that Chris is dead.

This realisation slams into my chest with force. I’m suddenly gasping for breath while Jim talks to the coroner about the autopsy. I feel like a hand has reached inside my chest and has started squeezing all the air out of my lungs. It’s debilitating as it is painful. I pant as a way to get my breath back, trying to gain control over my body. It’s not responding well and Jim seems to notice.

‘You okay, son?’

‘No. I don’t think so,’ I manage to mutter.

‘Come on; let’s get you out of here.’ Jim promises to call back with regards to the autopsy and quickly hurries me out of the morgue. By the time we’re in the car and heading for his place, a fresh wave of panic rolls over me. If I can’t even keep myself together, how on earth am I going to put Mackenzie back together again?
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall, Humpty Dumpty had a great fall …

Mackenzie

My dad’s funeral is the first I’ve ever had to go to. I hope it’s my last. The pain that has ripped through me since he passed is unbearable. I feel like I can’t breathe; like I can’t see anything but his lifeless body through my eyes. I feel like I can’t stomach anything, the mere thought of eating turns my stomach until I’m dry retching, unable to bring up anything since it has been days since I’ve eaten. I haven’t showered either. I stink and I can’t remember the last time I brushed my teeth. I’m vaguely aware of a sour smell coming from under my doona, but I don’t care enough to do anything about it. When I left the hospital, I decided to come home with my mum and Jim, only because I know they will allow me to wallow in my misery. If I went home with Levi, there is no way he’d stand for it. So here I’ve been drowning in filth and misery, tucked into my bed, memories of my childhood with my dad keeping me company. They’ve knocked and come in to check on me, but for the most part I’m unresponsive. If pushed, I will give enough of a response just to clear them out of my room.

While I love Tyler, I just want to be alone, have my time to feel sad and remember my dad. Remember what he was like when life breathed through him. Remember what he did for me, our family, for our country. His funeral today will have a lot of military personnel attending, and family and friends from miles around are coming to pay their last respects. It hurts to think I have to share my final goodbye with a heap of people who have only spent fragmented moments with my dad. I want to be selfish and have privacy while I farewell my hero. But that’s what happens when you’re so celebrated; a lot of people like and love you. People who cared enough about the human being you were want to be part of the procession of people who will see you into the afterlife.

I think about God now. I wonder why he lets things happen the way they do. Isn’t he powerful enough to stop such a tragedy? Does anyone deserve to die such a horrible death? How can such a wonderful man be thrown in the middle of war-torn countries, fighting for honour and peace, to come home with not a single scratch on him, only to be killed by a freak accident when he falls underneath the wheels of a bus? How is that fair? How is that rational? I want answers I know I’m not going to get. A part of me wants to have belief in a religion so I can put faith in answers a church could give me. Problem is, I don’t think I could ever believe in something fully until I see it with my own eyes. Maybe when my time comes I will have all the answers I’m looking for. In the meantime, I’m going to believe my dad is no longer suffering. But this thought does nothing to heal the space his absence has left. It does nothing to comfort me in the slightest.

It’s killing me knowing I’m never going to hug him again, never smell his aftershave on a sweater or hear his comforting words. Mother Nature seems to have picked up on my appalling mood today, sombre and full of anguish. She’s kindly set the weather to dreary with a torrent of rain that seems to want to compete with the tears streaming down my face. I thought I would be all cried out, but I surprise even myself.

By eight am my mother is knocking on my door. I ignore it and continue to stare at the ceiling. While I know she wants me to get up and get in the shower, I’m quietly rebelling. It’s not that I am in denial that the funeral will go ahead today, with or without me, but rather, I’m consumed with my thoughts that if only she and dad had stayed together, perhaps his outcome would have been different. It’s silly and childish, but I can’t help clutching at straws, despite the fact that it won’t change anything. Eventually the knocking stops, but she hasn’t given up. The door swings open and she tentatively steps inside to survey the darkened hovel that my room has become. On some level of awareness, I can feel her presence. I can smell her perfume. The disapproving sound that comes from the back of her throat as she breathes in the stale air is what eventually shakes me from my stagnant thinking.

‘Mackenzie, you really need to get in the shower honey. The funeral will be starting in a couple of hours.’ I nod, but say nothing. She hesitates, nervously wringing her hands together. ‘Tyler is on the telephone. He can’t reach you on your mobile and was wondering if you’d like him to come and pick you up so you can ride to the church together.’

‘I can’t talk to him right now. Please let him know I will go with you and Jim.’

‘Okay, if that’s what you want.’

‘It is.’ She nods once, but says no more. I watch
like a sentinel as she leaves my room. She’s not entirely convinced I will get out of bed. Heck, neither am I. One thing that does make up my mind is that there is no way I will give up the last chance I have to say goodbye to my dad.

Slowly, I move. My limbs feel lethargic from lack of use. When fully erect, I almost pass out as the room starts to spin before my blurry eyes. I momentarily stagger, trying to regain balance as I knock the empty coffee cups, scattering them across the floor. A few deep breaths help calm me and I take my sorry arse to the bathroom. My robotic actions help me get through the motions quickly. I know I must smell better, but I certainly don’t feel it. I feel just as hollow as I did before I washed away the putrid smell that was clinging to me.

On the ride over to the church, I begin to wonder if Jessica will be there. My mind doesn’t even want to imagine how she’s feeling. I’m incapable of empathy as my own torment occupies my thoughts. I’m suddenly horrified that I haven’t even considered what is going to happen to all of my dad’s stuff yet. Will she take it? Will she get rid of it, effectively removing any trace of him from our lives? Despite what she wants, I’m not going to let her do that. With him gone I want to hold on to every last piece of him I can. If she wants to put up any resistance, I’m going to fight her tooth and nail.

When the cross on top of the church’s steeple comes into view, fresh waves of tears spring from the corners of my eyes. It seems so unfair, that finally my dad was living a life just around the corner from me, not halfway across the world, then bam! Gone. Forever. So final. So … empty.

Jim parks the car around the back of the church in the parking lot. Tyler is leaning against his car, a deep look of consternation written across his face. The sight of him still makes my breath catch, almost enough to ease my sorrow somewhat. But that only makes me feel guilty. Like if I don’t feel miserable about my dad’s death then I am betraying him somehow. On the inside, I smile at him through the car window. On the outside, however, my pain is laid bare for all to see. He approaches the car slowly, uncertain if he’s welcome company. He pushes forth, though, and embraces me lightly as I step from the car. His arms surround me and give me comfort, if only for a second.

‘Mack, I …’

‘Please … don’t.’

I’m not ready to talk. Right now, I feel like I never will be. I know it won’t always feel like that, but it is the only thing that makes sense right now. He looks crushed, but nods his assent. Lightly he takes my hand in his big paw-like one which comforts me somewhat. We walk into the church with the rest of my family and friends trailing us inside. Levi and Jonas spot us and rush over to embrace me.

I take in Levi’s disapproving look before it softens. He wraps his arms around me while I still hold Tyler’s hand. He whispers in my ear.

‘I love you, so I won’t mention that you look like shit and really need to eat something. I know the last few days have been tough, but you have to eat Mackenzie.’ I let out a tiny hysterical sob-like hiccup, amused by the contradiction of his words.

‘The fact you mention you
won’t
mention I need to eat, really means you just mentioned it,’ I whisper back.

‘Message received then, right?’ He allows a small smile before pulling back so Jonas can hug me also.

The pews are filling fast, so we make our way to the front row where seats have been reserved for us. I sit, trying to avoid looking at the casket that holds my father’s body.
There will be no open casket today. There are beautiful flowers resting on top of it and I wonder who chose them. Jessica? I see her then, down the end of the row. She looks devastated, so I offer a tight smile when we make eye contact. She motions she will come and talk to me after. To be honest, I’m not sure if I want her to.

The service starts. The priest talks, but I don’t hear a word. I’m vaguely aware he’s quoting the bible and finding meaning and purpose in his words when he talks about the life my father has lived. All I can think about is all the times he took me to the park, bought me milkshakes or cleaned up my cuts and scrapes when I tumbled and fell. I remember his kind face, his warm hug, the fierceness in the way he protected me. That loss makes me feel completely bare and open, like anyone could come along and pierce the thin armour that I have left. When Tyler gently squeezes my hand, I realise I spaced out, not hearing the priest summon me to give a Eulogy for my father. Shaking, I stand and release Tyler’s grip on me. Walking up to the podium, I try to find the words that could possibly say enough about the man I so admired.

Looking out at the sea of faces, I see a current of mixed emotions. Sympathy, empathy, sadness and grief – but none of it touches me. Everything I feel overrides what they need from me and my speech. I wanted to write something epic. I
needed
to write something that would touch everybody enough to know just how special my dad was. But none of it seemed enough, no words doing him justice. All I can do is speak from my heart.

‘Chris Deeks was my father. He was a patriot, a fighter, a lover – the kind of person so many of us aspire to be, but rarely any of us even come close to living our lives with such conviction of what is right and wrong. He was dependable and I loved him for that. Even when he was on deployment, he always found a way to be there for me when I needed him. I can see by how many of you turned up today to farewell my father that he must have touched you in the same way as well. He was a selfless man who would have given a stranger the shirt of his back or the last dollar from his pocket. My father loved life and didn’t waste a second of it. I think now that he has left this life so early, that perhaps he was trying to cram as much as he could in before his time was up. I won’t pretend that I’m not angry or devastated by his loss, but I hope that I can be half the person he was and live my life in a way that would make him proud. My dad may not get to see the end of the legacy he left here on earth, but I hope that one day, when I see him in the next life, I’ll get to tell him all about it. There is one thing that brings me comfort at a time like this, and that is there was never anything left unsaid between us. He knew how much I loved him, and I he. I hope that each of you get to say goodbye to my dad today in a way that allows you to let him go and move on to live a life that brings you happiness.’

My bottom lip trembles, my voice wavering as I choke out that last word.
Happiness.
Doesn’t seem like an emotion I can relate to right now. I feel like every time I get close to it, it gets ripped right out from underneath me like a rug. There is no way I can continue, so I leave the stand and resume my spot next to Tyler and my family as a few other family members offer words about the kind of man my dad was to the bodies that fill the pews.

After the service, I’m utterly numb. You could have hit
me
with a bus and
I
wouldn’t have felt it. Totally poor taste of joke, even for me, but it still doesn’t bring a smile to my lips. While the world goes on around me, I sit on a chair in the corner of my mum’s house unaffected. They eat, they drink and do what people do at a wake. To me, it seems pointless. The most important guest is missing.

Tyler hovers, offering food, drink. I refuse all of it. Eventually he leaves with all the rest of the guests, promising to visit me at mine and Levi’s apartment after his football game on Friday. To be honest, I don’t even know if I will be there. As the light of day fades behind the curtained window, I realise that nothing has changed. The emptiness I feel will never go away and it has nothing to do with eating. I thought after saying goodbye today I might be able to move on, let go of some of the pain that threatens to consume me. No such luck. The vastness of grief rolls right over me and sucks me in. And do you know what? I surrender to it.