The Ravine (23 page)

There was no doubt that everyone attending the service, as well as the community at large, was vexed by the same unanswerable questions. An unspoken fear lurked just below the surface:
if such horrible things could happen to an apparently happy, suburban family, then could they happen to our family?
Wives looked at their husbands a little askance, and, within the privacy of their own four walls, parents reassured their children that they were safe.

Mitch and Carolyn were running late when they got their car out of the garage to go to the service; they then got stuck in traffic and made a wrong turn. So the church was already brimming with people when they arrived. Most of the seats were taken, and the side aisles were in the process of filling up. As soon as they entered, however, they saw Maryann waving to them to join her in the first pew with the family members. Christopher was sitting between Maryann and Danny’s brother, Tony; Tony’s wife, Emily; and his parents.

“I was starting to get worried about you guys,” she said as she sat back down.

Mitch answered, perhaps a little defensively, “We’re really sorry, but it seemed as if everyone was out on the street driving five miles an hour, and then we got lost. Crazy for a Monday morn—”

“It doesn’t matter. You made it, and that’s all that counts.”

Mitch and Carolyn nodded a silent hello to the Turner family and Mitch reached over to shake hands with his old friend Tony. They weren’t so far removed from the days when a game of hoops and a few beers were all they needed for a great night. They gripped each other’s hands for an extra-long time. Their mutual expressions seemed to say, “How did everything go so wrong so fast?” Steve and Debby Turner wore the expression of parents who were thoroughly shattered. They appeared perplexed and worn out, with Debby experiencing a depth of grief that could only be reserved for a mother and grandmother. She would not allow herself to escape the conviction that she was somehow responsible for this tragedy.

Christopher edged past Maryann so he could hug Mitch and Carolyn. Danny and Rachel had always insisted the Bianci boys call them by their first names, and so the Turner boys in turn called Mitch and Carolyn by their first names. Christopher tried to offer some encouragement.

“Carolyn, don’t look so sad. One day we’ll see Mom and Dad in heaven and it will be just like it used to be.”

Carolyn noticed that his dark blue suit was a bit too large for him, probably because Maryann had had to find something quickly off the rack that couldn’t be altered in time. His red tie was also a bit too long, probably borrowed from his uncle. He was a little boy, dressed like a man, having to do something no one should ever experience. Christopher didn’t dare tell anyone, but he too suspected he had done something to cause his dad to do what he did.

“Oh, Chris,” Carolyn said as she pulled him onto her lap. She kept repeating his name and hugging him, before handing him over to Mitch, who pretty much did the same. There are times when there just aren’t any words that can, or need to, be said, and this was certainly one of those moments. Chris looked over Mitch’s shoulder and noticed Evan’s little league teammates, decked out in their jerseys. He waved to them
and then returned to his seat, because it was obvious the service was about to begin.

The scene before the altar was gut-wrenching: two caskets, one a matte white with golden handles adorned with a spray of pink roses and baby’s breath. The other was light blue, and covered with a baseball jersey that simply read “Evan.” That box looked tiny by comparison. For some reason, Carolyn was reminded of a duckling trailing its mother. All eyes in the church were trained on this simple setting. Over to one side, there were slides of the Turner family, enjoying the beach, Christmas season, birthday parties, baseball games, and other benchmarks of family life. The slides changed every few seconds, and repeated numerous times while everyone sat and whispered to one another or stared at the screen, lost in their thoughts. Included was the high school photo of Rachel kissing a smiling Carolyn.

Finally Reverend Kirkpatrick approached the pulpit. The screen discreetly went dark and the incidental organ music gave way to the staccato notes that introduced Schubert’s “Ave Maria.” The singer, an attractive young woman whose face was framed by long, wavy dark hair, gently placed her fingers on the shoulder of the pianist in an apparent attempt to steady herself, and together they performed the simple yet beautiful paean to the mother of Jesus and all mothers.

As the last note resolved into silence, Kirkpatrick stepped forward. He had spent the previous few days wrestling with just how to officiate at this service. Funeral services were a regular and important role of the clergy, and he’d performed more than he could remember, but the circumstances of this occasion were without precedent in his experience. He knew the Turner family only fleetingly, and so he would have to rely on others to a great degree. That was not uncommon. Even some longtime parishioners only spoke with him directly in any meaningful way when they had to bury a loved one. He had long since gotten over the feeling of duplicity in not knowing the people he was shepherding into
the next world. It was no secret that the ceremony was for the comfort of the living as well as the benefit of the souls of those who had died, not to mention the positive impact on his ever-challenging budget.

But of course today was different, and so the usual bromides he had learned in theology school, which were perfectly suitable for people who had passed on of natural causes, or even young people who were taken suddenly, would not suffice. These deaths fell into a whole other category that he had never had to contemplate before.

Kirkpatrick had been in favor of including the father, but emotions were raw and he had been rebuffed, so he had made arrangements with Danny’s parents and brother for a separate service. It would have taken great courage to broach this topic at the service, and some would doubtless have seen it as inappropriate or at least in bad taste, so he’d accepted that Danny would not even be mentioned. However, the pastor was deeply conflicted and had been praying all morning for guidance.

After reciting the twenty-third psalm, and reflecting a bit on how it was the role of all of those assembled to aid the departed with their prayers, and to support the family members with their actions during this difficult time, he concluded with these words from John 1:1: “The will of God will never take you where the grace of God will not protect you.” The words rang hollow as they left his mouth.

Carolyn was stung by the inadequacy of this sentiment as well, because it spoke to the very heart of the question she could not answer. Why hadn’t God protected Rachel and Evan? This stuff about God never giving people more than they could handle was refuted every day by all the misery in the world. If He got the credit for all the wonderful things in the world, why wasn’t He also responsible for all the suffering? She awoke as if from a trance when she heard someone calling her name and realized the pastor was motioning for her to step up to the altar.

Mitch squeezed her hand and helped her rise. For an instant, she felt like she was walking in quicksand and wouldn’t be able to make it
up the stairs. Then she turned and found herself standing in front of the microphone, looking out upon a sea of mournful faces. Though she knew Rachel’s body lay before her, her essence was by her side.

“One of the reasons we are here today,” she began “is to honor and celebrate Rachel for the lady she was, what she stood for, the legacy she left, and the hope that we all should share because we were blessed to know her, albeit not for long enough. Mother Teresa once said, ‘We cannot do great things on this earth, only small things with great love.’ To me these words personify who Rachel was as a mother, wife, sister, and friend.

“My name is Carolyn Bianci, and I am privileged to say that Rachel was my best friend since ninth grade. I’ll never forget how she was one of the first people to reach out to me and offer her friendship at the new school I was attending. We made an immediate connection and developed a bond that continued to grow over the past twenty-six years. I knew that in Rachel, I had a friend for life. We shared a lot of our lives together because she was so willing to invest her time and heart into her friends. I love her and miss her dearly.

“I have always had a great sense of admiration for Rachel because she had a few more obstacles placed in front of her at an early age than most people do. But as you all know, Rachel was never the type to settle. She always demanded more of herself and always wanted the best for her family and her friends. In addition to raising her two wonderful boys, Evan and Christopher, of whom she was so proud, she opened her home to Maryann without hesitation because of her love of family and her enormous heart for others. Just yesterday, Maryann shared with us that she wouldn’t be the woman she is today if it hadn’t been for Rachel’s involvement in her life.”

Carolyn looked up for a moment to connect with Maryann. She had her arm around Christopher and his head rested on her shoulder. He looked at Carolyn with an expression of trust, hope, and expectation.
After their eyes connected, Carolyn paused, took a deep breath, and continued.

“Rachel had such a beautiful spirit and a unique ability to always focus on the positive instead of the negative. Rachel always looked for the good in everything and in everyone and accepted others unconditionally. As a result of this, she was truly rich in the sense that she had experienced real gratitude in her life.

“Rachel talked frequently about the friendships she developed here in Akron and how grateful she was for her inner circle of friends. After spending the last three days here in Akron with this wonderful group of people, I can easily see why she felt so blessed to have developed these relationships.

“They say if you can find one true friend in your life you are blessed. We are all so blessed because, in Rachel, we were privileged to have that one true friend. Matthew, chapter 5, verses 14–15, tell us, ‘You are like a light for the whole world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid. No one lights a lamp and puts it under a bowl; instead it is put on the lamp stand where it gives light to everyone in the house.’ Rachel has always been that bright light to all of us.

“My husband, Mitch, is forever reminding our three boys that decisions shape our lives and ultimately shape who we become as individuals. We all have a question before us today, and that question is: what meaning will we attach to these events? If we choose tragedy, we all will lose. My challenge to all of us today, myself included, and what I would like to leave everyone with, is to take that piece of Rachel that we were so fortunate to experience and to hold it forever in our hearts. By allowing it always to inspire us to be better mothers, fathers, and friends, we will carry Rachel and Evan’s light forward.”

Reverend Kirkpatrick thanked Carolyn, and asked Evan’s fifth-grade math teacher, Mr. Suder, to say a few words about his student. Suder was a short-statured, older fellow nearing retirement, who was
known for his big heart, good cheer, and love of children. He talked about how Evan always had a smile on his face, and recalled his wonderful, infectious laughter, raising a chuckle when he told the story of the day Evan discovered the joy of mathematics. After a poor grade on a test, he suggested to Evan that if by some fluke he didn’t make it to the major leagues, he was sure to have a great career as a statistician, and then explained to him was that was. Evan quickly became an
A
student from that moment on. His voice then turned somber as he expressed the sadness all the teachers felt over the fact that Evan would not have the opportunity to continue to share his gifts. He then pulled himself up to his full height, apologized for the folly of a math teacher attempting to read a poem, and launched into Emily Dickinson’s “Because I could not stop for Death.” His rich, stentorian voice gave way to a whisper by the time he arrived at the last sentence.

Reverend Kirkpatrick rose to end the service. Listening to the last two speakers, he had felt a shift come over him. He knew he would forever regret his actions this day if he did not summon the courage to at least make mention of Danny. He hesitated, looked out at the congregants, and noticed a woman with luminescent white hair sitting in the last pew, who seemed to know what was on his mind. This somehow gave him the reassurance he needed. He cleared his throat and began to speak without the slightest idea of what he was about to say, but confident that God would give him the right words.

“We have spoken of Rachel and Evan, but have not mentioned Danny.” He felt the congregation rustle uncomfortably in their seats and perceived a collective gasp. The reverend was quite aware that many people in town, including some of the elders in his church, had vehemently objected to the idea of including Danny in the service in any manner.

“However, I would be remiss if I did not at least remind us all that he, too, was a child of God, and that he, too, has passed into another
life, prematurely, and will be missed.” Steve and Debby Turner looked down and then back up at the reverend with deep gratitude. To them, of course, Danny was their little boy, and would always remain so.

“Most faiths embrace the concept of forgiveness, but for those of us who are Christians, we know that Jesus told us to ‘above all else, love one another,’ and that His words on the subject of forgiveness knew no bounds, even right up to the moment He uttered His very last few words, when He asked His father to forgive those who had persecuted Him because He knew they did not understand what they were doing. I ask that you each search your own hearts and attempt to find that same forgiveness, not only for Danny, but for anyone in your life whom feel you need to forgive, perhaps beginning with yourself.

“When Jesus was asked how we should pray, he spoke the words we now call “The Lord’s Prayer.” So, please let us all stand, and hold the hand of the person next to us, and as we recite these words, I pray we set aside our grievances and listen with an open heart as if we were hearing them for the first time.”