John's Coat

Chapter 1

John’s coat hangs on a hook, in the parlor, next to the front door. He loved that coat; but when he had to check the car engine, after it broke down on the autoroute, on that cold January day, the black thick oil stained the pristine cream color sleeves. It went from his favorite dress coat, to his favorite work coat. He’d wear it to rake the leaves, shovel the snow, or chop logs in the woods.

The woods.

He didn’t wear it that day.

I should put it away. It’s time. It’s been over a year. I’ve been through every stage of grief. It started with bargaining. There had to be a reason for his death. There had to be a reason why this happened. It wasn’t what we planned. We worked so hard on that plan. We were going to see the world together, play with our grand-children, if ever we were to have some. How I tried to protect Shawn from it; our son, our pride and joy. The one thing we did right. The one creation we loved more than ourselves. Well, at least I thought John did too.  

Of course I was angry; he left us behind. I was alone to carry my pain, and Shawn’s. I’d spend hours lying awake in our bed, never touching John’s side, imagining scenarios where I was vehemently giving him a piece of my mind, dumping all my pain into his silent face, preaching the importance of staying alive for us, of being there for us, fighting the fight of life with us, for us.  

When I realized I’d be alone to raise our beautiful, hurting teenage boy, I almost lost it. But for his sake, I had to keep it together. Granted, there were long months when I held on like a battleship Duck taped together. But I held on.

The only thing I forgot, as I drowned in my own grief, was to keep Shawn from sinking in his.

I should put it away while Shawn is still upstairs, sleeping. He never gets up before noon.

Being an early bird, I get to sit quietly, with my noisy thoughts, either outside on the patio, listening to the birds’ morning choir, or sit in the living room reading a good book. But this morning, I should put John’s coat away.

Shawn snuck it out to the back yard a few days ago. I caught him wearing it and talking to himself. I made sure he didn’t know I was spying. To hear him better, I held my breath.

He was talking to his father.

They were the best of buddies. The moment that boy was born, I knew I fell into second place. For me, that was the most beautiful, warm feeling ever. I knew John would love his son to eternity. He held Shawn’s little body in one hand and made a pledge to always be there for him and never hurt him.

Well, not on purpose.  But he still broke that promise.

I won’t give his coat away. This intricate box was in an antique shop. I liked the carvings of different forest animals all round it. Made of cedar, it’s perfect to keep his coat from molding or being eaten by moths.

I haven’t touched his coat since that day. His odor would escape from it and surprise me, as I walked past it and out the front door. I both loved it and hated it. Coming home, I dreaded to open the door and smell him.

Now, it smells nothing. He’s gone.

It’s heavier than I remember. One last hug. How I miss him. But it’s time to move on. I fold it neatly and place it in the box, purposely leaving it on the dining room table. Shawn will see it. It may not be the best of my ideas, but he’s stopped trusting me since that day I kept the truth from him. So, no more secrets. To toy with what brittle trust remains, could ruin what’s left of our relationship.

I sit in the living room and wait.

Chapter 2

Ten chapters into my book, Shawn groggily comes down the stairs. His eyes half closed; he doesn’t notice the missing coat. He grunts a barely audible good morning in my direction.

I risk a smile and respond. “Good morning, sweetie.”

He makes his way to the kitchen, and doesn’t notice the box on the dining room table.

His stance is exactly like John’s. Shawn is his father’s carbon copy with his midnight brown eyes and his just-as-dark silky curly hair.

I wait.

That storm will erupt. I need to be strong.

A few minutes later, a glass of orange juice in one hand and a plate of toast in the other, he settles himself at the dining room table. He sets the wet glass directly onto the antique wood table. Now isn’t the time to remind him, again, to use a placemat. It’s such a small ask, yet he never does it. Rebelling, or carelessness, either way, it pushes my buttons.

But I say nothing, and wait.

My silence alerts him; he looks up. He sees the box.

“What is that?”

Funny how that is the one question I am not prepared to answer. What exactly is it? Calling it a storage box is diminutive. John’s coat deserves more than a storage box. It isn’t a resting place, like a coffin; that’s morbid.  Stumped, I say nothing.

He huffs with impatience, and looks inside. Confusion rapidly morphs into anger.

“What is Dad’s coat doing in this stupid box?”

“It’s time to put it away.”

He removes the coat from the box. “No, it isn’t.”

“Sweetie, it’s been over a year.” I rest my book on the coffee table and sit at the opposite end of the dining room table.

He sneers. “So, what, now there’s a deadline to moving on?”

If there’s one thing my training taught me, it’s to keep my mouth shut and let the patient do all the talking. But this is not one of my patients. It takes everything I have to keep from opening my mouth.

“You want to forget him; you act like he never existed.” He raises his voice.

Watching him, his eyes, his hair, it’s clear John existed. I say nothing.

“This is rich, you should feel guilty, if anything. It’s because of you that he’s gone.”

I may be trained, but that hurt. “That’s not fair, you know that.” I shouldn’t respond. Damn it, this isn’t about me; it’s about Shawn now.

“Fair? Let us explore that word, mother. Tell me, or rather, explain to me how fair it was for you and Dad to keep this from me? Hey? Just exactly how fair was that?”

He has a point. I agree with him. But I respected John’s wishes. I warned John that keeping Shawn out of the know, would harm him, not protect him. But John was adamant; it was his dying wish.

“We did everything together. I thought he loved me.” His eyes tear up.

“He did.”

“No, he didn’t. You don’t blow your head off when you love someone.”

He already knows. I should have known.

His hard shell, locking up all of the hurting puss from his father’s betrayal, is finally cracking. He’s opening up. I just need to keep quiet and let him spill it all and empty that guck from his core.

He’s trying not to cry. I want to walk over there and hug him. He’s never let me hug him since John’s death. So, I remain quiet, and wait.

“I could have helped him. He should have trusted me with it. But he didn’t. He just_”

He stops mid sentence. I feel this is the key to unlocking his release, his peace.

“Shawn, tell me, he what?” My voice is low, almost erased. He needs to feel he’s alone, talking to himself.

“He just pushed me aside. He didn’t want me anymore.”

He sobs violently. I get up to go to him, but he raises his hand to stop me. “No.”

I sit back down. My heart aches. It doesn’t matter. This isn’t about me, it’s about Shawn.

“Dr. Potts is leaving the college.”

This comment surprises me. I knew it was bound to come up, but never within a conversation about John.

“Oh, I understand that he is your favorite teacher.”

Shawn nods. It dawns on me. I can be so stupid; of course, Shawn would latch on to him. Potts and John were best friends. My own grief blinded me to the possibility of Shawn needing to share his story with someone. My ears were selfishly deaf to anyone else’s pain, even my son’s. I have a chance to redeem myself.

“How do you feel about that?”

He shrugs. He hesitates to share. He needs to believe that he can trust me again. I decide to spill my own secrets; betray the promise I made to John and tell Shawn the whole thing. He is a young man, not a baby to be protected in bubble wrap.

“Shawn, if you want, I’ll tell you everything about your father. You won’t like it.”

He looks up, wipes his nose with the back of his hand, and nods.

Chapter 3

It doesn’t matter anymore what I promised John; he’s gone and Shawn is here with me, living.

“Your father was very ill. He suffered his whole adult life with manic depression. You know what that is?”

Shawn sits up, he nods.

“The shame he bore because of that illness was very much linked to the stigma society tagged it with. He couldn’t vey well be a good psychiatrist if he was mentally ill. It was wrong, but it remains, that’s what your father believed.”

I give him a minute to process before I continue.

“Dr. Potts, was not only your father’s best friend, but he was your father’s therapist.” I think to myself how I hated that man for the longest time towards the last few months of John’s life. Blaming him for several, for what I believed, to be unethical decisions. Only to realize afterwards, John snared Potts into his web of secrecy and promises, using his charm, just like he did me.  

“Your father wanted to end his life. He had for several years. We worked hard, Dr. Potts and I, for his plans to never play through. We were exhausted. And I sure as hell did not want you to ever, ever be exposed to his rollercoaster moods. I made sure he took his meds and remained stable.”

Shawn interrupts me. “So, he was never truly who I thought he was?”

“Oh, no sweetie. He was exactly who you thought he was; your loving father. He just had demons to fight every day. He was burned out. Tired of fighting to live. But never doubt the love he had for you. Never.”

He frowns. I know why.

“Sweetie, we kept this from you to protect you. As parents, we wanted to protect you. But I agree with you that I, we, could have done a better job to prepare you to what finally happened.” I stop and think. I wasn’t prepared either. No matter how many close calls there had been.

“Your father wanted the medical assistance in death.”

Shawn’s brows raise.

“Yes, he did. He applied for it. I pleaded with him not to.” I take a deep breath. “It was refused.” I shake my head, trying to get a grip and not cry. This is the hard part. “He told me he was going to take his life. He told me it was going to happen somewhere I could not reach him or somewhere the police could never stop or find him. He told me by phone, seven days before it happened. The first seven days he didn’t come home.”

From his slumped shoulders, I can see Shawn accepts what I am saying and understands the burden I bore.

“I couldn’t tell you. He made me promise. He wanted you to believe it was an accident.” I smile. “He, and I, underestimated just how smart you really are.”

It isn’t an illusion, Shawn actually smiles. The first one since the police came to our door to inform us they found John’s body, in the woods.

“I know Dr. Potts may have been an important person in your life, but nothing stops you from continuing your friendship with him. He’s retiring and staying in town.”

He wipes the tears from his eyes. “I know. It’s just not going to be the same. I liked that class because of him.”

Losing a father then a father-figure is a lot for Shawn to handle. But the progress he’s made today, gives me hope.

He stuffs the coat back in the cedar box. “Can I keep this in my room?”

My eyes swell with tears. Shawn has this ability to shine in the darkest moments. I am so proud of him. “Of course, you can. It’s yours.”

He walks over to me and gives me a bear hug. We both cry, of course.

Chapter 4

Monday morning comes fast. It’s a new chapter for me. I could have shared the news with Shawn, but this time it’s my choice not to. Some secrets should be shared, some promises should be broken, but some secrets should be kept to allow for an element of happy surprise.

Shawn heads to college early in the morning.

It gives me time to get ready for my first day back at work.

***

Smells are the direct highway to memory. I take it all in with a smile. Walking down the hallway to the class, musky, old paper, sweaty running shoes, cafeteria food smells all greet me. Chatter and locker clanging noises bring me back to happy times.

The auditorium class is full. I deposit my briefcase on the teacher’s desk and remove my coat. Some faces are gloomy, others are ready to get to work, whereas one particular face is utterly surprised.

“Hello class, I’m Dr. Janice Sutherland, your new teacher for psychology 101. I’ll be taking over Dr. Potts’ class from this day forward. Let’s get started.”

Shawn smiles from ear to ear.

END.