Chapter 29 Too Much
Too Much
Istayed with him until the funeral home came and took his body away.
Hannah and Abby, the nurses I was closest with, took my hands and led me down to a private sitting room. There they explained the arrangements and instructions Ansel left, which left me at a loss.
Because there was nothing for me to do.
I didn’t choose his casket or his resting place, the readings for the service or the church.
I didn’t get to pick the flowers.
He even prepared the obituary announcement and left it with Abby. She gave me the copy written in his own shaky hand, but I waited until I got home to read it.
Shedding my fleece and my running shoes, I headed straight for the shower. I tipped my head back and let the spray wash away my tears.
I toweled off, wound my damp hair up into a bun on top of my head, changed into sweats, and curled up in my reading chair.
Gathering my thick-knit blanket around me, I unfolded the piece of lined paper and traced the shape of his words with my finger.
Ansel Blum was born on February 9th, 1933, to Bernd and Anja Blum in Hamilton, Ontario. After Ansel graduated from Central Secondary School in in 1951, he went on to join the military.
After serving his country for twenty-five years, Ansel followed his lifelong dream and opened his bakery in Moose Lake. Buns and Biscuits is famous for its sourdough bread and cinnamon rolls.
I sobbed at the addition of my cinnamon rolls.
I remembered the day I perfected the recipe and was finally able to duplicate it in the bakery kitchen.
He was so proud.
Gave them a place front and centre in the display case and made them a signature item.
I chuckled wetly at the memory of him telling everybody who came in they just had to try one. Soon enough they were in high demand.
Ansel was the only person in my life who never once criticized me. He rarely had a bad word to say about anybody.
Generous and kind, in deed and in spirit, he was just that kind of man.
You walk in and the whole world lights up.
If it isn’t the prettiest flower in the bouquet come to see me.
I turned back to his writing, bittersweet tears clogging my throat.
Ansel was predeceased by his parents, Bernd and Anja, his sister, Birgit, and his brothers-in-arms.
He is survived by his adopted daughter, Jenny Davis—
My brain stuttered to a stop. I dropped the hand holding the paper to my lap and tipped my head back onto the couch. My breath shuddered in and out as I mentally chanted those sweet words.
Adopted daughter.
Adopted daughter.
He is survived by his adopted daughter, Jenny Davis.
A hot ball of grief wound tight in my throat. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. Suspended in joyful disbelief, I simply rolled the words around my tongue. “Adopted daughter.”
I belonged.
We were our own small family.
And now he was gone.
Tight with grief, my chest heaved with the effort to control my tears. My hands shook as I raised the paper and dipped my chin to read the rest.
He is survived by his adopted daughter, Jenny Davis.
Jenny Davis, the promise of rain, she turned his life every shade of pink.
And was worth weathering every storm.
Tears sprang from my eyes and blurred the final lines on the page. I jerked it out of the way with a sharp cry, reading the final lines through a veil of tears.
Services will be held at St. Michael’s Roman Catholic Church on April 18th at 11:00 A.M. In lieu of flowers, the family requests donations be made to Hope’s Place, a shelter for homeless youth.
I sat staring into space, Ansel’s note in my hand, his love for me as clear and plain as his writing on the page. Tears fell freely and a thousand snapshotted memories flitted through my mind.
Finally, I could sit no longer.
Checking the security cameras Deacon had installed in the stairwell and the bakery to assure myself both were clear, I ran downstairs and retrieved the sourdough I’d prepared only the day before.
So much had changed since then.
I brought them upstairs and lined them up on the counter. I would fill my apartment with Ansel.
As I worked through the steps I knew by heart, my heart worked through the events of the past twenty-four hours.
The past eighteen years.
Ansel had been my rock for exactly half my life. The only one I’d ever had. The one person in the world who had never let me down.
His death brought clarity.
Because while it wasn’t the same type of love, Deacon loved me with the same devotion.
I saw it. I felt it. I knew it though I struggled to trust what I saw, felt, and understood to be true.
I wanted him in my corner.
I wanted to give myself over to him, trust his love for me the way I trusted Ansel.
Deacon would protect the soft life I built.
He would weather the storms by my side, and he would ensure I lived soft without hiding and shrinking and keeping my head down.
No, he would secure it even as I wore pretty dresses, spoke my mind, and stood tall.
Everybody needed a buffer from the harsher realities of the world.
He was mine.
And I would be his.
We would be our own family. A small one. But ours.
I touched the raindrop on my chest.
The promise of rain.
I would be his promise, too.
All I had to do was take that final leap.
Could I do it?
I covered the dough and left it to rise while I retreated to the couch where every moment of the past two weeks ran through my mind.
I should have seen that Ansel was weakening.
Known he was near the end.
But he’d bounced back from that virus and seemed to be as strong as ever.
Still. I should have known.
Did he spare me the pain of watching him slip away?
The doorbell rang, yanking me from my thoughts. It was barely ten o’clock in the morning, but whoever it was, wasn’t interested in waiting because they almost immediately knocked.
I laid my head back on the couch, content to wait for them to get the message and go away.
But the bell rang once more, this time accompanied by someone calling my name from the other side of the door.
I dragged myself off the couch, shuffled through the kitchen, and opened the door to find Laurie Raynor, Maggie’s mother, on the other side.
I squinted at the bright light of the morning sun. Today of all days, it should have been raining.
“Hi, Mrs. Raynor,” I mumbled. “I’m sorry, I’m not feeling well, I don’t really—”
“It’s Laurie,” she corrected gently before placing a soft hand on my arm. “I heard about Ansel.”
“Oh,” I gulped. “Yeah.”
Yeah?
I blinked in surprise at the innocuous acknowledgement. But what could I say that would do his loss justice?
“It’ll be okay, honey,” she soothed. “May I come in? I brought you some things.”
I didn’t understand what was happening, but I lacked the energy to figure it out.
Stepping back, I waved her forward.
Within minutes, she took over my kitchen. I watched, bemused, as she started the coffee pot and put the kettle on to boil before unloading her bags.
The doorbell rang again.
“I’ll get it,” she offered.
“What is happening?” I asked, mostly speaking to myself.
“You know how it is,” she stated quietly. “When something happens to one of our own, news travels fast.”
I nodded tightly.
Ansel Blum, despite his association with me, had always been well loved.
Miller’s mom, Mrs. O’Leary bustled through the door with an armload of casserole dishes. Her face softened when she saw me. “Hi, honey. I’m so sorry about Ansel. We will all miss him so much.”
Offloading her pile, she opened her arms and drew me close.
This was far from the first hug Miller’s mom had bestowed on me over the years, but this was perhaps the most needed.
Yet, I stiffened in her embrace.
“I know, honey,” she whispered, her hold tightening.
Grief billowed up in my chest like wind in a sail, filling every nook and cranny to overflowing, and escaping my lips with a harsh sob.
“Ah, lamb,” she cooed, rocking me back and forth.
I wrapped my arms around her back and held her tight, melting into her further when Laurie stepped in behind me and added her arms to the mix.
“You were the light of his life,” Laurie rasped. “He bragged about you incessantly.”
“He loved you so much,” Mrs. O’Leary added. “That kind of love never dies.”
The door swung open, whoever was on the other side not bothering with the doorbell.
Dishes clattered down on the counter, then Maggie and Maxine moved in, taking Laurie and Mrs. O’Leary’s place.
I tried to rein it in, but it was all too much, and I cried the tears of a broken child.
Maggie sniffed, tears running down her face as Maxine, her face pale, rocked me back and forth. Together, they led me into the family room and snuggled down onto the couch with me.
Laurie and Mrs. O’Leary set up platters of cookies, pastries, muffins, and sandwiches. Some went on the kitchen table, others into the fridge for later.
I appreciated their efforts, but there was no way I would be able to eat all of it.
“Put the kettle on, would you, Laurie?”
“Done.”
“Anybody want coffee?”
Thirty minutes later, Miller and Baxter showed up along with John, Vera, Eric, and Julie.
Laurie walked over and took my hands in hers. “I’ll be back to check on you later. Please don’t hesitate to call if you need anything at all. We’re here for you.”
“For me?” I stated blankly.
“Of course,” Laurie answered, her eyebrows crunching together. “Like I said, we look after our own.”
I looked over the people gathered in my family room and moving around the kitchen.
Moose Lake was my home, and these were my friends.
My family.
Only Deacon was missing.
Everything was out now, no more secrets between us, and he wasn’t here.
I wanted to call him; I just wasn’t sure if he was ready to come.
But he would.
I hoped.