Fly Away

  She remembered the day in the doughnut shop when he sprang from his seat and grabbed her by the hand, ready that instant to take her flying with him. She saw him at the kite contest, sprinting across the grass with his keys jangling in his pocket, his round face and crinkly smile turned up to the sky, encouraging her and his grandchildren to try again. She recalled his silly conversation with a tree in the state park and all his efforts to cheer her up that day when he could have simply taken her home. She thought of how he had arranged for her to ride in Max’s hot air balloon, yet he didn’t get angry when she had refused. And she remembered the warmth of his gentle touch and the stubble of his cheek as he held her in his arms tonight and waltzed with her to the “Emperor Concerto.”

  In all of her memories, Mike was smiling and waving his silly baseball cap. But she was always frowning. Which one of them had been witnessing?

  “What on earth is the matter with me?” she cried aloud. “How could I have been so selfish?” If only she could go back and start all over again. If only she had another chance. But she knew from the way he had said “good night” that it was really “goodbye.”

  Wilhelmina dropped to her knees beside the sofa and buried her head in the sofa cushions where Mike had sat. Prayer had always been little more than a ritual to her, performed out of a sense of duty or sometimes a need. Now, for the first time in her life, she cried out to God with all her passion and strength. Time had run out for Mike. Prayer was the only option left.

  Chapter 13

  Sunday, October 25, 1987

  By the time Mike got home, it was 1:30 in the morning. Buster and Heinz greeted him with sleepy enthusiasm, then curled up on the bearskin rug and went back to sleep. Mike regretted running out on Wilhelmina, but he knew how vulnerable he had felt. He couldn’t take a chance that she would talk him out of his decision. He stood in the middle of his cluttered living room, engulfed by overwhelming sorrow. In a few more hours his life would be over.

  He gazed at Helen’s picture on the piano through his tears. He had thought about Helen so much these past few days, remembering how she had lain in bed for so long, her life painfully ebbing away. She must have felt the same way he did right now, aware that she was going to die but wishing that she could live.

  Mike had faced death several times before in his life—when he was shot down over France, when his engine failed over the Adirondacks, when he faced his first cancer surgery. Each time had been terrifying because he hadn’t been sure what the outcome would be. But this time he knew the outcome with certainty, just as Helen had known. Yet she had faced death courageously, without self-pity. He wished she were here to strengthen him.

  He wandered into their bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed, her side of the bed. He stared at the floor. She had been gone for more than 17 years, yet tonight the ache in his heart was as great as on the day she had died. He needed her. But there was no way to bring her back.

  Mike sat in the dark, motionless, for a long time until the need to hold her, to touch even a small part of her, overwhelmed him. He switched on the lamp and opened the small drawer in her bedside stand, searching for something that had once been hers.

  He cried out when he saw it. Helen’s Bible felt limp in his hands as he tenderly lifted it out. Its spine was long broken, its pages thin and ragged from use. He held it to his chest, remembering how much she had treasured it, what an important part of her life it had once been. He closed his eyes and saw her again, sitting at the kitchen table reading it, tucking it under her arm as she left with the boys for church every Sunday, placing it in the drawer after reading it every night.

  He whispered her name as he fingered the words, Helen Ann Dolan, embossed in gold on the cover. This tired, worn book with the pages falling out had been Helen’s strength, her consolation. He opened it, wishing he could draw courage from it, too, and saw that she had underlined many verses. Tucked inside it were dozens of small notes and keepsakes. As he thumbed through it, it seemed to Mike that she sat beside him, guiding him through the well-worn pages, marked with reminders of her life and the people she loved.

  First it fell open to a faded black and white photograph of Mike Jr. and Steve, wearing plaid flannel pajamas, seated in front of a scrawny Christmas tree. Their new puppy, Queenie, was wriggling out of Steve’s arms. Little Mike wore a broad grin, proudly showing that his two front teeth were missing. Mike smiled, too, remembering the popular song that year, “All I Want for Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth.” Helen’s writing on the back of the photo gave their ages. Michael Jr., age 6. Steven, age 4, with Queenie.

  Sweet, happy memories filled Mike’s heart. All those Christmases so many years ago. Toy trucks and, of course, toy airplanes. Assembling stubborn bicycle parts at midnight on Christmas Eve. Helen’s hand-knit mittens and stocking caps. The joy and delight on the boys’ faces on Christmas morning. Lean years and good years. A lifetime of memories from a simple photograph. His eye was drawn to a verse on the same page. Helen had underlined it in red. “Sons are a heritage from the lord, children a reward from him.”

  Mike returned the photograph to its place and flipped ahead until the Bible fell open again, near the end. An old photograph of himself, taken during the war, marked this spot. He was in uniform, and his hand rested on the fuselage of his P-51 Mustang. “Best aircraft I ever flew,” he murmured. Helen had chosen his favorite picture. But that was the way Helen was—never demanding her own way, always giving her family the things that would make them happy.

  For some crazy reason, Mike thought of stuffed peppers. They were Helen’s favorite, and she always ordered them whenever he took her out to The City Diner. Yet in all their years of marriage she never once cooked them for dinner because Mike couldn’t stand them. It seemed to him now that throughout their marriage, Helen had always given unselfishly. And he had always taken.

  Like going to church. It had meant so much to her. Why hadn’t he gone with her once in a while, at least at Christmas or Easter? He could have done one unselfish thing to make her happy, but she had never asked for anything for herself. And he had never offered. There had always been another engine to repair, another charter to fly.

  He noticed that a verse on this page was also underlined in red and he blinked back his tears as he read it. “Wives, in the same way be submissive to your husbands so that, if any of them do not believe the word, they may be won over without words by the behavior of their wives, when they see the purity and reverence of your lives.”

  He closed the Bible and wiped the tears off as they dropped, one by one, onto the faded cover. It was painful to read this Book, her book. It revealed a familiar world to him but from Helen’s point of view, as if he were inside her heart, seeing it through her eyes. He had discovered a part of her he had never bothered to notice before. But like a blind man longing for the light, in the end Mike longed to see more than he feared the pain of being shown. He wiped his tears and reopened the Book.

  A scrap of yellow, lined notebook paper caught his eye, the writing on it a chunky, irregular scrawl that probably belonged to one of his sons. He unfolded the page and Mike Jr.’s graduation picture fell out. The page must have been part of a longer letter, for it had no real beginning or ending but was numbered at the top, “page 3”:

  “. . . so all we can do is keep the choppers flying back and forth with spit and prayers.

  “You get to thinking a lot about life and death over here, maybe because you see so much of it all around you every day. When you’re back home in church the Bible and all that stuff can seem like a lot of fairy tales and even though you always dragged Steve and me to Sunday school every week, inside I always felt kind of proud that I didn’t need religion for a crutch. But over here in Nam your best buddy can be alive one minute, laughing and joking around, and the next minute he’s blown in a hundred pieces and it makes you think, what’s it all about anyway?

  “The night after my buddy Rick was killed I was hurting so bad I didn’t
know what else to do, so I got out the Bible you sent me. And all those stories I had heard all my life about Jesus dying on the Cross, all of a sudden didn’t seem like fairy tales anymore because I have seen death, and now I know what His death really meant. I’ve seen mankind (and myself) at our very worst over here, and at last I understand why Jesus had to die for me. It’s like all the pieces fell into place. I’m glad I’m not on bombing missions like Rick was or dropping napalm, because I can’t hate the Vietcong anymore. I don’t know where it all went, but my hatred is gone since I accepted Christ. We’ll talk more when I come home.

  “Did Queenie have her pups, yet? Don’t forget, I promised one to Kathy’s brother, so make sure he gets first pick. . . .”

  A shiver passed through Mike as he stared at his son’s picture. He remembered what Mike Jr.’s commanding officer had told them about his last flight. He had been on a volunteer mission over enemy territory, picking up wounded Vietnamese civilians when he had been shot down.

  Mike looked down at the Book to see what passage Helen had underlined to mark this very painful chapter in their life. He read the words, “For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.”

  Mike remembered those terrible months that followed Mike Jr.’s funeral. He had been so lost in his own grief and guilt that he had pushed aside all of Helen’s efforts to console him. He had blamed himself for his son’s death. If he hadn’t glorified his own war exploits, if he hadn’t pushed his son into flying, his son might still be alive. Mike Jr. had sat on his lap in the cockpit and held the controls of a plane almost before he could walk.

  But even though Mike had blamed himself, Helen never had. He could only guess at the pain she must have silently suffered at losing her son, but he had been unable to offer her comfort or consolation. This scrap of a letter, this verse in the Bible must have been what sustained her, what had soothed her grief and given her hope.

  Mike had opened Helen’s Bible to see and touch a part of her. Instead he was seeing himself, and the picture was devastating. Even so, he couldn’t turn back until the portrait was complete.

  He found another marked spot and another picture. It was of Steve, taken just before he left for Vietnam. He was in his marine uniform. Unsmiling. Hair shorn. Jaw set in angry determination to avenge his brother’s death. His heart filled with hatred and rage. Mike remembered how hard Helen had cried the day Steve shipped out. At the time, Mike thought it was from fear of losing Steve, too. But now he wondered if there was another reason.

  After Mike Jr.’s funeral Steve had refused to attend church with his mother. “There is no God!” he had shouted at her. “How could a loving God let this happen?”

  When Helen had tried to talk to Steve, Mike had interfered. “Leave him alone! You and your religion! How can you still believe God answers your prayers?”

  Steve had never gone to church again. He had abandoned all his friends from church and found new ones to smoke pot with and drink beer. Whenever Helen had tried to talk to him, Mike had always taken Steve’s side.

  Mike looked down for the underlined verse. What had been her prayer for Steven? “Train a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it.”

  Mike flipped slowly through the Bible, skipping hundreds of underlined verses. He stopped when he found another folded piece of paper. It was part of a church bulletin. It was dated two weeks before Helen died. Along with the usual church announcements there was a poem:

  He giveth more grace when the burdens grow greater;

  He sendeth more strength when the labors increase.

  To added affliction He addeth His mercy;

  To multiplied trials, His multiplied peace.

  His love has no limit; His grace has no measure.

  His power has no boundary known unto men.

  For out of His infinite riches in Jesus,

  He giveth, and giveth, and giveth again!

  Mike had taken care of his wife throughout her long illness. But God had been the Source of her inner strength and courage. He had rewarded her faith with His abiding peace. In spite of all her suffering, Helen’s last words had been “Lord Jesus,” her last gift to Mike, a smile. She had underlined a long passage beside this poem, but Mike read it all, hungry to experience Helen’s peace.

  “I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us . . . and we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him . . . He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all—how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things? . . . Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? . . . I am convinced that neither death nor life . . . nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

  If only Mike could ask her what it meant. Helen had shared his life, shared his hopes and dreams, his love of airplanes and flying. But he had never asked her about her faith. Why hadn’t he acted differently, been more sensitive, more caring? He saw the selfish way he had lived his life, and he hated what he saw.

  Mike closed the Book. Tears of regret, sorrow, and guilt washed down his face. He sat, unmoving, for a long time, holding Helen’s Bible in his arms as if he held her.

  At last he wiped his eyes and opened it again. He wanted to read it. All of it. He wanted to find what Helen had found. He paged impatiently past the title page and table contents until he came to the first chapter of Genesis. A small white envelope, unnoticed before, slid from the Book and drifted to the floor. He bent to pick it up and recognized Helen’s writing—“To Mike.” The envelope was sealed. He opened it with shaking fingers and pulled out a letter, dated the week of her death.

  “My Beloved Mike,

  “How I have prayed for the day when you would open the pages of this Bible, the most precious of all books. I can only guess why you’ve opened it now. To search for answers? To find comfort? Or hope? Whatever the reason, I know you will find what you’re searching for because I have tested it and found God’s Word to be more than sufficient for all of my needs. Even now, as I face death, His Word sustains me and gives me peace.

  “I love you, Mike. Yet in the depths of that love I find my deepest regret—I have never found a way to share my faith in Christ with you. God knows how hard I’ve tried, how I’ve prayed for a chance to tell you what my faith means to me. But I have never found a way.

  “You’re such a good man, such a wonderful father and husband. You provide so unselfishly for all our needs. How can I show you your need of a Savior? You’ve never run after other women, you don’t have a violent temper—how can I tell you that you have sinned or fallen short of the glory of God? You are the kindest, gentlest, most loving man I’ve ever known.

  “I have turned to God because I saw the sin in my heart and I knew I needed to be changed. I drew strength from God because I was weak. But you have always been so capable, so strong, so independent. Please forgive me, but I never knew how to tell you that you need to put your life in God’s hands and let Him take control of it.

  “Remember when the boys were little and they wanted to fly an airplane so badly? You would put them in the pilot’s seat and let them hold the stick, and they always thought they were in control, that they were really flying the plane. But you were holding the dual controls in your hand all the time, keeping the plane in the air, landing it safely again. What a disaster it would have been if they had really tried to fly alone!

  “God has been with you all your life, Mike, guiding you, keeping you on course, even though you always thought you were running your own life. He loves you, just as you love your sons. More than anything else He wants to see you land safely in His kingdom.

  “I pray for you and for Steven every day of the life that is left to me. I pray as Jesus once prayed, ‘Father, I want those you have given me to be with me where I am.’ I have fai
th that Michael is already waiting in heaven for me, but how can it truly be paradise if you and Steven aren’t there with us?

  “I know that God hears my prayers, and I have to trust that somehow, someday, He will send someone into your life who will lead you to kneel before the cross of Christ. I have to trust and believe that when the day comes that you also face death, as I now do, you will know and understand those words of Jesus: ‘I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die.’

  “The Book in your hands holds the answers to all the questions you could ever ask. Mike, put your hand in God’s and let Him lead you,

  “I love you with all my heart,

  Helen.”

  *****

  The knock on Wilhelmina’s door was so soft that at first she thought she had imagined it. But after her grandmother’s clock finished striking 3 a.m., she heard it again. She rose from her knees and hurried to the door.

  Mike stood on her front step, clutching a tattered Bible.

  “I . . . uh . . . saw your lights on . . . and I—”

  Wilhelmina enfolded him in her arms and held him close. He clung to her.

  Thank You, God. Thank You.

  At last she led him into the living room and sat beside him on the sofa. She waited for him to speak first.

  “I needed to talk to someone. . . . I . . .” He took a deep, shuddering breath and let it out slowly. “All my life I’ve been in the pilot’s seat, making my own flight plans, handling all the controls. Then tonight, when I was flying in Max’s balloon, I realized that he had a kind of freedom I never had. He just let go and let the wind carry him along, and he landed wherever it blew him. Helen had that kind of freedom . . . that kind of peace. She never tried to control everything herself, like I always did. Am I making any sense?”