Page 18 of Lasting Hope

BEN

This commotion felt a bit like being home with all his family. The big dinners they would throw had everyone buzzing around and stepping over each other to do the job they’d been assigned. Cinderhill had a hell of a lot more space than there had been in the tiny house they’d grown up in. But working together for one goal felt the same.

Ben and King rushed around, determined to create an atmosphere of comfort and distraction for Paisley. It was all they could think to do. The large screen was set up, blankets and chairs arranged, and the tantalizing aroma of caramel popcorn filled the air. The fire crackled, and marshmallows were ready for roasting. It was an impressive setup, a small oasis of joy amidst the shadows of grief.

Mrs. Tully, observing the commotion, made her way over, concern etched across her weathered and wrinkled face. "What's all this, young man?" she asked, her eyes surveying the scene.

King grinned proudly, wiping the sweat from his brow. "We're setting up a movie night for Paisley. We figured it might be a good distraction.”

Mrs. Tully's eyes twinkled. "Well, isn't that sweet?”

King hoisted a few more chairs onto his shoulder and didn’t miss a chance to throw in a playful joke. “Will you and Arnoldo join us and maybe hold hands? I can set you up on the two rocking chairs.”

Ben had heard little jokes about the budding romance between the elderly couple. He couldn't help but smile, grateful for the lightheartedness. Mrs. Tully swatted at King and then turned her attention to Ben.

"You had to tell her that her best friend died?” she asked, guiding him away from everyone who was working. “Are you okay?”

“I... I didn’t know Doug. I’m okay. I’m just worried about Paisley. She’s been off by herself most of the day. I don’t really know what to say.” He dropped his head down in embarrassment at the admission that he was completely unprepared to support Paisley through this.

“The movie is a sweet thought but try to remember, her heart is broken, and her life is in danger. There isn’t anything you can do to fix that."

Ben's pride in what they had set up deflated, replaced by a sudden worry that he’d screwed up. Maybe Paisley would hate this.

"I don't have much experience with something like this," he admitted, his voice laced with uncertainty. "My family, they've been doing all this work, helping people through abuse and grief. I was the only guy they could trust out here, but far from an expert. I feel like I'm in over my head. I screwed up and called home when I shouldn’t have. Then I had to decide if I was going to tell Paisley Doug had died or not. Maybe I shouldn’t have."

Mrs. Tully pulled him aside, taking his arm both for her own support and to guide him. “There is nothing as cruel as withholding that kind of news. If she found out you kept it from her, there would be no forgiveness. And you can’t have that right now. Paisley is going to need you."

Confusion and doubt clouded Ben's features as he looked into Mrs. Tully's watery gray eyes. "I’m not the person she needs. She barley knows me and I don’t know a damn thing about grief or helping her through this. When I first agreed to do this, I thought maybe I’d have to keep a few crazies away or just escort her to the middle of nowhere. I didn’t realize it would be like this. I am not the guy for this job.”

Mrs. Tully's gaze softened. "Trust me, you two are connected now. When you find out something earth-shattering, like the death of your best friend, that moment imprints on you in a terrible way. You were there for Paisley in that moment. She heard it from you. You're connected by it now. The movie and popcorn, they're sweet ideas, and they might provide some temporary relief. But you need to dig deeper, Ben. You need to figure out what it truly means to help someone in grief."

Ben's eyes pleaded for guidance. “Can you give me a hint or something? I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to be doing. I’m way over my head here.”

A small knowing smile tugged at the corners of Mrs. Tully's lips as she led him toward the common area kitchen. She poured them both tea and motioned for him to carry them as she led him to a quiet bench. “This is the best place in Cinderhill to sit and talk. Or the best place my legs will still take me. You could probably climb a hill or perch in a tree and find something better but I can make it to this bench.”

He sat down and handed her tea over once she was settled too. Ben listened intently as she began to share her thoughts on grief and healing. There was something in her expression he couldn’t place. She’d endured a lot in this life and it showed.

"I've seen horrible things, grieved for so many people," Mrs. Tully began, her voice tinged with a mix of melancholy and wisdom. "And this is what I've learned. A few rules to live by. Don't look for silver linings, at least not in the thick of it. It can make the person feel like you don't understand how deep their pain is. They don’t want you to point out the one little good thing that came from the worst day of their life. It hurts when you do that.”

“Okay,” Ben said, nodding along to her advice. “No silver linings.”

“Good. Next is, don't look away, even though it's natural to want to turn from them. It's so hard to watch someone in pain. They’ll sense it if you can’t stomach what they’re going through and stop trying to make you. They are hurting enough they don’t need the guilt of making you feel bad too. That turns grief into something so lonely. You’d fight for Paisley if you had to, right? Throw your body on some danger?”

“Yes,” he answered without hesitation.

“That’s because you’re a strong guy. Be this kind of strong too. The kind that doesn’t turn away when things fall apart.”

“I can do that. I won’t look away no matter how bad it gets.”

“Finally, listen to every single detail she wants to tell you about Doug. His death will leave a gaping hole in her life, and sometimes talking and reminiscing about the person you’ve lost matters more than you can imagine. She doesn’t want the world to forget Doug, so give her a place to remember him as often as she likes."

Ben nodded again, absorbing Mrs. Tully's words, wondering if he could really do all of that. He wanted to, but it seemed more complicated than he was built for. He was a runner. A guy who didn’t like to get too deep or hang around too long. Feelings were inconvenient and messy, usually best avoided if possible. But he wouldn’t let Paisley do this alone. If that meant he had to buckle down and lean into this complicated kind of grief, he would.

"I need to be there and listen. I can do that.”

“You start there,” Mrs. Tully said, waggling a finger to caution him. "But it's not enough to simply say, 'Let me know if you need anything.' The problem with grief is that you stop knowing what you need at all. You stop knowing what you feel or the words that go along with those feelings. The best thing you can do is be specific in what you're offering to Paisley. Give lots of options. Be there, meet her in the darkness that has swallowed her up, and remind her that all flames of joy that get snuffed out can eventually be rekindled.”

A sense of clarity washed over Ben as Mrs. Tully's words sank deep into his soul. He’d lost both his parents. He’d grieved them but not in any healthy kind of way. No one around him seemed to offer the thoughtful road map that Mrs. Tully had. There were a lot of ‘everything happens for a reason’ and even worse ‘at least they are together.’ Ben had to grow up without his parents. He wasn’t comforted by the fact they both died. Suddenly Mrs. Tully’s advice was hitting home. What he did now would be important. "Thank you, Mrs. Tully," Ben said, gratitude filling his voice.