A Wasted Life By Timothy St John – Fiction – PAROUSIA Magazine

11 months ago 39

In the ladies’ bathroom of the funeral home, Helen wiped the tears from her eyes for the third time that morning. The funeral for Tyson would be starting soon, and she didn’t want to look too pathetic. She wanted...

In the ladies’ bathroom of the funeral home, Helen wiped the tears from her eyes for the third time that morning. The funeral for Tyson would be starting soon, and she didn’t want to look too pathetic. She wanted to be strong for the family and let her friends know that she was okay. 

Helen stepped out the bathroom door and attempted to put on as blank a face as she could. She hadn’t quite gotten it right before she ran into her friend Sarah in the hallway. 

“Hello, Helen,” the younger lady said. Sarah was so slim that she might almost be considered frail except for the inner strength that seeped through in her voice and mannerisms. She was one of Helen’s closest friends, despite the age gap. “I just want to offer my condolences and let you know I’m praying for you.”

“Thank you, Sarah. I appreciate it. It’s quite a turnout already, isn’t it?”

“Yes, people loved your son.”

There was a quiet space there before Helen answered. “No. No, they didn’t. I think most of these people are here because they know me. Most of Tyson’s friends are the kind of people who wouldn’t show up for a funeral.”

“Now don’t say that.”

“It’s true, though. My son was always chasing after his career, his fancy cars, and his women. He didn’t live his life like, well, like you do, Sarah, helping homeless people. You’re one of my closest friends, and I can tell you this. I know all of you are coming here to console me about the loss of my son and say nice things about him, but I am under no illusions about how he lived his life. I knew my son better than anyone. I suspect some people will want to commemorate his life and make a big deal about what a tragedy his death is, but that’s not so. I loved my son more than anyone, but I also recognized who he was.”

Sarah could say nothing to that. She started to say it a few times, but none of the things she was about to say seemed like the right things. Then Helen started to cry softly. Sarah knew what to do then. She stepped in closer and pulled Helen’s close to her, resting the elder woman’s head into her shoulder. “I’ll help you,” Sarah said. “I will help you until things get better.”

Helen continued crying softly for a few moments, and then pulled away gently and composed herself with a sniffle and a dab of her handkerchief at her eyes. “That’s kind of you,” she said. “I have taken up enough of your time, though. Let me go see some of the others.” She stepped past Sarah with a forced smile and walked down the hallway and into the viewing room. 

The sounds of hushed, reverential conversations filled the space. Helen walked past a few people who she didn’t recognize and made her way toward the casket. She wasn’t particularly interested in seeing her son’s body, nor was she thinking of who she might talk to, but she felt compelled to make herself available for any small talk that well-wishers might want to have with her. 

“Miss Desouza?”

She turned at the sound of her married name. There was Chadley, Tyson’s best friend, his strong shoulders making his small suit look uncomfortably small on him. “Hi Chadley, how are you?”

“I’m fine, Miss Desouza. I’m real sorry about Tyson.”

“Me too.”

“It wasn’t his fault, you know”

“What do you mean, Chadley?”

“Tyson didn’t want to drive that night, not after he had been drinking. It was Carter who egged him on. Told him he was a… well, he called him names.”

He stopped talking for a moment, and Helen didn’t answer.

“It was impossible for him to say no after that,” Chadley continued. “I knew it wasn’t a good idea to get into the car after all those beers, but I didn’t say anything. I’m ashamed of myself.”

“Yes, well Carter has always been a bad influence on you boys. I don’t know how many times I warned you all about him.”

“You’re right, Miss Desouza.”

“And you can always say no, Chadley. You always have a choice, just like Tyson had a choice.”

Before he could respond, someone lightly touched Helen’s arm. It was Pastor John Stanford, with a solemn, compassionate look in his eyes and a Bible tucked under his arm. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said, “but we are about to start.”

“Yes, of course,” Helen said. “I’m sorry we have hardly spoken these last few days. What do you need from me, Pastor John?”

“Nothing at all. Just take your seat in the next few minutes and I’ll handle everything. I will let you know when you can give your eulogy.” He gave her a sad smile and walked away from them and toward the hardwood pulpit at the front of the room.

Helen excused herself from Chadley and went softly to her place near the front of the funeral parlor. The empty space beside her reminded her that her husband had passed away over a decade ago. She missed him most in moments like these.

Pastor John gave an opening statement of welcome and then invited the choir for a few hymns. Helen mouthed a few words of each song by memory but didn’t really listen to them. She was thinking of the empty space beside her, as well as the one inside her, and the emptiness she would meet at home. It would feel even emptier now than it had the last few days. Once they put Tyson’s body into the ground, there would be a finality to it that would make the loss seem more real, just like it had when they had put her husband into the ground. 

A couple family members and friends came up after the singers and gave their speeches. Flowery words, empty and meaningless. They said what a nice boy Tyson was and talked about how they knew he was in heaven. Helen was expecting all of that, and she barely heard any of it. Then she noticed that Pastor John was looking at her. Apparently, he had announced her, and she hadn’t noticed. 

Helen rose to her feet with some effort and made her way to the pulpit. She had written down a few notes on paper but didn’t bother to glance at them. The words were on her heart.

“I loved my son, Tyson. He was going to be 19 next month, you know. I was looking forward to celebrating his birthday with him, because those were always good memories. He liked when people did things for him. He was always hinting at what people could do to please him. He lived for himself, I have to say. I don’t mean to malign his life, but I don’t want to lie to any of you. He was my boy, but he wasn’t the boy I tried to make him be.   

“I tried to be a father and a mother to him, but I just couldn’t. He had other influences in his life that he looked up to more than me. Other people that he listened to more. They became his father and mother these last few years. They were his family. 

“I know most of you, and I know many of you have kids of your own. Hold them close. Don’t let them get into bad company like Tyson did and waste their life on themselves. Teach them how to be a blessing to other people. Teach them how to have good friends. Do the things I wish I could have done.” 

She felt hot tears start to form at the corners of her eyes, but she had one more thing to say. She knew she wouldn’t be able to hold them back after she said it. 

“I don’t think Tyson is in heaven.”

The tears came quickly then, and Helen just as quickly stepped back to her seat. There was silence as Pastor John ascended the pulpit once more. He started to speak, but Helen didn’t hear him. The words sounded like they should be comforting, but she couldn’t get past her troubled thoughts to make them out. 

Pastor John talked for a while, long enough for Helen to calm down. When she started to hear him clearly, he was quoting Scripture. “And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose,” he said. She had heard that verse before, and it had seemed sensible enough in the past. Now, it seemed mocking.

How could her son’s death work for good? All of that wasted potential- just gone. And how had his life worked out for good? He had lived, he had existed, but what was he leaving behind except for sadness and memories? Maybe someone else would take comfort in the verse, she thought. 

As the service finished, the singers came once more to perform Amazing Grace. Then, some people began shuffling out to go to the gravesite. Helen didn’t bother to get up yet. She sat in silence with her thoughts.

Chadley approached her timidly. “Miss Desouza?”

She raised her head to look at him but said nothing. 

“I wanted to tell you that I’m really sorry again, and I heard your speech really well. It made me think about what I’ve been thinking about for a few days now, since Tyson… I don’t want to waste my life.” 

He paused for a moment, and Helen noticed that his eyes looked wet. Chadley continued. “I am going to stop hanging out with Carter. Going to tell some of the other guys to stop hanging with him too. He’s bad news. He’s… well, I just wanted to say that, and tell you thanks for looking out for me. Sorry about Tyson again. I’ll miss him.”

Helen silently watched him go. She didn’t know what to say to that. A few more people passed in front of her to see Tyson’s body before his casket was closed. Helen figured she would take one last look.

She rose slowly and stepped even more slowly to the casket. It was odd to see her son so lifeless and still. Even when he was sleeping, he looked like he was in a state of motion. This wasn’t her son anymore, Helen recognized. He had left his body. 

She watched the casket being closed and the body be taken out into the waiting hearse. 

She stood in silence at the gravesite. Pastor John said a few more words, but she only heard the verse from earlier. “All things work together for good for them that love God…” I love God, she thought, so where is my good? Where is the good in this senseless death, so soon and so young? Where is the good in a selfish life?

The funeral was done. People were moving silently away. A few of them gave her some words of comfort. Most of them simply gave her sad or pitying looks. It was thin, slight Sarah who came up to her and held her hand. 

“I meant what I said, Helen.”

“About what?”

“I will help you.”

Helen didn’t say anything.

“I meant it sincerely when I said it, but I didn’t realize the scope of the help you might need. I wasn’t even thinking about what it would really take to be a good friend to you like you have been a good friend to me. All things work together for good. That’s what the pastor said. It made me think that this situation could be for our good- both of ours.”

That made Helen perk up and she looked questioningly into Sarah’s eyes.

“I want to help you just as much as I can,” Sarah said. “I know you are all alone in that house, and I have space in my house for you. You’re going to get lonely, and I would like to offer you my home for the while. Until you feel like you don’t need the company or until whenever.”

“That’s incredibly kind of you,” Helen said slowly. “I can’t impose on you like that, just come bring all of my problems into your home.”

“Oh, it wouldn’t be a problem, you see, because I need help with the homeless ministry. You’re a much better cook than I am, and they always complain about my food- well the ones who are honest with me do. I could use your help. You would have something to do. We would both have company, and I think it would work out for good.” 

Helen wasn’t sure how to respond. So many thoughts were flooding through her mind that they made it impossible for her to figure out what to say exactly. “That’s a kind offer. I will let you know. Soon.” Sarah squeezed her hand affectionately and smiled slightly, and then left Helen standing alone. 

But she wasn’t alone. Helen looked upward, imagining she could see her God in His heaven watching her. A faint, peaceful smile started across her lips. 

 Timothy St John writes from Trinidad, in the Caribbean. A freelance writer for the past 13 years, working for clients all over the world and writing online blogs, how-to articles, business service pages, press releases, and news articles. He has ghostwritten a few novels and textbooks. You can find his work on FXLeaders.com. He also have a self-published Christian romantic comedy novel on Amazon, Oh Dear, I’m Dating a Superhero! He oversees his church’s homeless ministry and occasionally preaches at the church and at sister churches.


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