TRAD: Chapter 33

The bedroom I shared with my sisters hadn’t changed. There were still three sets of bunk beds lining the walls, the same quilts on the beds, exactly how I left it on the night I fled to New York. The copy of the oil painting of Jesus, looking far too serene and disturbingly white still hung on the wall. The classic “Footprints” poem. More wallpaper, this time white with delicate pink flowers. It peeled in curls, browning at the edges, which felt like an accurate representation of my soul at the moment.

Like everything else in the house, the room was filled with memories of my sisters. Whispering after lights out, making blanket forts in the bunk beds, getting yelled at for reading under the covers with my flashlight. I could almost make out the ghosts of us all, braiding each other’s hair and dancing around, even though we weren’t supposed to.

Today, though, it was just me and Sarah sharing the room, a room that echoed with the whispers of the past. It was late when we got home from the hospital, and my body felt like it had been wrung out to dry. We had all hung out in the waiting room some more while Dad, Sarah, and Seth made arrangements with the hospital and the funeral home.

I’d had no idea how much bureaucracy was involved in death, and I scrolled on Martha’s Instagram while we waited, making sure to shield it from any wandering eyes. I channeled my feelings from the day into Martha’s voice, waxing poetic about life and loss, and the glory that awaits us in heaven. Martha believed in heaven, and she knew she would see her loved ones there someday, praise be to the Lord. I wasn’t sure I believed exactly that, but it comforted me to put it out into the universe.

My mom passed, I texted Danny. I wanted to call him, but I didn’t have the energy to leave the room and find a quiet place.

I’m so sorry, Hannah, he replied. Sending you all lots of love. Let me know if there’s anything you need from me.

Thanks, I said. I’ll probably be offline for the next couple of days while we get things ready for the funeral. Not ignoring you. Miss you.

I miss you, too.

I collapsed on the bottom bunk I’d been occupying for the past couple of days, clothes still on. Sarah was right behind me, doing the same on the bed next to mine.

“Lord, that was a lot,” she said, draping her arm over her eyes. “I don’t know if I’m more mentally or physically exhausted. And at the same time, I’m not sure I’ll be able to fall asleep.”

I agreed. My thoughts replayed the events of the evening over and over, from the podcast to the singing to my mother taking her final breath.

“Thank you for everything you did. On top of everything, I’m sure Dad’s grateful. ” I started at the bunk above me. Someone—maybe me?—had drawn pictures on the wood. There were crosses, hearts, and flowers, and I smiled at what younger me didn’t yet know about herself. How much simpler life had been then.

Except it wasn’t, was it? The me who drew those pictures already had the foundation for the trauma that was still buried in my bones to this day. I couldn’t make sense of how my past shaped me into who I was, but at what cost? If I had stayed, who would I be? Happily married with kids, like my other siblings? Miserable and wishing I’d left? I couldn’t change the past, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t still wrestling with it.

“I’m worried about him,” Sarah said. “I mean, they’ve been married since they were so young. They went through everything together. How can he live without her? He’ll really have to lean on everyone else, or consider finally giving up the farm to Seth or Asher.”

The thought had never occurred to me. “Would he?”

“Isn’t that the point of all of this? Passing land down to the next generation? He can’t keep working this hard forever. He’s already struggling, even with their help.”

Being away for so long, I’d missed an important milestone that many people my age were already dealing with: having to face a reckoning of aging parents. As the youngest, my parents had been older than most of my peers at church, but I took the fact that I had so many siblings for granted.

I’d seen Jordan and her younger brother, whose parents were also older, grappling with it. Their parents slowing down, needing more assistance, having to consider things like should they be driving or what medications were best for their various ailments. I’d been blissfully unaware, my parents remaining the same age they were when I left.

“You’re right,” I said. “It never crossed my mind, that’s all. Does Seth want that? Does Asher?”

“Asher wants it more than Seth does,” Sarah said. “But Seth feels like, as the oldest son, he should be the one to take over, even though he’s moved to town and is doing his woodworking thing. Bess filled me in, and it’s a whole thing that could be an HBO series.”

I laughed, and it felt good to have some levity on a heavy day. “I’m sure they’ll work it out, right?”

“Yeah. I mean, there’s a house on the compound for Seth, for whenever he’s ready to come back. It shouldn’t be that much drama.”

“Do you feel like we missed out being gone? I heard about the sibling group chat.” I’d been wanting to ask Sarah this since I got back, but hadn’t had a chance.

She paused. “Yes and no. I love my life with Connor and the girls. I’d never be able to have what I have there, here. I’d never be able to give the girls half of what they have back home. And I’m trying to grapple with the fact that the new baby will never meet their grandma, which kills me. Connor is truly my soulmate, and I don’t want to be anywhere he isn’t. But….” She trailed off.

“You feel like you’re missing out?”

“Yeah. I mean, if I had the kids here, they’d have so many aunts and uncles and cousins to play with. Connor’s an only child; his parents barely ever come to see us. We pay over $200 to have a date night in the city once in a blue moon, and meanwhile, Lydia has never even needed to think about getting a sitter for her kids. But then, at the same time, I don’t necessarily want my kids growing up in this world, so sheltered. They have a great life in New Jersey. They have access to so much culture, the arts, things we didn’t even know existed when we were little. I mean, Harper goes to the MoMA once a month. But at the same time, they don’t have the space we did growing up, and that’s a downside. I don’t know what to think anymore.”

“I guess having kids makes it a lot harder for you,” I said. “I feel pulled in two directions, but that’s nothing compared to you. If I wanted to come back, I could.”

“You don’t have to minimize your stuff. It’s valid.”

“It is, but I don’t have much at stake anymore.”

“Sure you do. You have a writing career. You have friends. You have a boyfriend?” She gave me a sly smile. “I’ve seen you with your head in your phone. I know that move.”

I was glad Sarah couldn’t see my face in the dark. Yeah, I’d texted Danny here and there, but most of the time I’d been caught on my phone, I was actually on Instagram, or reading comments on the article I’d written about Martha, or refreshing Ben’s podcast feed to see if the episode had dropped and what the reception was (it had just dropped on the way home from the hospital, and I was dying to have a listen). But at least I had Danny as an excuse.

“Oh, I don’t know if he’s my boyfriend.”

“Please.” I could hear the smile in her voice, and it felt good to do normal sister things on a day like today.

“I mean, we’ve hung out. We’ve kissed. But also, he’s my boss.”

“Oh, my gosh, Hannah. Are you serious?”

I filled her in on the not-so-dirty details, enough so that she got the picture but not so much she would want to scrub her eyes out with bleach, hearing about her little sister in the throes of passion.

“He’s a good guy,” I went on. “I like him. I like that he has a similar background to ours. But he hasn’t said anything about labels or defining the situation.”

“Ah, if only the two of you were courting.” We both cackled at that. “Now you see why it was pushed so hard on us.”

“This is the ambiguity Mom warned us about, I guess,” I said. “Why buy the cow and all that.”

“I’m glad you have someone. Someone like Danny. He seems great for you.” I could hear the exhaustion in her voice.

“Go to sleep, Sarah.” I threw a pillow at her and she chucked it back.

I put in my earbuds to listen to the podcast, and when I looked over at her, she was passed out. I fell asleep, listening to myself, as Martha, talking with Ben.

It was the last peaceful night of sleep I got.

chapter 31

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