Leaving California

Two minute warning

"I'm gonna head upstairs and unpack," Sam said.

"OK. But don't take too long. We head over to the church in an hour," his father answered.

"So good to see you, Samuel!" someone called after him. Samuel threw up a hand in reply and continued up the stairs.

He went to his childhood room which had been untouched since he left. He couldn't believe his parents had kept everything just the way it was when he left ten years ago. There were his baseball trophies still sitting on the dresser, a couple of his favorite band posters still pinned to the wall. Sam threw himself down on the bed. It smelled musty and old like the sheets hadn't been changed in a long time. He was too tired to care.

It had been a long flight from New York City to Southern California. He could never sleep on planes. All he wanted was a few minutes to close his eyes...

Sam awoke to his father shaking him.

"Sam, Sam. It's time to go. You're not even ready!"

Sam sat up, rubbing his eyes. His father was immaculately dressed in a three piece suit, tie and shined-up shoes. A cloud of cologne wafted through the room.

"OK, Dad. Thanks."

"Can you hurry up, please? We're leaving for the funeral in five minutes!"

"Sure. Just give me a few minutes."

Sam hurried to the bathroom and started the shower. A moment later, his dad was banging on the door.

"YOU DON'T HAVE TIME FOR A SHOWER, SAMUEL!"

Sam bit his lip in annoyance. He cracked the door open. "Dad, do you want me to go to Mom's funeral smelling like an airplane? Come on, give me a break."

"Well, please hurry. Don't dilly-dally in there."

Sam made a mental note to check the airline reservation as soon as he got back from the funeral. Maybe he could even leave tomorrow.

Sam showered, shaved and combed his hair. He pulled clean clothes from his suitcase and dressed. 

Dad was pounding on the door again. "TWO MINUTE WARNING!"

Sam rolled his eyes. He'd forgotten about the two minute warnings Dad was so fond of giving. Dad was a stickler for being on time. This meant Sam's childhood was full of hurry and prodding. Ten minute warnings. Five minute warnings. Two minute warnings. TIME TO GO! NOW!

Sam emerged from his bedroom feeling harried and rushed. Dad was standing next to the stairs waiting for him. Dad glanced at his watch. 

"We'll be late if we don't leave right this minute," he said.

"I'm ready," Sam said. "Lead on."

"We have a bunch of people following us there," Dad said.

"You mean, like a funeral procession? I thought people only did funeral processions from the church to the cemetery."

"Well, a group of dear friends offered to drive us. I'm far too grieved to drive myself," Dad said.

"I can drive you," Sam said. "There's no need for us to back up traffic with a funeral procession."

"No, these dear friends WANT to drive us. They want to be of service in our hour of need."

Dad was prone to melodrama even in the least dramatic of moments. The occasion of Mom's funeral made him nearly swoon with feeling. Sam couldn't stand it. Mom would have been embarrassed. She always chided Dad for his tendency to exaggerate and make things worse than they needed to be.

"I don't think Mom would like it," Sam said.

But Dad was already down the stairs, folded into a small crowd gathered near the front door. He was shaking hands, wiping away tears, doling out hugs all around.

"Come on, Samuel," Dad called over his shoulder. "Brother Joseph and Sister Lucy will drive us to the church."

There was a sudden uproar as people decided who would follow and who would lead, which cars would head up the procession and which would bring up the rear. There were three people who wanted to lead the procession and no one who wanted to be last. Sam waited quietly. This was how it always was among church folk: so much jostling for position, so much tit-for-tat.

Sam had learned to just wait. He'd never wanted to be part of church politics. It made him ill. Now he sat on the bottom step of the staircase and waited for everyone to sort themselves out.

"Samuel! Where's Samuel?" his father was yelling above the fray.

Sam lifted a hand but not his voice. The ruckus continued.

"I WILL DECIDE!" boomed his father in his best pulpit voice. "BROTHER JOSEPH WILL LEAD US AND BROTHER JOHN WILL BRING UP THE REAR!"

That settled it. Sam stood. 

"Ah, Samuel!" his father caught sight of him and motioned for him to follow. 

Sam stepped into the now quiet crowd and followed his father out the front door. A hush had fallen over the mourners and everyone went to their cars quietly. Sam was grateful. The din and chaos of the house was not befitting a funeral. He hoped the quiet could continue.

But his father had other plans.

"Let's sing a hymn on the way to the church!" his father said as soon as everyone was buckled into the car. "How about 'Amazing Grace.' Samuel, you start us."

"I can't, Dad. Really. My voice is shot."

"Oh, come on. You're a singer, aren't you? Surely you haven't forgotten Mom's favorite hymn?"

"I haven't forgotten."

Sam sighed and began the hymn. His father and the others joined in and as the car made its way across town, the four of them sang Amazing Grace  at the top of their lungs. Sam remembered singing this hymn in the car with mom on countless occasions. He remembered singing it with Lucy, his sister, strapped into her car seat. He remembered singing it in church. A dozen years of singing together with his family flew through his mind. 

He felt a sudden pang in his heart. Something like homesickness mixed with sadness and regret. He shouldn't have stayed away while Mom was sick. He should have come home at least a few times. He should have told her how much he loved her. He should have been there when she was dying.

But it was too late now.

He wondered what Sarah thought of him. He wondered if she was angry at him for not coming home. He wondered what her life was like now. To his surprise, Sam realized he wanted to talk to her, wanted to catch up on everything.

As they pulled into the church parking lot, Sam found himself looking for her in the crowd. She was the only one who had ever really understood him in this small town, in this small church. She was the only one who seemed to see right through him and without judgment, only compassion.

Was it too late to make it right with her, too?