A Place to Heal. CA J.D. Bodiford
A Place To Heal
CA Bodiford
Copyright 2012 CA Bodiford,
All rights reserved.
Published in eBook format by eBookIt.com
ISBN-13: 978-1-4566-0732-6
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
This book is dedicated to our three sons,
Chris, Josh, & Taylor,
our grandson Bryce,
and
our granddaughter Dylan Rose
….for the promise of the future lies in the heart
of the next generation…
PROLOGUE
2005
It was a beautiful September morning. The sun was the color of fine gold without a cloud in the sky. The sky was the pure, deep blue of the ocean ten miles out. The birds sang to their young, promising food and flight to the untried babies and many others of God’s small creatures could be seen scurrying around doing what all small creatures do. The drying leaves covered the ground like a quilt of fall colors. They rustled loudly under Emma’s black pumps, the sound unnoticed as she and her mother walked ahead of the large crowd of family and friends. They took their seats at the front of the block of chairs, facing the man who would try to ease their sorrow and deep pain with words of God; try to comfort them with promises of a better life where there were no bullets, no roadside bombs, no martyrs willing to give their life for their God and take all with them that they could. He would speak of freedom, service, loyalty, and making the ultimate sacrifice so that others could be free. He would talk of streets of gold and mansions prepared for the faithful. Emma sat silently through it all, not hearing a word much less finding comfort.
Her eyes were fixed, her vision so blurred by tears the details of the two caskets in front of her were indistinguishable. The sound of her mother’s quiet sobs echoed in the silence, emphasizing the words softly spoken by the preacher that had known all three siblings their entire life. Emma’s eyes were gritty, swollen as she sat stiffly with tears still rolling down her cheeks. Dear God, how could she have any tears left?! Her aunt held her mother close, her arm around her sister’s shoulders. Her father sat stoically, all emotion wiped from his face. No one tried to comfort Emma. All who had attempted had been pushed away, her anger too great to be set aside yet for the solace that grieving would eventually bring. She had withdrawn into herself, trying to understand what justified the loss of these two lives. The only answer that came to her was nothing. Absolutely nothing.
It had been two weeks since the uniformed men had knocked on their door and shattered their world. She vaguely remembered some of their words; something about an unexpected attack in an outlying village, a call for an airstrike and reinforcements that came too late to save the four young men trapped there; how they died bravely, fighting for the country they loved. She knew that her family wasn’t the only one that had ever lost a loved one in that hellhole of Afghanistan halfway around the world. But that was little comfort to Emma in the depths of despair she had fallen into. She had thought about contacting the other families that were suffering just as they were from that day, but she was too bitter, too filled with hatred. She knew that one day this would not be such an overwhelming force in her life; that she would find a place in her heart to put this and a way to move past it. Maybe then she would be able to offer them something besides more pain. She had their addresses so she would just save them for that day.
Her older brothers had been as different as night and day even though they were only fourteen months apart. Five years older than her, they had been the sun in her universe. Protective, teasing, maddening at times, they had taught her what she needed to know about life and especially about taking care of herself in a man’s world. No sissy, helpless sister for them, no sir. She had to be as fast, as smart, as mean, and almost as strong as they were. Her mother had done her best to make a young lady out of her but by the time she got her only daughter away from her brothers, it was too late. Emma’s saving grace had been going away to college and joining a sorority. She had bloomed into a breathtakingly beautiful young woman and her “sisters” had taught her everything her mother could not about the opposite sex. Dating, however, was a near impossibility. As soon as her brothers heard there was a man in her life she could count on a visit from them. No one was ever right for her as far as they were concerned. She had all but given up on finding someone when they both decided to enlist. She had breathed a sigh of relief at the thought of finally having her freedom. Sure, she would miss them, but they would be home every now and then. With all the ignorance of the young, she had cheerfully kissed them goodbye and got on with the business of finishing up her degree in interior design. They had not been able to attend her graduation but she knew they were proud of her just the same, even if it was a girly career she had chosen. Three hard years later, she was at the top of her game; the most sought after young designer in the Houston area and quickly making a national name for herself. Content with the letters she received from them and always making sure to be available when they were home on leave, it never crossed her mind that one day they might not come home full of life and mischief as always. Certainly not that one-day they might not come home at all. But here she sat in front of two flag draped coffins, despair and confusion eating her alive at how this could have happened.
CHAPTER 1
2007
Emma flipped through the stack of papers on her desk. Her mother was beyond compare when it came to writing her messages down, sometimes in great detail, but where she chose to put them was always the challenge of the day. If she thought they were concerning ordinary things, she would stack them in endless piles on Emma’s desk. If she thought they were somewhat important, she would place them in the basket on the kitchen counter. However, if she thought they were very important, she would place them on the vanity in Emma’s bathroom where she was sure she would find them. So every day, Emma would make the rounds of these three places and gather everything up to go through with her morning coffee. Today was no exception.
“Emma are you up?” her mother called out, right on schedule.
“Yes, Mom, I’m in here,” Emma answered patiently.
The study door opened and her mother strolled in, dressed to the nines, every hair in place, draped with jewelry. She carried her morning cup of tea, sipping delicately as she sat down in one of the leather chairs in front of the desk.
“So what are your plans for today, dear?” she asked.
Emma smiled, the familiar routine bringing her reassurance that her mother was having a good day today. After the death of her brothers, her mother had sank into a deep depression, functioning only enough to get through each day as long as nothing stressful happened. Then Emma’s father had died six months later and she had just shut down. It had taken a whole year of hospitalization to bring her back but she would never be the same again. Her days now were simple, much like a child’s. She had a daily routine that as long as it didn’t vary, ensured she could get through the hours. She got up at the same time, ate the same thing for breakfast, started her day dressed as if for a party and depended on Emma to be sure everything ran smoothly. If it didn’t, if there was even the slightest variance not instigated by her or meeting with her approval, she would return to spend the day in her room, staring sightlessly out the window. It would take days for her to regain her equilibrium, to reestablish her ability to deal with the tasks of everyday life. Together, they dealt with each day as it came, one at a time.
“Well, first I must go through all these messages from yesterday and then I’ll decide what comes next. Who knows? Maybe