Orphan
After Mom’s death, Dad’s inevitable spiral into complete depression should have easily been foreseen, had anyone been paying attention. Many military people develop addictions to alcohol and Dad had acquired a life long problem while in the service. After the kids and I rejoined James and his kids, Dad became very angry and withdrawn. Refusing to talk to us by telephone, he threw himself into blind drunken oblivion.
While in this nonsensical state, Dad began to frequent the local VFW where he was befriended by the bartender. It was pretty much all down hill for Dad, at that point. Being known as a distraught, alcoholic widower had made him easy prey for people up to no good. The bartender, being one of those people, introduced his older sister, Reba, to Daddy. In February,1980, they were married and moved from Lubbock to Arkansas. August 29, 1980, we got the call. Daddy had been killed in an “accident”.
Mom, the cornerstone of the family, had left a chunk missing in the foundation of the Stewart family structure. Dad would not, or could not, stand in the gap left by Momma. He couldn’t bear to see or hear his children anymore. He tried to erase all memories, forget our existence. As immutable living reminders of our mother, he couldn’t bear it. My Daddy, my hero, the strongest, most intelligent man I had ever known, could not find the presence of mind to fight the battle; enough strength of heart to overcome his loss. He, too, had arrived at a fork in the road, and he did not make the choice for survival. It was difficult to understand Dad’s lack of desire to live his life, even the way his life was. He had kids, grandkids, people who really loved him. What was it that made the difference in someone’s choice to live or die? Later, I was to realize that actually “making the choice” was the difference…and Dad chose to leave us.
Upon arrival in Bentonville, Arkansas, my brothers, me, and Mom’s sister, Reland, changed clothes out of respect for our father at a service station near the cemetery. We had to drive like crazy in order to be on time for the funeral. The “new” Mrs. Stewart, whom none of us had previously met, was already at the grave site; SHE and her bartender brother. SHE ( as she will be referred to henceforth) was fully adorned in blue jeans and tee-shirt, hair in rollers. SHE was in a great hurry to “get this over with”, and return to “her home”, in Lubbock…..actually, the “home” being my Mom’s home. There was the brand new house in Bentonville, Dad had built “just for her”…… but it was “already sold”. It was really difficult to look into the lying face of that woman, and impossible for me to speak to her; all of the hate I could muster and load up, was aimed directly at her. I’m not quite sure what prevented me, in that moment, from grabbing her by the throat and tearing that despicable head from that puny, little body! I don’t think I was a real Christian right then. Actually, there was no Jesus in me right then.
My older brother expressed our desire for our dad to be buried next to our mother, in Dallas. SHE refused our request. SHE was “in a hurry”; SHE wanted him “in the ground, now!” We spoke with the funeral directors, pleading with them to delay the actual burial, until we could speak to an attorney, or a judge. Thankfully, they agreed to honor our request. What we learned from the district attorney chilled us to the very bone.
The deposition given by SHE, did not jive with the evidence at the scene, or what evidence there was. In the statement, SHE reported that while retrieving their riding mower from the country club, Dad had experienced shortness of breath, and possibly had a heart attack driving back to their home. The car had run off the left side of the road, into a ditch, up against a tree, pinning the driver side door shut. SHE couldn’t open her door and pull Dad out, because of the angle of the car in ditch. Anyway, SHE thought “her husband” was dead, already. SHE climbed over the front seat, exited out the back door on the driver’s side, being sure to grab her handbag on the way out. Then “the car exploded….three times….and burst into flames!”
The investigation told a far different story than SHE did. The vehicle was indeed “in a ditch”, but it could not have been traveling at a very high rate of speed to get there. The only actual body damage on the car was caused by fire. The forensic evidence of the burned out vehicle proved regular gasoline had been used to ignite the fire; the car used unleaded gasoline. Autopsy of the body, proved there was no smoke in the lungs, but the skull was fractured. The medical examiner suggested that “blunt trauma” was the immediate cause of death. Dad had been killed before the accident.
SHE was the only witness. Her brother, somehow nearby, was first on the scene. Police were called by someone passing by. The district attorney told us, “SHE is the most cold blooded b—-”, he had ever come into contact with. Since there were no witnesses, no murder weapon, SHE was charged and convicted of “burning a corpse”. SHE was fined $5,000, given a one year, probated sentence then sent on her merry way. That, in itself, was unforgivable! Only in Arkansas!
SHE and her brother, had somehow convinced my Daddy that his four sons and only daughter, were selfish, mean, and only cared about his money and property. Supposedly SHE thought he was worth a fortune. Mom and Dad were comfortable, but not wealthy by any stretch of the imagination. Dad had changed his and mom’s joint will, one week before his death and the new “Mrs. Stewart” took everything. All of my mother’s fine china, with matching crystal, purchased while we were in Japan. Mom’s silver service. Every household and personal item that Mom and Dad had collected over forty plus years, all given to that woman. Twenty of those years we spent traveling the world together, as a family. Every memory saved on video tape, every letter, every photograph…all of it now belonged to a complete stranger. In a little over a year, that stranger and her brother had taken our father’s life and stolen any inheritance he and our mother might have wanted us to have. We were left with the memories of our childhood, secreted away in our hearts. Thankfully, SHE did not get those!
We did manage to have Dad’s body taken to Dallas to be buried beside our mother in Arlington Cemetery, though. At least he wouldn’t be lying in some unknown graveyard, in another state, where no one had known or cared for him. The Air Force gave him a military funeral, with full honors, which was very gratifying, and helped to ease some of our emotional pain. One important lesson we were to learn very quickly was no matter what their age, when a child looses both of their parents….they are still orphans. I was 35 years old………I felt twelve. I would need….and miss..the loving comfort that only parents can give…..many, many times in the days, months and years to come.
