A Father's Journey

CHAPTER 1

H e knew this day would come; a hardened fact William Stewart could not change. His heart sank heavily because he knew there was nothing more to be done. To William, standing between his two sons, John and Luke, holding their trembling hands did not seem to be reassuring enough. Nevertheless, he hoped somehow that his being there would ease his children’s grief. But William felt vulnerable, helpless, although he didn’t consider himself weak. His sons’ eyes were full of tears, and all he wanted to do was console and protect them, to ease their sorrow amid a small gathering of their family and friends. Everyone listened respectfully to Father Tim O’Malley’s sacred prayer during a time of despair and meditation, a time to reflect upon the life of Anna Stewart.

It was a dreary April morning. Misty rain saturated the pale sky with a milky glow, gently sprinkling the sparse crowd of mourners as they stood in their silent bereavement before a finely polished coffin. Dozens of vibrant floral arrangements lay draped across the center of an elongated mahogany casket. Dew droplets formed by the early mist clung desperately to every floral petal, stem, and greenery. William took in a deep breath. The Atlantic Ocean was near; a light breeze transported its familiar scent throughout the shady Newport meadow.

William glanced down at the boys and drew them nearer, as if to shelter them from the gloomy elements. He remembered how incredibly proud and thankful he was the day they were born, especially Luke. A series of complications had emerged with Anna during the delivery, as her newborn son was being removed from his mother, forcing the pediatrician to order a blood transfusion for her. A nurse hurried to a nearby phone and hastily requested two units of Anna’s type from the hospital’s blood bank.

After his initial examination of the infant, the physician declared Luke a healthy baby, weighing just over nine pounds, although he did weigh a few ounces less than his older brother had at birth. But in the ensuing chaos, unknowingly to the attending specialist, the nurses, and the rest of the pediatric staff, the technician working at the plasma storage center was more concerned with ending his shift on time than concentrating on the crucial task at hand. He mistakenly sent HIV-tainted blood bags to the operating room and because of the carelessness of that medical catastrophe, Anna Stewart subsequently became infected with the HIV virus.

Several years passed before Anna was notified of the medical blunder. By then, however, the virus had advanced into Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome or AIDS. She eventually succumbed to its undiscriminating force. Of course, knowledge of the AIDS virus and its deadly effects in those days was still in its first decade of discovery.

But it was amid the dwindling weeks of her terminal illness that William and Anna, whose marriage was over by more than a year, agreed to resolve their custody struggle over John and Luke, reaching a comparably platonic understanding on behalf of their children, a decision that eventually led to a decisive reconciliation of their fundamental differences; a decision that ultimately dispersed the emotional conflict created by their marital discord. Sadly, the emotional clarity that existed between William and his former wife during her final days was short-lived, but it allowed them to rekindle a portion of the unconditional love and assurance they once shared.

William could do nothing more on that somber morning than watch as his first love was gently laid to rest near her favorite place: The Cliffs at White Shoal. Local residents refer to the protruding seascape as it overlooked the Atlantic as The Point, because of its natural proximity near the northern point of the famed Newport Cliff Walk. The access walkway spanned three and a half miles along the Atlantic shore, providing pedestrians with an intimate portrait of the shoreline’s picturesque vistas. With the exception of The Walk, there was no other place along Rhode Island’s coastal waterways or the entire Eastern Shore for that matter, that heralded such mystical splendor as The Cliffs. It was one of the most magnificent geographical formations in nature. It also provided visitors with a grand overlook of the Lilliputian seaside resort.

Newport was once the fabled hamlet of the America’s Cup race. The city carried on a century’s old tradition as the home of America’s blue blood, the gilded-aged privileged whose famed Summer Cottages now serving the community as tourists’ destinations, were perceived as some of the finest architectural treasures rarely seen anywhere else in the world. As a little girl, Anna and her family would leave behind the opulence of their Cambridge manor for the tiny state’s breezy shores, having spent quite a few of their summer vacations sailing, socializing, and exploring its historic districts.

Of all the enchanting locations the world had to offer, William knew, that for Anna, The Cliffs at White Shoal served as her own private sanctuary, a place of joy and tranquility, a place where she had often escaped while her parents were off mingling at some of the extravagantly exclusive, by invitation only social events. After what she deemed an appropriate elapse of time, Anna would slip away from their rented cottage and rush off to the cliff side, spending many of her days and nights gazing over the miles of ocean before her, mystified by the sight, and listening to the soothing rhythm of the mystic sea. It was from there she often contemplated her life’s future. Of course, her mother and father felt she was simply wasting her youth, fantasizing over what might be.

It was the summer after her first year of college. She had been consumed by an overwhelming sense of joy the day she introduced her new boyfriend and fellow Emerson College student, William Stewart, to the mammoth precipice. The serenity of the earthly formation seized her inspiration, something William had grown to know intimately. That was so long ago, he thought. And now, without regret, he willingly accepted the inevitable significance of her untimely death.

Consequently, through his own willful determination, William came to the realization that he belonged with his sons. He understood the immense depression his children would experience adjusting to life without their mother; he emphatically accepted his sons’ need for his reverent counsel in coping with the most personal of human tragedies. The immediate concern, however, was that John and Luke needed their father as much as he needed to be with them. Subsequently, with Anna’s passing, William could not ignore a sense of loss as well.

Long ago, he vowed before the Lord to remain faithful to her, to love and protect her always, existing solely within love’s endless devotion, much like the selfless dedication and commitment exhibited in certain species of birds and whales that inhibit the planet. By not upholding his end completely, he felt he had failed not only himself but also God.

Still, on that day, it was like none other. The dismal atmosphere that spring morning mirrored precisely the mood William was in now that his beloved, his sunshine was gone. He slowly inserted a hand beneath his topcoat, and placed it over his aching heart. The sound of it grew louder, the sensation grew stronger, creating an awareness that consumed his consciousness.

Most former husbands would not make themselves available to accommodate their former wives. William’s passionate belief in the reverent wisdom and gentle presence of God, introduced to him at an early age by his parents, ultimately forged his unconditional resolve, which for him, Anna had become the exception. She had been his loving wife, or so he thought, and naturally, any lingering feelings or yearnings he had had for her carried over through their divorce. Whatever Anna had said or whatever she thought of her journeyman husband continued to carry a tremendous amount of weight with him, putting more value on her life than on his own. However, the same could not be said for Anna regarding him.

There did exist a time, however, when William did not know what to make of his own existence. He didn’t have all the answers, and during that first year of their divorce, his devotion to God failed him. Consequently, as it pertained to most innate yearnings, he attempted to recapture his own righteous humanity. For the time being, as he stood quietly observing the funeral proceedings, his calm resolution seemingly appreciated the fact that those unfortunate days were behind him; withered away like harvested raisins.

The words spoken by Father O’Malley, his Irish accent hard and true, vibrated throughout the cavernous enclave of William’s cerebral mind.

As most of you are aware of, the priest said solemnly, cradling a bible with both hands out in front of him like a divining rod, Anna was a woman of extraordinary discipline. She spent much of her adult life working tirelessly in the field of dentistry. Her desire: simply to better the lives of the children she treated. Anna’s selfless efforts were instrumental in the development of several orthodontic treatments. While she was struggling to bring a second life into the world, this vibrant and intelligent woman was subsequently stricken with one of modern medicines most elusive and savage viral imperfections. It was a disease her once healthy frame simply could not defend itself against. We henceforth have come together at her final resting place not to judge Anna Stewart but to celebrate her life as a daughter, a sister, a wife and a mother.

William still held his gaze on John and Luke, who were dressed sharply in their similarly-styled black topcoats, black suits, white dress shirts with black ties and black oxford shoes. Tears were trickling steadily down their innocent cheeks as quickly as they tried to wipe them away. They were taller than most children their age, at twelve and ten respectively, and being so young at heart, their unique perspective on life had helped them to weather the childhood vortex brought on by their parent’s marital separation, a legal process of finality that does not only discriminate against adults. Because of their extenuating lives, the boys shared with their mother, based in part on her revolving degrees of morality, they developed an intuitive sense of maturity for ones so young and impressionable.

Death was an integral part of life. William knew the absence of their mother would bring even more trying days ahead for his sons, having to endure the longing, the sorrow, and he pledged he would be there for them no matter the cost. Anna was dead. Their mother was gone. An excerpt from Galatians 6:7 reads, A man reaps what he sows. William wondered if the essence of those words had transcended the outcome of his former wife’s mortal existence.

You’ve revealed more about yourself in your column in The Journal of Dental Medicine than you ever did during the eight years we were married, he once joked with Anna. I mean, your readers know more about you than I do.

I’m surprised you even noticed, she had replied laughingly. Nevertheless, there was a time, however remote, when they would mask their sarcasm with laughter. Those were the days when it was the only method of communication they shared.

If only I had paid as much attention to her as I did when we were younger, William pondered, as he struggled to stay mindful of Father O’Malley. Under such circumstances, no one could fault him for his lack of concentration.

During that last year of his marriage to Anna, William was plagued with doubts, not just over his numerous business dealings, but he had also begun to question his abilities as a complete husband and father. The seemingly unbreakable closeness he once shared with his beloved wife had become a distant memory, although during their wedded union there were scattered moments when the distinction was blurred beyond recognition. He knew that any subsequent endeavor he formulated leading toward a complete and undeniable reconciliation evaporated the moment he witnessed Anna’s passing.

William always believed he was the kind of man who had a uniquely clear and uncomplicated understanding of right and wrong. What he failed to take into consideration was right and wrong generally come with a complexity of layers.

The cascading roar of ocean waves could be heard off in the distance, crashing against the White Shoal’s rocky shoreline, and even though William was now looking at Father O’Malley, he appeared lost within the priest’s sympathetic recital concerning his former wife. He instinctively drew his sons closer, out of protective consolation, allowing his thoughts to wander ever deeper. His mind held the image of a woman he had promised before God to cherish with all his heart. Sadly, it was out of that love for his family, his determination for success that subsequently facilitated the end of his marriage; an end that inevitably crippled the righteousness that compromised his humanity, but not all at once.

CHAPTER 2

F or two weeks, heavy cloud coverage kept the December sun hovering over Newport, Rhode Island at bay. Frigid conditions tightly gripped the Eastern Shore, as temperatures plummeted to single digits and below, setting a meteorological record for consecutives days that winter in 1992. Those few adventurous souls who did venture outside dressed as if they were mounting an expedition to the Arctic Circle; but on this particular Sunday morning, a genuine freshness filled the air generating an atmospheric anomaly manipulating the frosty winter season. The dense clouds dissipated over the tiny state; the calm blue sky gently cradled the newly risen sun like a once-pregnant mother holding her newborn baby for the first time.

A thin shaft of morning light pierced through a small opening, separating the drawn canopy drapes decorating the master bedroom inside a two-story Cape Cod home, striking the contorted face of William Stewart. Christmas day was only two days away, and after spending four consecutive weeks traversing the country documenting his latest ventures for AMS Media, William’s video production company, a respite from his long travels could not have come sooner. With it being the holiday season, a little down time appealed to his overtaxed senses.

William was glad to finally be home amongst familiar surroundings. A man in his mid-thirties, his lean bronze physique lay outstretched atop a queen-sized dark cherry sleigh bed; the left side of his body teetered dangerously over the edge. His head and shoulders etched a soft silhouette into an oversized Goose Down pillow, leaving the bed’s quilted comforter and flannel top sheet compressed against the footboard like the bellows of an accordion, suggesting the night was not a restful one.

In his travels, William was accustomed to an arduous schedule that sent him crisscrossing both sides of the Continental Divide, as he logged hundreds of frequent flyer miles each year. He had stood knee deep in the marshy Florida Everglades, poised along the shore of a crystal blue lake at the foot of the Colorado Rockies waiting for the dawn, survived the sweltering days and equally chilly nights camped out at the Mojave Desert. His latest documentary expedition took place along the Texas gulf coast, in Palacios, retracing as well as updating a 12-year-old cultural conflict between the region’s generations of local fishermen and their immigrant counterparts from Vietnam.

And yet, venturing to such splendorous locations gravely compared to the excitement he felt being with his family for the holidays. He eagerly anticipated his time home again with Anna, John and Luke, having missed them dearly. The boundless adoration he held for his wife and sons, for him, gave his life purpose, direction, as he worked tirelessly to provide for them. But his efforts also caused him to habitually miss important moments with them like attending the boys’ school recitals, reading to them a favorite bedtime story, having regular meals as a family or the promise of a candlelit dinner with his wife.

For William, it was undoubtedly a reason for concern. Nevertheless, the demands of his company, meeting with clients and the frequent traveling, truly weighed heavily on him having to be apart from them so much, but his responsibilities dictated otherwise. As far back as he can recall his own mother frequently cautioned him not to worry about every little thing, but William knew it would be like asking him not to breathe.

So, aside from his mother’s parental precautions, he dutifully accepted the responsibilities of his chosen profession, completing his latest month-long excursion racked with inconvenient connecting flights, where he endured a variety of the customary airline meals, the kind of prepackaged cuisine which has continuously and irrevocably kept the airline industry’s reputation for its dismal and disappointing skyline fare firmly in tact.

However, on a crisp winter morning back in his bed, William Stewart slept peacefully, undisturbed. Nearly nine hours passed since he boarded a small charter plane late Saturday evening in Rockport, Texas, to make an eastbound connection flight out of Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport. The Pan East 757 airliner was corralled to capacity with two-hundred-twenty-one other holiday travelers. After midnight, as the elongated plane streaked through the blackened sky, he deliberated the first sensible appropriation over his homecoming to a solitary thought: crawl into bed and sleep the day away; a revelation that surged to the forefront of his mind the instant he heard the mechanical whine generated by the aircraft’s engines as it decelerated along the icy runway at Warwick’s T.F. Green Airport.

Once he and the other passengers had disembarked, William sidestepped the hordes of perspective travelers throughout the concourse, knifing his way to the baggage claim area as skillfully as a slalom skier tucking in and out of ski markers along a downhill course. Reaching his destination, he politely elbowed his way to the conveyor and his awaiting luggage. Suddenly, three abrupt sharp tones rang out overhead, followed immediately by a pubic address announcement explaining the hazardous weather conditions erupting outside. It didn’t take a degree in meteorology to understand the reason for the mountains of snow piled up around the airport’s parking lots.

A short time later, William hopped aboard a crowded shuttle bus headed for the long-term parking area to retrieve his Grand Cherokee, and drive what usually would have been a modest forty-five minutes to Newport and home, but the imminent blizzard obviously extended his homeward timetable.

Driving south along Interstate 95 at a moderate speed, every few miles revealed evidence of a treacherous reality. A small car had gone off the road and was embedded in a snow bank. The only visible evidence to the mishap was the vehicle’s left side and a portion of the back end. The driver’s side door was open; its emergency lights were barely visible through the caked on snow. The rest of the tiny car sat concealed, half buried under heavy snow. William didn’t see anyone around or detect any movement inside, so he went on the natural assumption the driver must have abandoned it.

Several miles further along, he spotted a zigzag pattern in the center of the road, which led to a pick-up truck resting against the guard rail, but it was now facing in the direction of oncoming traffic.

Further still, William came upon a horrific scene near the I-95 interchange approaching Route 4, which brought traffic to a virtual crawl. State police officers, along with a full contingent of firefighters and emergency medical crews, were working feverishly to extract a middle-aged woman trapped inside her overturned SUV. William was surprised to see so many car taillights up ahead, since the interstate was virtually barren of traffic up to that point. Ahead, he spotted another trooper, who stood off to the side of the road and directed the slow moving caravan around the chaotic scene. Hardly a breeze blew across the roadway. He could hear the distinctive hissing sound from the dozen or more road flares on the ground even with his car’s windows up, placed there by the state patrolmen as directional markers.

More than two and a half cautious hours later, William gingerly maneuvered his four-wheel drive sport utility vehicle across the massive steel and concrete Claiborne Pell Newport Bridge. Through the dense snowfall, his eyes peered at a luminescent glow suspended above the city. The snow was coming down thick and steady; he found it difficult to see even a glimmer of the usually vibrant armada of lights about the Newport Naval Station.

Once he descended the east end of the bridge, and turned onto Admiral Way, he recognized the familiar silhouette of a street light ahead; first, one and then another, until they were visible to him on both sides of the thoroughfare. The beacons of the roadway pierced through the dense whiteness.

William could feel his body sinking, his stomach quivering, as fatigue quickly took hold of his senses. He lowered the driver side window. A sudden blast of arctic air instantly chilled his tired face; a desperate tactic he hoped would serve to revive him long enough to reach his destination. The Grand Cherokee’s tires left a deep impression as they plowed through the freshly fallen snow, leaving a misty, swirling trail behind them like a high-powered speedboat, and it wasn’t long before he found himself pulling into his driveway.

The pathway to the front door, as well as the driveway itself, hadn’t been shoveled yet. But instead of Ann or one of the boys taking on the daunting task, and being exposed to the frigid conditions, he saw it as an opportunity to contribute on the home front.

After he collected his luggage and other parcels, William was where he belonged. He released a huge sigh of relief, flipped the nearest living room light switch on, set his shoulder bag on the closest chair and flung his topcoat over the end of the banister. Was he somehow in the wrong house? Oh my goodness, he uttered in a low voice, as he gazed upon a magnificent sight reminiscent of a Norman Rockwell setting of hearth and home. The spacious interior of their modest early American two-story Cape Cod embodied a truly heartwarming elegance, while reflecting the season’s abundant charm and appeal.

Anna possessed a particular flair for interior design. Having received no formal training, Mrs. Stewart was gifted with true creative insight for decorating. She graced their home with an assortment of traditionally pleasing creations, especially when celebrating her two favorite holidays, Easter and, of course, Christmas.

William thought to take a moment to admire the rich splendor and intricate detail of his wife’s celebratory laboring, but he was tired and he couldn’t ignore his looming exhaustion any longer. Before going upstairs, he checked the answering machine, and was immediately bewildered by the uncharacteristic long, silent breaks throughout the recording sequence. A message would play and then silence, another message and then nothing for several seconds, and so on. Was the machine malfunctioning and Anna neglected to mention it? He realized it was several years old; it utilized a miniature cassette tape to record messages. Could the tape have been damaged in some way? William recalled Anna having asked him on a number of occasions to pick up a digital machine, and he knew one day he would, but he shrugged it off, and decided to deal with the mystery in the morning. Overtaxed, mentally and physically, he was too far along to think clearly.

William slipped off his shoes and ascended the hardwood staircase carrying two large shopping bags bursting with Christmas presents for his wife and children. He paused for a moment and studied a collage of family photographs adorning the wall. He chastised himself because he couldn’t remember the last time he had done so.

Anna, among her many talents, was also something of an accomplished amateur photographer, as she took great care in preserving their family’s precious moments. Each photograph, taken by her as well as others, represented a poignant time in their lives. There were images of John and Luke’s youthful exuberance from the day they were born to their present ages; a vacation photograph of Anna perched atop William’s shoulders at a San Diego beach while on their first holiday trip together several months after they were married.

William suddenly felt overwhelmed as he stared intensely at a certain photograph taken at their wedding reception. Anna beamed in her Victorian-designed silk chiffon and ivory wedding gown with matching ivory veil crowned by a dozen white rosebuds, which served as the tiara. William was dressed stylishly and was handsome in a Bill Blass white tie and tails tuxedo. They sat side-by-side in identical throne-like hickory chairs, pressed together at the shoulders, her left hand held a firm grip onto her new husband’s right hand. The young newlyweds, both wide-eyed and smiling brightly, exhibited little evidence of the overshadowing anxiety other couples occasionally experienced during their nuptials. Aside from the birth of their children, no other event in William and Anna’s lives compared to the joy and happiness they shared that day.

William stood at the top of the stairs and gazed about the living room. Anna specifically designed the central rooms of the house, the living room, the kitchen, the family room, to honor a different part of the world’s cultural belief surrounding the celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ. One of her accomplishments stood in the shape of a seven-foot spruce Christmas tree, which occupied a corner of the living room. It was lavishly adorned, wrapped by a multitude of electric lights and glittering streamers, intermixed by an array of eclectic ornaments. Two gold and silver bells hung on opposite sides of the tree to commemorate the birthdays of both Luke and John. Near the top, a custom-made crystal snowball William and Anna bought to mark their first Christmas together. At the center was an antique gingerbread man, given to a then eleven-year-old Anna during a visit to her fraternal grandmother at her Quebec home. However, one of the more eccentric items came in the form of a flashing blue and red-lighted replica of the original Starship Enterprise and its companion, the shuttlecraft Galileo. Both ornaments reminiscent of the cult 1960’s television series, which served as a harmless prank Anna once played on her unsuspecting husband several Christmases ago, knowing William’s unique fascination for the science fiction program

Moving down the hall, he paused to look in on his eldest son. He carefully set the bags on the floor and quietly crept into John’s bedroom. He was still in his play clothes, fast asleep atop his bed, and breathing heavily, still clutching a Spider-man comic book. His room was filled with an assemblage of collectible memorabilia. An autographed NFL football signed by famed Chicago Bears running back Walter Payton, who the younger Stewart met at a science fair, sat on a small shelf above his headboard. William glanced over at an 8 x 10 photograph of the football legend and his then nine-year-old, on John’s desk next to his computer. William carefully removed the comic book from his firstborn’s hand, grabbed a blanket off a nearby shelf and covered him with it.

But there was more to this impressionable child than a chance meeting with one of the century’s greatest gridiron champions: his natural abilities in the sciences. His room also comprised an assortment of scientific instruments, exhibited school experiments, telescopes, and celestial maps, along with his share of trophies and ribbons to mark his scientific achievements. Science was not a subject William excelled in at school. Nevertheless, he was extremely proud of his oldest son’s expressed interest.

William gently kissed his son on the forehead. He left the door slightly ajar, crossed the hall and went into the next room, where he discovered his other son, Luke, spread-eagled across his bed. One leg dangled over the edge with his foot balanced on top of a Major League soccer ball. Except for a top sheet, all his other bedding lay piled on the floor. His other leg was bent to about the middle of his body with the pajama pant bunched to just below the knee. William straightened both his son’s legs, smoothed the wrinkles out of his sleepwear, covered him with a blanket, and kissed his youngest goodnight.

William knew his sons’ personalities, their likes and dislikes, their fascinations, which were unique and distinguishable. However, in contrast to John and his formidable academic aptitude, Luke immersed himself in the study of music. His knowledge of it, and how he understood its varied principles was quite remarkable. He expressed his musical aptitude through his drum set, a small electric keyboard and an acoustic guitar, which occupied a corner of the room. Luke cherished his multi-barreled instrument the most because he built it himself from scratch; a notable feat for a spry, gangly seven-year-old.

John and Luke were blessed, and phenomenally gifted; there was little doubt of God’s presence in them. William and Anna saw themselves simply as loving parents, who refused to exploit their sons’ talents for profit, unlike other parents with exceptional children. They also objected to the kind of parental behavior which saw other parents ignoring their child’s creativity or accomplishments. As concerned parents, both William and Anna encouraged the boys at every turn; their education as well as other aspects of their lives was paramount, but they also refused to allow their children to lose sight of their childhood.

There was no question in his mind of the parental love and devotion the two of them held for their children. With all his thoughts put to rest on that December morning, William crawled into bed next to his slumbering wife and began staring at her face. He laid there admiring her natural loveliness for what seemed like hours. That’s all he wanted to do, just look at her. Then, several minutes later, he kissed her lightly on the lips, closed his eyes and slept.

CHAPTER 3

A nna Stewart held her breath, excited to celebrate her weary husband’s long awaited homecoming. After weeks of his trekking the coastal regions and watery inlets of the Lone Star state, she anticipated the rekindling of their relationship like a sailor’s bride eager to hold her mariner for the first time after months apart. She’d been left alone those many days to care for their two young sons, their home, and her dental practice, that’s how it was for her.

Now he was home, and that’s exactly where she wanted him. Anna slowly swung open the door to their bedroom and discovered her journeyman still asleep, as she lovingly admired the sight of him. Dressed in a pair of her husband’s favorite