faded clippings.
Grandma Tilly kept the faded newspaper clippings tucked safely in her Bible. Her Bible rested squarely on her lap, held gently in the soft folds of her cotton dress with the tiny flowers of pale pink and blue.
Every day. Always.
It’s hard to know what will happen to a family when their story becomes headline news.
I was only seven years old when the details reached our tiny corner of the Pacific Northwest. I was too young for the news to be anything more than hushed secrets heard through walls but for my father, it changed everything.
My brother and I were Family Number Two. Dad had already raised two children – sons – before us that were closer in age to our mother than our own father was. But a 25 year gap couldn’t keep their love from growing and soon he had fathered a second set of children. My parents divorced when I was six, and Dad moved back to his home state of Wisconsin.
But we remained the two children he was closest to and would call after most often. How could we know that being first in his mind would seal his fate forever?
The news reached him by telegram. He was a contractor, working on a job site far from home. This strong man – my father – could pound a nail clean in with one powerful whack of the hammer. He had no idea that everything was about to crumble beneath him.
URGENT. THERE’S BEEN AN ACCIDENT. YOUR SON IS INJURED.
He wasted no time. He dropped everything and rushed to his child.
Far from home.
Across the country.
In Washington state.
All I knew was that my daddy was home. The big, strong man with the whiskery face that would tickle my cheek when he scooped me up in his arms.
I had no idea why his knees buckled at the sight of my brother, Robby, alive and well and gearing up for soccer practice.
Hushed secrets were heard through walls.
“It was Billy? ….oldest son…..was shot…..the funeral……….Oh God, you’ve missed the funeral.”
There was no way to undo what had been done.
A mistake.
A miscommunication.
An assumption made in the flash of a moment that divided a family forever.
Years later, my brother and I spent our summer vacation with our father in Wisconsin. We stayed with him at his childhood home. Late one night when only the hushed sounds of sleep could be heard through walls, I snuck into the sitting room and took Grandma Tilly’s Bible from the shelf.
With a racing heart and shaking hands, I carefully unfolded the yellowing newsprint and read the article with tear-blurred eyes.
William “Billy” Smith, on family leave from the Marines to meet his newborn son, was shot and killed on September 6, 1981. He and a friend worked odd jobs together to earn extra money. To make ends meet. They were headed to the home of Fredrick McCallister, age 91, to help fix a leaking faucet.
Mr. McCallister was confused. He thought the young men were intruders. He fired his gun and killed my brother.
Billy’s friend made it out and called for help. But Billy was already dead. They took the elderly man into custody. Mr. McCallister died of a heart attack on the way to the police station.
Billy Smith was survived by his wife, Brenda, and newborn child, Billy, Jr.
I returned the faded clippings, tucking them safely back into my grandmother’s Bible.
Exactly as they had been.
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I’m entering this story to YeahWrite.me – a wonderful community for bloggers who write and writers who blog.
oh no, oh I’m so sorry. What a tragedy in every sense for everyone. Thank you for sharing.
Thank you so much, Maggie. I appreciate you stopping by.
Oh wow. Oh no how devastating for your father. So brutal that any family has to endure the loss of a child but a mistake that caused him to miss the one chance he had to say goodbye, so sad. Oh. Brutal.
Beautifully written. A gorgeous tribute to your brother and your father.
Thank you, Carrie. I know that I see this through the lenses of a small child in love with her dad and it’s still painful for his family. Hard all around.
Wow. This must have been such a difficult story for you to tell, but you told it beautifully.
Thank you so much, Sam.
Oh how awful! This was incredibly moving. I’m so sorry!
Thank you, Stacie. It was and is quite a tragedy.
I am DYING at this story. It’s a billion degrees in this room but I am shivering. IT’s so awful to contemplate. I want to say I am sorry, but I am more speechless. A punch to the gut. The sorrow and the confusion. I am THIS CLOSE to an anti-gun rant, but that would be horrifically inappropriate.
Rant away, girlfriend. A huge tragedy that should never have happened. Thank you – as always – for your support!
What a story. It’s the kind of story you find in a novel. I wondered if it was fiction. Memoir or novel, either would work. I like the way you unraveled the layers.
Wow, Stephanie. Thank you for this huge compliment. It is a true story, to the best of my childhood memories. I didn’t ask the family to fill in the gaps – no need to open old wounds.
This is heartbreaking.
Very. Thanks for stopping by, friend…
What a devastating story. I am so sorry for your father and all that he has had to deal with.
Thank you, Christie. He passed away when I was in high school and I don’t think his family has forgiven him even to this day.
Ugh, how tragic.
Thank you, Gia. Very…
terrible tragedy. wonderfully moving story. I’m sorry.
Oh no. Your poor father. He must have been crushed. How awful that he couldn’t get there in time for the funeral. How awful to lose a child like that.
Melisa – here’s the part you made not know from that tragedy and how it came to be that your Dad missed the funeral. He was working up in Alaska and he was only told “your son has died”. He had a son in Wisconsin, one in California and one in Washington and no phone and he had to wait for a plane to fly off the island he was on. He came to WA bc it was closest and I think he didn’t imagine what could have happened to his grown boys. The military had already come to inform us but we weren’t home and a neighbor told me later that day that they had been by. Then another neighbor came to me and said your Dad had called her from an airport and asked her how Robby was and she said Robby was fine. Your Dad asked her “Which one of my sons is dead?” I will never forget that question and how difficult it was for him to have to ask it. He was devastated.
Oh, man. This is devastating. I want to leave a some kind of Good, Thoughtful Comment. But all I can say is I’m so sorry for everyone involved and it was brave of you to share this.
Oh, how awful for everyone. And so very, very sad… Many hugs all around for your whole family…
Oh, Melisa! Your poor father. What a thing for him to have to carry around! Of course, he couldn’t possibly have known it was his older son, but the guilt a parent must feel in a situation like this — I hope none of us ever has to face it.
This was so moving. My heart goes out to your family.
P.S. Very nice use of the prompt.
The part that was most tragic for me was that he never was forgiven by that side of the family. But bitterness is easy to hold onto in that sort of situation, when the first family already feels abandoned. So sad on many fronts.
Thanks for sharing such a powerful story.
Simply heartbreaking. I can’t imagine losing a child, grown or otherwise. And I really can’t imagine the horror of not knowing which. I’m so sorry for your loss.
Melisa, I can tell you pushed your boundaries on this one, and thank you for sharing so bravely of your family’s history. It’s all heartbreak and anguish here. ~ C.
Oh, what a terrible, terrible tragedy. It affected so many people and for no reason whatsoever. So sad, but really well written!
This is heart-wrenching and tragic – all around. I’m blown away by the story and impressed with your telling of it. You’re a brave, talented woman. I’m really sorry for your loss.
What a sad story. You told it beautifully. Every detail. I could hear the opening of the newspaper clipping.
Wonderful post and the last line is perfect, especially because nothing could ever be exactly as it had been for the people who loved that boy.
Jesus, this story. It is so horrifically awful on every level. I honestly need some time to digest it. Incredible writing here.
Oh Melisa, what a terrible burden for your father to carry. What a senseless tragedy. I’m so sorry.
It is heart-wrenching how this story has a muddled film of childhood memory overlaying it. Oh, the secrets that have been revealed through newspaper clippings and overheard whispers. I guess our children will just be able to Google it. Ellen
Oh man! My heart aches for your dad and your grandma and your whole family. As a parent, what a horrific thing to happen and the chain of events. I love that you knew how he felt for you and your brother as his second family. I can’t imagine this and I’m sure it was a difficult story to tell and share. I can picture your grandmother’s Bible. My father keeps many things in his too.
Such powerful imagery. I felt like I was watching your father’s disbelief at seeing your brother. A shocking story put so eloquently. Thanks for sharing such an intimate part of your life.