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By Root 1033 0

the ground colder, we decided to place a bench at the graveside. It was meant to mark his grave until the headstone was completed, to replace the license-plate-shaped metal marker the funeral home had placed there. Our dear friend Thomas helped us lay it out. When we went to his studio, he had made a mock-up. Wade’s name along the side of the cardboard bench seared through me, the heat turning my insides to ashes. Thomas was getting used to seeing me cry. But I had to see it one day; I am just glad my first day was with John and Cate and Thomas. Within weeks, it gave me comfort to see his name there. And Thomas introduced us to Robert Mihaly, a young sculptor who had come to meet him before starting as an artist in residence at the National Cathedral. Thomas’ father had been dean at the Cathedral, perhaps its most influential dean, and Robert wanted to meet Thomas before going. Thomas told us about Robert and his work, and he arranged for us to meet this weird and wonderful young man. At our first meeting, Robert sat with a drawing pad on his lap, and he would lean down and peek into it, lifting the corners of the pages so no one else could see. We were enchanted and confused by him, and—happily—we agreed that he should carve Wade’s headstone. It was a great relief to know that it was under way, although it would be a year before the sculpture was in place.

The late days of autumn were gray. The cold and dampness never left. Even in the worst of summer, I could take my water jug and a book and sit with Wade for hours. As autumn closed, the cold settled in my joints and I was not with him long before I was thinking of myself, of my own comfort, and not of Wade, so I would leave. Robert, the sculptor, brought the plaster model for the headstone, and it was extraordinary, an angel caressing him. I told him I could live with it forever, which was the only test I knew. Our only hesitation was the scale, as Robert wanted magnificence and we wanted intimacy. An oak that was felled by the hurricane that had claimed Jackson Griffith came out, and we planted in its place a magnolia, as the magnolias had fared better in the winds. Things were coming together at the grave. We wondered, though, what would busy us when it was done.

The Learning Lab busied me. I worked on developing a web page for it, but, with no experience and no tutor, I was lost. I finally put something up using the free Geocities pages that had easy instructions for even the most simple-minded, in which group I was apparently included. It kept me busy. And children came to use the Lab when I was there, whether it was technically open or not, so I had company. All of which made John, who was deep into his trial, feel better, allowing him to concentrate his energy where he should, on the precious child, Valerie, whose future was in his hands. Cate was bringing home the same worksheets Wade had brought home three years before, asking me the same questions he had asked. I was busy, but it didn’t always help. I so often felt like a used decanter, a circle of wine in the bottom, the smell of wine at the top, and completely empty in between.

So now we were back to just the usual pain. And there was plenty of it, as Christmas was approaching. I got an e-mail from a friend. His son, Elliot, was in a class taught, coincidentally, by a woman who had lived in my Atsugi neighborhood when we were in high school in Japan. So I heard about Elliot’s essay through his father and then again through his teacher. Misty had asked her students to write about the one gift each would most like to give that holiday season. Elliot wrote, “If I could give a gift to anyone in the world, it would be to Wade Edwards…. He died in a crash while going to the beach for spring break…. If I could give him a gift it would have been to let him reach the beach house. He deserved to live a full life. Also to be able to become the lawyer he wanted to be. I think he would write a book because of how good of a writer he was. I never met him but when I asked my mom about him there were tears in her eyes.