felt tired. The email drained him. He recalled the times living on the ranch and how it seemed like a part of him. Remembering those times, he felt a hollow place growing somewhere in him. He leaned back on his pillow and let his left hand slip off the side of his bed. He closed his eyes and tried to empty his mind. It didn’t work. He stayed in bed for a while. Finally, his eyes popped open, and he stared unseeing at the ceiling. Pushing himself up, he got out of bed. Shawn began to jump up and down, jumping jacks. He continued to push his body. He moved into martial art katas and Krav Maga moves, rapid punches from his waist, pivoting and kicking an imaginary foe. He dropped and swept the floor with his right leg extended. He flipped onto his stomach and immediately began to do push-ups. Fifteen turned into fifty, and fifty into two hundred. After 230 push-ups, he collapsed onto the floor and gasped.
Shawn lay panting for a few minutes. He soon realized that his thoughts were not going away despite his physical exertions. He slowly got up and returned to his bunk. Shuffling the pages, he returned them to their dated order. He picked out the sixth email. The date was nearly two months after the last email.
Dear Shawn,
I’m sorry it has been so long since I wrote, but then again, you haven’t written for months. It’s really hard not knowing what is going on with you. I am a little afraid of what I might find out, but I think I will try to get a hold of your commanding officer. At least I can get some kind of response.
It has been hard here. That seems like what I always say, but it’s true. Christmas is only a few weeks away. I hate that I don’t really care, but I don’t.
I have been dealing with the details of the ranch and other legal matters associated with Hank’s death. Things are pretty much taken care of. As much as I can do, anyway. Now it’s waiting. Waiting for the government to decide if we will get the rights to the BLM land behind our property. Waiting for insurance to pay up. It’s interesting that Hank stayed up with his payments on the insurance in his condition. Once the decision is made, I should get $300,000. That will help a lot. The ranch is profitable, but the management of it is too much for me. It might be better next year. My brother is running things. He talks to me about some of the stuff, but I am not a businessperson. I always took care of the house and the people I love. Now I don’t have as much to do with the way things are. Your aunt Sally takes care of her family as if she was herding sheep. She even takes care of me somewhat.
I have been doing some reading and thinking. I have also been taking photos. Remember that digital camera that Hank gave me for my fiftieth? It’s a Rebel made by Canon. I enjoy taking it out to the hills out back of the house. I have been trying to photograph sunsets. They look okay, but I have a lot to learn. I have only one lens. It’s a 75 to 300. Those are millimeters. Anyway, my photos don’t look much like those in the ranching magazines, but I enjoy it. I feel like I can relax for the first time in three years. It’s great to be out in the hills at dusk, but I get a little nervous by myself. Jeff always tells me to look out for mountain lions and other scary critters. I take one of the guns your father had when he was alive. It’s just a pistol, but it makes me feel safer. It’s called a Glock, and I know how to load it. I even shot it a few times. I don’t think I could hit a moving object, but maybe I could scare it.
I am also going through things here. Things that belonged to Hank and even things that belonged to your father. I had forgotten that he had guns from his trip to Africa. While I was in the attic, I noticed them wrapped in blankets. They were in some sort of gun bag too. I didn’t pull them out because I really don’t know much about them, but they must be powerful. I can’t imagine killing an elephant. Or even a lion, unless it was about to eat me. Oh well, he liked big-game hunting up until the Africa trip. He seemed changed after that. I think he regretted killing the elephant. I decided to leave these for you to look at. I know your father would like you to have them.
Shawn did not really know his father. His mother had usually referred to him as “your father,” but his name was Kenneth. She had kept some photographs, and Shawn remembered him as tall, smiling, and tough-looking man. His mother spoke about him being a hard worker and smart. She had explained to him that he seemed to have inexhaustible energy. But suddenly that had changed. He was eight years older than Shawn’s mother. When he passed his fortieth birthday, he had a significant drop in energy and experienced some chest pains. Linda had insisted that she take him to the hospital in Burns, but Ken sternly said he wouldn’t go. By the next day, his chest pain was worse. Stubbornly, Ken still refused to go to the hospital. Exasperated, Linda called her brother, but it was too late. By the time Steve arrived, Ken had died.
Ken’s death had been a shock to Linda. Shawn was four years old at the time and did not remember his father except through photos. Although vaguely, he remembered his mother being upset and struggling to be available. In fact, it was Shawn that kept Linda from going into a full depression. Although she struggled to keep going, her need to take care of Shawn’s basic needs was what saved her.
Linda was immediately overwhelmed by her need to take care of the ranch. Her brother came to the rescue. He immediately began to take over the hard chores and advised her on the business end of the ranch. This had been a huge relief for her, but she seemed listless and directionless for several months. At the recommendation of her pastor, she began to attend a grief group. It wasn’t long before the group became central to her life. At about the three-month point, Hank entered the group. He had lost his wife to cancer a few months before. He had hesitated to attend the group, but his family had pressured him to make a change. He had no children of his own, but he had a living mother and one sister. They, along with a few friends, had met with Hank with the intent to do an intervention for his heavy drinking. He had refused treatment but had agreed to stop drinking and go to the grief group recommended by his physician.
At first, Linda and Hank had not hit it off. She remained fragmented and disoriented, and he was irritable and withdrawn; but over time, they became close and dependent on each other for support. They seemed to benefit from each other, and in a few months, both seemed to change. Laughter was heard when they were with her family, and Hank began to take over some of the responsibilities. One year from their acquaintance, it was clear that they were a couple.
Hank asked Linda to marry him about one and a half years from the death of Shawn’s father. At first, Linda’s brother and sister-in-law were not supportive. They felt it was too early and that Linda needed to slow down. It was inevitable though that they would marry. After briefly hesitating and having some serious conversations about her need to take care of her son, she agreed to the marriage. At first, their relationship seemed to go smoothly, but in time, Hank seemed to become impatient with Shawn. Linda attempted to protect Shawn and reminded Hank that her son had been through a lot of difficult changes. This uneasy balance remained until Ellie died.
Shawn felt emotionally exhausted. He looked at the seventh email and debated if he wanted to read it. Finally, he started to read.
Dear son,
It has been crazy around here. One of the ranchers near Burns has been sentenced to prison time for setting fire to the Malheur Wildlife Refuge. It’s a long story, but people are up in arms around here, some actually up in arms. I hear everything from he’s innocent to he deserved it. The big thing around here seems to be that some of the ranchers are fed up with the feds. I don’t really know how I feel, so I try to keep my mouth shut and just listen to people who have opinions. Your Uncle Jeff thinks the feds have too much control and that the land they lease to us should just be given to us who have ranched it for years, twenty-seven years to be exact. That’s how long we have lived here.
Meanwhile, I have another doctor appointment this month. This is just supposed to be a checkup, but I have been feeling really tired even though the doctor increased my thyroid medication. My stomach hurts too. I imagine it’s all the stress. It has been easier this time than it was with your father. People tell me it was because Hank’s death was expected. I don’t know, but that makes
