A Different Kind of Eulogy

"Right. Thanks for meeting me here. What do I owe you." Jim is matter of fact, his cell phone in one hand. He's got the ear piece in, the Hermes tie. The distraction.

I review my price. It was a simple set of business letters. I've worked for him before, writing or reworking things for his company. Simple jobs, fair pay. He's always been professional with me, and has referred me several times. I had no problem when he asked me to meet him here instead of at his office in Jersey City. Actually, I was relieved. I thought this was closer. I thought this would be easier. I had no idea.

"Fine. I'll get my checkbook." He moves to the coffee table and opens his briefcase. I can hear two women speaking in the kitchen. I think there's even more people upstairs.

I'm looking around the old house, with the lace curtains and the peeling wallpaper. Doilies. Old ginger jar lamps. A collection of Wedgewood. Good Oriental rugs. Framed needlepoint. An afghan. "Who lives here?"

He is digging through his briefcase, not looking up. "My grandmother. My grandmother used to live here, she passed last week."

"I'm sorry for your loss."

"Thanks." He does not seem upset. He does not seem cold, he just doesn't seem... in any way, any different than the other dozen times I've met with him.

We are interrupted by one of the voices from the kitchen. "Jim! Do you want the every day dishes?!"

He opens his check book. "What are they? Who's the maker?" He raises his voice to carry. He's thumbing through the check register.

"Homer Laughlin! Looks like Virginia Rose pattern!" The voice is matched by a face, as a woman comes into the room holding a dinner plate. "I want these."

"Fine." He is writing my check, he isn't looking up. "Then, I want the Spode Christmas dishes."

As they talk about the good china, and the good good china, I am drawn to a small teddy bear, sitting on the rocking chair, on the afghan. I pick it up and look at it. It's ancient. It's worn. It looks like it has been loved. Sweet face, repaired seam. I'm reminded of innocence. The purity in the way you can love. Like the way you love a teddy bear when you're little.

"That bear was hers when she was a baby." I look at the other woman from the kitchen, who is now standing in the doorway. "She loved that bear. It meant more to her than anything else in this house, if you can believe that."

I put it back down with great care. I am reminded of innocence. "I'm sorry. I didn't know." How much this bear must mean to this family, if the grandmother treasured it so much, for so long.

Jim rips the check from the portfolio and says, "Don't be. It has no value."

I look at him. I look at the good china woman. I look at the woman in the doorway. None of them flinch. Not at all.

He's handing me the check, his arm extended toward me.

I'm reminded of innocence. "You can keep that, if I can take the bear."

Jim squints at me kindly, "My sister deals in vintage toys. She knows. It's not worth anything." He has a genuineness to his face. He doesn't want to rip me off. I don't know him, but I am reminded of innocence, and he has always seemed fair.

"I understand. I still want it."

He shrugs and looks at the women, holding up the check. "If we split this three ways, it's $400 a piece."

One of the women looks confused. She steps towards me as if she wants me to understand. She tries to say something to me, but I stop her. "Our grandmother-"

"Is none of my business." I raise a hand in a gentle stopping motion. "I don't want to know. I don't mean to intrude. No judgments. Really, it's none of my business." I'm reminded of innocence. "I just want the bear." The bear she loved.

Jim picks it up and tosses it to me. "It's yours."

****

He notices the new face quickly, as he comes into the bedroom. "Cute. Where did you get the little antique teddy bear?"

"It belonged to the grandmother of my client."

He picks up the bear and he smiles as he looks at it.

I watch him as he does. His smile. The quiet. I am reminded of innocence.

"I took in lieu of my pay."

He raises an eyebrow. "Wow. You must really dig this bear."

Someone did. Someone really loved this bear. A child, a person. A heart. Someone who's grandchildren didn't value it.

Maybe it does not remind them of innocence. Maybe this woman had been awful to them. Maybe their only memories of her were painful. Maybe they have every reason to be dividing up her good china, and not caring about the teddy bears.

And maybe not.

I have no idea. And I will never know. And that's how I want it. She wasn't my grandmother. I would not presume to judge these people. Or her. For better or worse. It is not my legacy. It's not my place to eulogize her.

I look at the little teddy bear on my bed. I didn't buy redemption, or salvation or damnation. I bought a teddy bear. I am reminded of innocence. I bought something someone cared about. I bought a memory. A place in time where someone was innocent. Her loving this bear, saving it all these years, her entire lifetime, is an act of innocence. No matter what else occured. Or didn't occur.
This is pure.

This is innocent.