Un Jour Dans La Vie

“We stand here in remembrance for a great man,” wept Henry, mournfully. The weather was cloudy, cold, and a whisper of wind swept through the cemetery. Henry and Teresa were at where they were to say their respects one last time to Branden Renoir. Teresa stood over the grave inside of the monastery crying. Her black dress and veil were blowing in the wind as she wept over the graves of her lovers and unborn daughter’s graves.

It has been 10 years since Teresa and Branden split and 5 years since Henry left Branden’s side. Branden died of to heart failure in his late-40’s.

“Henry… I tried. I wanted him to get help. He was so stubborn. He couldn’t – he wouldn’t. He was already slipping when I met him. I should’ve done more.” Teresa told henry with tears pouring down her face.

“Teresa,” Henry said calmly, “you couldn’t have done anything to prevent this if that’s what you are thinking. You were his sole purpose for living. The following 5 years after you and him split he was in exile; excommunicated from the outside world. And you know why? Because there was nothing left for him out there. He never wanted to do anything if you weren’t involved. He spent all his time painting in the fields of Provence. He left you not because he didn’t love you but because he loved you too much. That was his crime; loving someone too much to see them suffer; especially at their own faults, whether or not they intended to do so is irrelevant. What is relevant however is his undying devotion to you. His desire to see you happy at all cost.”

Teresa let out a warm smile despite what was going on around her. At that moment she understood. She was gone for 10 years of Branden’s life and all that time she was clouded by remorse, guilt, wonder and other things that hazed her mind. She was a smart girl, but that didn’t mean she could understand emotions precisely at all times.

The winds were blistering cold and Teresa was feeling it full force. Henry looked at her and slipped a note inside of his coat and threw it over her.

They put down flowers at the graves and said their last goodbyes, one at a time.

“Branden, I am sorry I failed you. I never thought I’d be with you at your father’s funeral when you are young and be with the love of your life at your funeral. I have seen the entire Renoir family buried and now the family is gone. I feel as if I lost my own son. You were my son. I am sorry I had to leave you but I couldn’t see my only son kill himself. I knew you were on a path you were destined for; we’re all destined for but I couldn’t see you do it. I am so sorry Master Renoir. You made your father proud and if he was still alive when you suffered the most, well, you probably wouldn’t have suffered at all. I love you Master Renoir, my son. May your soul rest in peace and your memory last for the ages.” Henry said solemnly with red eyes and tears running down his aged face. He takes a handkerchief and while shaking, wipes his eyes dry.

Teresa walks up to the graves and kneels down in the grassy knoll. She removes her gloves and places them on the tombstones with rain sprinkling on her hands. “Branden, my love. I don’t know what to say. You were a shining light in my life. You were hardheaded, you had your problems but you were someone I loved. I never knew what it was to love but you showed me. I am blessed with that. I don’t have a lot of things to say but when I arrive in heaven I expect to see you at those gates. But I will give you some time to enjoy your stay before I come and ruin the joys of it.” Teresa said with a small chuckle. She stands up and looks at Henry and breaks into tears. Her trembling body falls into henry’s as he gives her a warm embrace.

“I wanted to talk to you about Branden’s will,” Henry said.

Teresa looked up and seen a ghostly look on henry’s face. “I am in my later years and I know I haven’t much time til the good lord calls upon me for my new awakening. With that said, Branden’s will was erected when he was less than modest; before he met you. All assets were to go to me but I don’t want that. I am giving everything to you with the exception of two things: first thing is I am just asking for enough money for me to rent a place to spend my days in peace. I would like to see Milan and maybe get a place there. And the second thing is that the home out here in Provence be donated as the John and Clair foster home for abandoned children and animals. The villa out here would be perfect to realize his mentor’s final dream. To immortalize them all, Branden’s final gift to them.” Henry said to Teresa with a look of peace and a faint smile.

Teresa was moved. She never knew of Branden’s dream; or his mentor’s dream rather. She agreed and they went their separate ways from the gravesite monastery. A haunting final wind blew through the cemetery and just as Teresa was to enter her car the winds carried a flower to her; her favorite kind. She got chills but a sense of joy. She knew he would never be gone forever; he’d always be there for her.

The years following both Teresa and Henry lived happy lives. Henry spent his time living in Milan. He fancied a little café by his home in central Milan and he just loved the Italian architecture. He died 3 years after Branden died and he visited the gravesite of Branden and his unborn daughter quite often. Paying his respects and always bringing mementos. Henry kept in constant contact with Teresa to make sure that she was doing okay. Two weeks before Henry passed away he was sitting in the patio of the café drinking a cup of coffee when he saw two people sit down and order something it was Branden and his father. They both looked at Henry and had the biggest smiles on their faces. In this time Henry knew what they were doing; he could feel it. They were there to help him escalate into a higher plane of being. He died a happy man.

Teresa lived quite a long time. She stayed in Paris and married late into her life but it was a marriage that while was honest and loving, was always haunted by the ghost of memories past. She never let go of that love for Branden and while that was always something that plagued her it also gave her comfort. She always remembered him and never stopped caring about him even decades after his death. She also would visit the monastery often with Henry and they would catch up during that time.

Hemmingway, Branden’s dear friend died shortly after he left Paris after seeing the old band again. He died in Venice, Italy due to a heart attack. He didn’t keep in contact with anyone he knew back in France and he associated little with anyone in Italy. He died alone.

Pierre and Claire lived well into their sixties. They were informed of Branden’s passing after the funeral. They moved to Spain where they were influenced to take up painting again. They got married but had no children. Pierre died in a car accident and Claire died shortly after to unknown reasons. Maybe a broken heart.

Up until the weeks leading into her death when she was losing her eyesight, Teresa would always read that letter that Henry put in the coat pocket in Aix. He didn’t want her to read it there, it was too much. But she never lost or discarded it. She read it for just about every night for those following decades. It was a tragic reminder of everything but it was a beautiful final goodbye from the person who died loving her.

“My dearest Teresa, I write this letter with an uneasy hand and heavy heart.

When I was a young boy I was headstrong and fearless of what my actions will lead me to. I breezed through life without care, throwing caution to the wind; just as any young man should do. When I grew up I was more aware. I knew that I was afraid. I was afraid of what I was going to find. Was I going to be treated to a choir of angels and my loved ones waiting at the pearly gates of heaven taking me to go see the great director in the sky? Or was I to be host to a plethora of brimstone and fire? Suffering in the bowels of hell or even worse - my own mind? Was I to be banished to relive and suffer the same consequences for all eternity? I couldn’t lie, this scared me. I tried my hardest to be someone who people could respect. More importantly someone I could respect.

Then the news came of my father’s passing and I let go. The fear that kept me in line was gone just as was my lifeline, my confidant, my mentor. I lost direction. I was a sick man being led by the blind. People came and gone and gave my life a guideline for a short while, but it was never permanent. I was destined to wreck, I assumed.

Then I found my guiding light, my savior. No more was the ghosts of my past defining me. We were two souls on a sinking ship, not knowing if we’d sink or swim; but we were together and that was comforting enough. I was foolish and I broke. I snapped under relentless tragedies. Those ghosts never left and I lost that shining beacon of hope. I regret that, but at the same time I don’t. I loved you then and I still do now. I just couldn’t be the burdens of all your pain anymore. I was jaded but through that was when I could be her saving grace. I could release her of the pain I was undoubtedly putting her through. I am sorry for what I had to do in St. Peters cemetery but I did it to help you. I couldn’t make you suffer more and if I had another breakdown I knew it could kill you. You are an admirable person and I can never forgive myself. I never will.

Now, here at the twilight of my life, I realize things. I was given everything at the first moment of my life, but I was never aware of what I had till I lost it. I was a king among men. I had love but I couldn’t feel it. I had solace but I never seen it. I had a destiny but I couldn’t control it. I am dying when I write this. I can feel death coming and I am welcoming it. C’est la vie. One day we will be reunited and until then we just will keep tapping our feet to the same harmonious rhythm.

Forever yours,
Branden Renoir”