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The Tenth Reason
Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. I have written this story for entertainment purposes only and no money whatsoever has exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author(s).
The Tenth Reason
Author: Gallagater
E-Mail: 7j4him@prodigy.net
Rated: 15+
Warning: none
Category: POV
Season: Pre-Stargate
Summary: For every thing there is a season - even pain.
Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions,
Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This
story is for entertainment purposes only, and no money exchanged hands. No copyright
infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of
the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author.
Author's note: Just because it's been a while since Grandma O'Neill came out to play.
Many thanks to Charli Booker for her willingness to use her jar of beta wax and elbow
grease, the combination of which made this a better story.
The Tenth Reason
Grandma O'Neill used to say when God created pain He had a multitude of reasons.
Since the Almighty went to the trouble of creating it, then a body would be wise not to
avoid it, but to search a little beyond the surface and discover some good from it. Jack
would smirk and threaten to stroll over to the church and tell Father Patrick and the
members of the Ladies Aid Society all about his kinky grandmother who was into pain. I
can still see her, five foot three and a half inches, drawn up in righteous indignation,
standing there next to the stove with her hands balled up on her hips daring him to go
ahead if that's what it took to get his backslidden behind through the church doors. There
was always a spark in her eyes. She'd watch and wait, biding her time until Jack let his
guard down. Then she'd roll up her favorite gingham dish towel and quick as a flash,
she'd snap his unwary backside, laughing aloud when he yelped. "I'll teach you a thing or
two about the benefits of pain," she'd crow then snap him again for good measure.
I remember the day Charlie skinned himself up. He was just a little guy, too young in my
over-protective mother's opinion to be learning to ride a bike. But, he was determined not
to let anything stop him from the moment he found the rusty old thing propped against
the back wall of the shed and had badgered his dad into pumping up the tires. Even then
he was headstrong, so much like his dad, determined to do things on his own. He
wobbled his way down the front sidewalk, miraculously clearing the border of pansies
before slipping on the loose gravel near the driveway. I started to run to him, but Jack
beat me down the steps. Grandma and I watched as Jack pushed the old bike off him,
picked up our wailing son, and carried him into the kitchen, his face nearly as stricken as
Charlie's. Grandma shooed us both away while she knelt down and gently cleaned away
the dirt. I can still hear her soothing him. "Charlie, there's all sorts of reasons for pain. It's
your body's way of telling you something's not right. It's not fun, but it's necessary." He
looked at her, his eyes wide and wet, sucked in the snot threatening to leak out and let
one more tear escape. "Look at your mom and dad. A nearsighted tracking dog could see
they're hurting." We watched as Charlie's little head nodded in agreement. "Do you think
maybe your dad hurt himself when you fell? Those brave military men can fool you
sometimes and they'll be sniffling over a little scratch. Men can be pretty big babies." The
little chin had stopped quivering. He tore his eyes away from her long enough to share
some male solidarity with his dad. "Sometimes, the hurt of watching someone you love
suffer is worse than going through it yourself. But, life's a little like a young bird. If their
mama stops them from trying their wings, they'll never learn to fly." I stood there,
squeezing my husband's hand tightly, and watched our little bird digest the truth of her
words.
* * *
I never met anyone with a more perfect sense of timing than Grandma. She never nagged,
never needed to. She was a great believer in the law of sowing and reaping. She always
said consequences were nature's perfect teacher. "You learned that one early, didn't you
Jack?" She'd get that smug little grin on her face and you'd think she was going to wink,
but at the last moment she'd manage to give him a stern glare. "Course, every once in a
while Mother Nature still has to turn you over her knee and remind you who's in charge."
My special ops warrior grimaced and shrugged one begrudging shoulder. "Was that
stomachache worth the price of those green plums?"
I thought for a moment he'd give her some smart-ass answer, but he just shook his head
and muttered a sheepish, "No, ma'am."
With a satisfied nod, she turned to Charlie and added, "Remember that, Charlie, over-
indulgence of any kind always leads to pain. Learn to discipline yourself and you'll be the
happier for it. And, maybe you'll be smarter than your dad and won't end up on the
commode for most of the night." I hid a smirk behind my hand and pretended not to hear
Jack's soft grunt of annoyance which that particular image evoked. I wondered if there
was a drill sergeant out there somewhere who would never know his job had been made a
hell of a lot easier by a seventy-something year old woman who knew enough to let the
stubborn O'Neill men learn at least one of life's lessons the hard way.
* * *
I cried the day Charlie left for school. I plastered a big, fake smile on my face, grabbed
the camera and held it together until those big, yellow doors closed and the bus turned the
corner. I needed a shoulder to cry on and as happened way too often, Uncle Sam had
whistled and Jack was away. My mom was gone and even though dad and I were close, I
needed to vent to another woman. So, I called Grandma. Just hearing her voice lifted my
spirits that day and before I could even start sniffing, she was there wrapping her arms
around me across the miles, ready to share the pain. "It hurts letting him grow up, doesn't
it?" She understood what I couldn't even vocalize. "It'd hurt worse if you tried to hang on
and refused to let go. Growing's painful and I'm not just talking about the kind Charlie's
doing, Sara. It's the kind you have to do by turning loose and trusting that can tear a body
apart. It's just like giving birth. As bad as it hurts, it's necessary if there's going to be life."
She was silent and we snuggled together in the warmth of sharing.
"It about broke my heart when Jack left home and joined the Air Force. Does that
surprise you?" It did, because I'd never once heard her mention anything but praise and
support in Jack's accomplishments. She was the first one to be heard bragging and
boasting at the Bingo hall every time he'd been promoted. "He was so young and I was
afraid that bull-headed nature of his would get him killed. We'd already lost my brother
Ben in the Great War. I learned early how death is no respecter of life. It doesn't play fair.
But, Jack was determined to go and all I could do was pray and trust. I didn't have a right
to allow my own fears to hold him back. Sara, it's frightening when we're not in control,
but life goes on and if we're wise, we'll embrace every day because each day is a gift and
none of us knows when we've opened the last one in the pile.
* * *
Grandma loved the Bible. She wasn't the kind of person who went around spouting empty
platitudes. She didn't think you'd go to Hell if you missed a church service. She saw the
Bible as a living thing all around. "There's a time to grow and a time to die," she'd say as
we were on our knees, pulling out the dead stalks from last year's garden and shaking
loose the stubborn clumps of soil. "I used to grieve over the loss of the last of the fall
blooms. I dreaded the dead months of winter, but I was wrong, Sara. There's nothing dead
about winter. It's just a resting time, a time of waiting and healing. The Earth's readying
itself to put forth the energy into rebirth." I thought about that for a while. Grandma's
comments had a way of making me do that. Jack had always loved winter. By the time
the first flakes made their appearance, he was like a dog drooling over a bone. He just
couldn't wait to get out and play. I thought about my adrenaline junky husband, hell bent,
tearing down the slopes. The doctors had told him to slow down after the last 'training
mission' accident - the one that left him in the hospital for months. They told him he'd be
lucky to make grade again. Not one of them even mentioned the possibility of ever skiing
again. I guess it never crossed their minds it would be an issue. Slow down? They didn't
know Jack O'Neill. Telling him he can't do something is the surest way to set him on a
course to prove you wrong - another thing Charlie got from his dad. Every time Jack flew
down the hill at top speed, he was thumbing his nose at their dour diagnosis. Even when
he knew the cost to his knees, he was always willing to pay the price. As I looked at
Grandma, kneeling next to me in the dirt, I knew she'd understand how Jack felt -
understand and approve.
* * *
Some of the toughest lessons Grandma taught us not through her words, but through what
she didn't say. It was one of the times Jack was off God-only-knows-where. It fell to me
to be the one to call Grandma at the last minute and tell her we wouldn't make it home for
Christmas. It seems some pains go hand in hand; disappointment was in bed with regret,
because we lost Grandma later that year and I don't think Jack ever got over the pain of
missing that last Christmas with her. Not that he ever said anything. Jack, share his
feelings? Not likely. But, he didn't have to. I know I never did. Sometimes, despite what
psychiatrists may say, it hurts too much to talk about it and deep down you know that
even if you share what's bothering you, the hurt won't go away. Sometimes, burying the
pain and pretending it isn't there is the only way to live with it. That's a lesson I learned
from my husband a long time ago.
I think regret is the cruelest pain of all, because it taunts us with the 'what if's' and 'if
only's.' Memories are such two edged swords. Damn Jack's work that took him away
from those who loved him - who needed him. Damn him for having to choose between
family and duty, and damn that duty which always won out. God, how I hated to make
those phone calls of regret, but especially that one. Grandma was alone, but I knew the
house would already be decorated and she'd have worn herself out baking the special
treats Jack and Charlie loved. They say hindsight is 20/20. I should've grabbed Charlie
and hopped a plane home. It wouldn't have been the same without Jack, but still -
But, Grandma didn't want Charlie and I traveling alone with the threat of bad weather,
and I was holding on to the thread of hope Jack would pull off some miracle and, like
Santa Claus, manage to fly halfway around the world and bring me what I wanted most
for Christmas. So, we stayed home and pretended everything was like it was supposed to
be and the fake tree I'd managed to buy at the last minute was just as good as the Scotch
Pine sitting in Grandma's parlor, filling the house with the scent of evergreen and holiday
spirit. Charlie nibbled the store-bought cookies, decorated with red and green sparkles,
and pretended for my sake he wasn't comparing them to what he was missing. It was his
gift to me. But, I could see the pain of disappointment in his eyes and I knew it was
reflected in my own. Far away, Grandma was sharing the same disappointment and even
further, so was Jack. Sometimes, life just sucks.
* * *
There's another reason for pain- the one Grandma O'Neill never mentioned. Maybe she
didn't know about it. I pray to God that's the case, because no one should have to know
this pain. Maybe she did though. Maybe she tried to warn me, but in my pride and
ignorance, I dismissed her words as inconsequential to my own life. Maybe it was
compassion which caused her to hold her tongue or perhaps some deep-seated
superstition growing from her Irish roots. The base fear that lies to us, lurking in the
shadows, flicking in and out of our peripheral vision, taunting us, telling us if we ignore
the ugly possibilities of life's dark side, they can't touch us. Closing our eyes will keep the
boogeyman away. It doesn't. The boogeyman will get you no matter how carefully you
hide.
The tenth reason for pain is the one I see in my husband's eyes. It's the pain attaching
itself like a leech to Jack's soul, feeding off him - the guilt that his carelessness killed our
son. That it was his gun that -
The tenth reason is the pain that's keeping him from pulling the trigger. It's keeping Jack
alive.
>fin<
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Gallagater
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