Page 31 of Someone to Remember
My kids slept on either side of me last night, their little bodies trembling with sobs long after they were asleep. I was awake most of the night, my brain racing with a million thoughts and my heart aching with intense sadness for my sweet Will. I miss him so much. I want to turn to him and ask him what I should do, but he’s not there, and he never will be again.
I simply can’t believe he’s gone. He was just here the other day, kissing me—and then my baby bump—goodbye before he left for a double shift. He’s been working a lot lately, as they tried to make up time lost during an unusually rainy autumn that put them behind schedule.
It’s impossible to believe I’ll never again see his handsome, smiling face. I’ve grown accustomed to living without Greg, as hard as that’s been, but this time… Will was supposed to be my happily ever after, my reward for surviving the loss of my first love and the father of my children. We were supposed to last forever.
Now what am I supposed to do?
First chance I get, I want to move out of this house where I’ve lived with two husbands who died. This place is cursed, and you’ll never convince me otherwise. I want to get myself and my kids out of here, but of course that won’t be simple with a new baby due imminently, not to mention it’s the only home Eliza and Miles have ever known. Leaving here will be another loss on top of the others.
But I can’t stay here. It was hard enough to stay after Greg died in this house. It’ll be even harder this time around, as the kids are old enough to have loved Will with their full hearts. Losing him is devastating for them. They’ve been very quiet today, accepting the outpouring of love from the people in our lives while coming to check on me every few minutes, as if they need to see with their own eyes that I’m still here.
My poor, poor babies.
Iris comes into the room, carrying a steaming mug of the decaf tea I drink while pregnant. It’s no substitute for coffee, but it’s better than nothing.
She sits on the coffee table and hands the mug to me. “I put some honey in it to sweeten it up.”
“Bless you.”
She glances toward my feet. “How are the cankles?”
“Still cankling, but maybe a little less than they were.”
“Can I get you something to eat?”
“I don’t think I could.”
“I hate to say that you have to, but…”
“Maybe some soup or something like that. There’s this lump in my throat…” I stroke the spot. “I can’t get anything past it.”
“I remember that lump and how hard it was to eat.”
“I didn’t have it when Greg died. I had it when he was first diagnosed, and it showed up often throughout his illness, but it wasn’t there when he died.” I glance at her. “As awful as it sounds, I was relieved after because he was free—and so was I. It sounds terrible to say that out loud…”
“I get it. I’ve heard other widows say the same thing after nursing a spouse through a terrible illness. Lexi talks a lot about the relief—and the associated guilt—after Jim died from ALS.”
“That’s another thing I wouldn’t wish on anyone.”
“For sure.” She reaches for my free hand. “I wouldn’t wish any of this on you. None of us would.”
“Thank you for being here. What’d you do with your kids?”
“Roni and Derek have them for a sleepover.”
“That’s good of them.”
“They send their love and said to tell you they’re here for you and the kids. Whatever you need. All the Wild Widows I’ve spoken to have said the same thing.”
“That’s nice of them. Most of them barely know me. I went running off into my happily ever after without so much as a glance back at the group.”
“No one blames you for that, Taylor. We’re all about doing whatever it takes to survive.”
“Still… I could’ve continued to give back a little here and there like you have.”
“There was no need. We’re good—or I should say as good as a merry band of widows can be.”
I give her a small smile. “I’m a widow again. I have to keepsaying it out loud because it’s unbelievable that this can happen to the same person twice.”
