Page 84 of Someone to Remember
Everything in this room reminds me of my Will. From the faint scent of his cologne to the photos of me and the kids onthe desk to the sports memorabilia he collected with such relish. I realize that any time I want to feel close to him, I need only come in here and sit at the desk where he held court, as I liked to say.
With the computer powered up, I open the email from Will’s mother, which includes details from his life that save me the time of confirming the years he graduated from high school and college and started his business. I use the same file his mother sent me and start writing.
William Ellington Lonergan Jr., 38, of Falls Church, died on Friday, November 12, in an accident at work. He was the proud owner of WE Lonergan Construction for the last fifteen years.
He’s survived by his wife, Taylor Cummings-Lonergan, and their children, Eliza Cummings and Miles Cummings, as well as a much-loved and highly anticipated unborn son expected next month. Will was an incredible husband, father, son, brother, uncle, friend and employer, who was loved by everyone who knew him.
He came into the lives of Taylor and her children several years after her first husband and the children’s father, Greg Cummings, died of brain cancer. Will took on the role of husband and stepfather as if he’d been born to it, while always being incredibly respectful of Greg’s memory. We loved him deeply.
In addition to his wife and children, Will is also survived by his loving parents and grandparents, two sisters, a brother, four nieces and two nephews.
I insert the family rundown my mother-in-law sent with the correct spellings of names, which saves me from double-checking all that.
Will was a faithful, lifelong fan of all the Washington-area sports teams as well as his beloved Virginia Tech Hokies.
I include his school information as well as the wake and funeral details.
When I’m finished, I send it to his mother for her approval, asking her to send it back to me when she’s happy with it.
It’s not that I don’t trust her, because I do. I have no reason not to, but I’ve learned that grief makes people do things they wouldn’t ordinarily, such as possibly rewrite the obituary their daughter-in-law drafted for their son.
To avoid that, I make it clear in my message that I want to be the one to submit it to the funeral home, along with the photo I’ve chosen to accompany it.
With that dreaded task completed to the best of my ability, I leave the office and go into the kitchen, where I spend the early morning hours cleaning up after the wild influx of friends and family and food over the last few days.
My sisters have been tidying every day, so the kitchen doesn’t really need cleaning, but it brings me comfort to do a “normal” task at a time when nothing else feels normal. What even is that anymore? And why do I have to keep redefining it for myself and my kids while others have the same husbands and fathers for fifty or sixty years?
I’ll probably spend the rest of my life alone, because who’d want a twice-widowed woman as a partner? Wouldn’t they be worried the whole time about a black cloud hovering over their own head?
Now that’s a morbid thought. But seriously, who’d want to be with me after the last two men I loved ended up dead long before their time?
I start to laugh, and the sound is maniacal as it echoes off the walls of the kitchen Will and I designed together before his workers gutted and fully renovated it to our exacting specs.
Before long, laughter turns to sobs, and I lean over the countertop we chose, remembering the day we spent “deep in the bowels” of the stone emporium, as he’d so eloquently put it.
Our relationship wasn’t perfect. We often disagreed about little things, such as whether the bed needed to be made the minute we got up (me: yes, him: no) or how to load the dishwasher or why every sock he owned was always inside out. Butthe rest of it… That was as close to perfect as any two people could get while still being flawed human beings.
I’ll miss him forever.
Iris
“Will’s obituary is online,”I say to Gage when he comes downstairs, fresh from the shower on Friday morning.
He leans in for a good-morning kiss, and I breathe in the unique scent of body wash, shaving cream and cologne that comes with him.
“I sent you a link.”
“Thanks.”
“Taylor did a nice job with it.”
“I can’t imagine her having to do that twice in one lifetime. Once was more than enough for me.”
“Me, too.”
“Have you heard from her today?”
“Just a quick text to let me know she’s still alive and breathing, which is what I most wanted to know.”
