Page 87 of Someone to Remember
My thoughts and prayers are with you, Iris and everyone who loved Will. We’ll be thinking of you. And we can’t wait to hug you all.
Same. Thank you for all the love and support. Means the world to us.
We are so, so thrilled for you, Iris and the kids. Love you all to the moon.
I’ve written an entire chapter about Mimi and Stan and how the loss of their only child and their twin granddaughters could’ve been the end of them. Instead, they stepped up for me and have supported every move I’ve made in the aftermath of tragedy, which has been an incredible blessing to me as I rebuilt my life. I’ve heard from widows whose in-laws fought them every step of the way in dealing with their late spouse’s estate and belongings. They’ve fought over money and decisions to sell the home where their late child lived. They’ve ended up incourt, fending off grandparents who think they should have a say in how their late child’s children are raised. And so on…
Mimi and Stan have been two of the best friends I’ve ever had and are as much my parents as my own parents are. Our shared grief for Natasha, Ivy and Hazel brought us closer together rather than driving us apart, and I’ll always be thankful for their presence in my life.
I reach for the framed photo of my girls that I keep on my desk, so I’ll see their sweet faces every day. I use my sleeve to wipe off the dust that’s just another indicator of the relentless march of time. My daughters would be teenagers now, probably giving us the business and making us long for the day they’d leave for college as Nat and I pulled together to survive the chaos. Soon, we’d be teaching them to drive, and they’d be fighting over the car we’d make them share. They’d be thinking about college and what they wanted to do with their lives.
Instead, they’re frozen forever at eight years old, when they were perfect and funny and insightful and delightful and all the things you could ever want from daughters.
And Nat, my beautiful, amazing, complicated Nat… How I loved her and the life we’d built for ourselves with our girls. I miss her every day, even as I count down to my wedding with Iris. That’s the push-pull of grief. It’s always there, even during joyful times in the after.
I kiss all three of their beautiful faces through the glass on the frame and return it to its place of honor on my desk. When I took that photo years ago on a family trip to San Francisco, I never could’ve imagined that someday, it would be all I had left of them. Along with the memories I’ll carry with me forever, the photographs are priceless.
With a deep sigh, I soldier on with my work for the day, acknowledging the weight of grief is heavier than it’s been in a while as I stare down the wake and funeral for a man I barely knew. I’ll support his wife and children in any way I can for the long haul because that’s what we do, but nothing about thiswidow life is ever as simple as the things we took for granted in the old one.
Adrian
Wynter has beenquiet since our meeting with the Wild Widows on Wednesday night. She goes through the motions of taking care of our kids, but with none of her usual enthusiasm for everything the two of them do.
I’m worried about how shut down she’s been for days now, and I have no idea how to reach her when she’s like this.
I’ve been useless at work, so I ask my boss, who also happens to be my brother-in-law, Mick, if I can leave early on Friday afternoon.
“Everything okay with you? You’ve been quiet this week.”
“It’s been a rough time in the widow world. The friend of a friend, one of the original founders of the Wild Widows, lost her second husband in an accident last week.”
“Oh God, so the first one died, too?”
“Yeah, years ago from brain cancer.”
“Jeez. That’s awful.”
“They have a baby due any minute, and two kids from her first marriage who’ve now lost their second father before they’re ten. Wynter is taking it hard. I think it was a huge blow to her to realize it can happen again, even if she knew that intellectually.”
“Hearing about that would be a kick in the teeth to anyone with empathy for others, let alone what you guys have been through.”
I rub the back of my neck where the stress of this week has landed in tight knots. “It’s not about us, but it’s hard not to internalize the misfortunes of others at a time like this.”
“I totally get that. Go on and be with your family. Take Monday off, too. It’ll be a slow week with the holiday coming.”
“Thank you for everything always. You’re the best.”
“You’re my top performer. I gotta keep you happy.”
“I find that so hard to believe.”
“It’s true. I’m not shitting you.”
“Well, that’s good. I’m glad to be good for something around here.”
“The customers love you. I get nothing but praise about you from them, and they leave glowing reviews online, too.”
“That’s nice to hear.”
