A Widow Redefined (3 page)

I prayed He wouldn’t take my perfect memories too.

•••••

The next morning I woke up with bags under my eyes. Not even concealer could cover it up. The evening was more of the same, lying awake, worrying. When I did finally fall asleep, I’d wake up again, thinking some new thought, trying to reinterpret events from the past. I almost preferred the vivid nightmares I struggled with from time to time. At least in them I got some sleep.

Wednesday night, Tyler and I got his drawings together and we headed to his new art class.

“You nervous?” I asked.

He looked at me like I had said the strangest thing. “Nope,” he responded, shrugging his shoulders.

Of course, it was only me that created psychosis around simple events. Instead of enjoying them, I stressed out. Luckily, Tyler was different. He enjoyed the opportunity to learn and looked forward to it, without apprehension.

We walked up to the front door and rang the buzzer. The woman from the picture answered, an old yellow Labrador sat behaved at her feet.

“You must be Amy,” she said, reaching for my hand. “And this must be Tyler, my new student. I’m Josephine.”

Her demeanor was oddly professional for a young girl. It didn’t seem to match her eclectic style, which made her look like a modern, hipper version of Mrs. Roper from
Three’s Company
. She had long blonde hair and wore barely any make up. She was what they call a natural beauty.

“Hi,” Tyler said. “Nice to meet you.”

Just then her dog barked, almost in complaint at not being introduced.

“Soleil. Quiet please. Be a good boy.”

She waved us both to step in out of the cold. Tyler couldn’t keep his eyes off the dog. He had always wanted one, but we couldn’t get a pet because of Justin’s allergies.

Josephine offered me a seat on a nearby sofa and handed me a magazine. Then she and Tyler went into the next room to get acquainted and begin the lesson. Once seated, I became so comfortable I managed to nod off for a little bit. Luckily, I heard them wrapping up the class and talking about next week’s assignment, so I sat up straight, ready to greet them.

They both walked in, grinning.

“We’re all done for this week. Your son is further along than I expected for his age. And what a creative spark. We’re going to work well together. Seems like the Universe has sent me the perfect student.”

I stood up and smiled back at her. I didn’t how to respond to her last comment, so I reached for her check instead, digging it out of my purse.

“Thanks for the compliment,” I said, handing it to her. “I’m glad we found you as well.”

We said our goodbyes, and Tyler hugged Soleil once before leaving.

“See you next week,” Josephine said, waving.

We drove home and Tyler went right to his grandma, telling her all about his new class. I did the dinner dishes and inwardly smiled.

•••••

That night I hoped to get restorative sleep, but no such luck. My mind still raced. And I began to feel angry that I couldn’t have some kind of real control over it.

Hoping to bore myself to sleep, I reached for a fashion magazine Fatima had given me. I thumbed through the pages mindlessly. All I saw were ads upon ads for skin care products, jewelry, purses. Then I got to the main fashion spread. The first outfit was cute. I squinted to read the fine print. Floral printed silk blouse–$800.00, trench coat–$1,500.00, flat-front wool slacks… I didn’t even bother to read on. If I had I would’ve found out what I already knew—just one ensemble costs half as much as my Dodge Neon. Who really wore this stuff?

I woke up in the morning feeling rested. When I rolled over, I realized I had fallen asleep while reading the magazine. It was crumpled between the sheets. I stumbled out of bed, thankful the week was ending soon. I couldn’t wait to sleep in on Saturday.

When I got to work I noticed Barb was already at her desk. She was early. I sat down after saying hi and immediately began working on my own stack of files.

“Amy,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” I said, turning back to face her.

“I don’t know if you’d be interested, but this Sunday we’re having an event at my church. There’s this nice young man who’s right about your age that I’ve gotten to know—”

“Oh, you know what. I can’t. I have that swimming class I signed up for. Thanks for inviting me though.”

Barb smiled her famous warm smile. “I understand.”

Her gaze lingered just long enough for an unspoken conversation to occur between us. Then I broke eye contact, returning to my work.

She had good intentions. They all did. It started after the first year and a half. Fatima had a divorced uncle she thought I might like. My boss had a single buddy from his poker game. And now Barb. It was official. They all had tried. Maybe, I thought, they would finally just give up. No one could ever replace Justin.

I continued working, not giving what she had said any further thought. There were a lot of files to be punched, and accurately. I didn’t have time to dilly dally. Before I knew it, it was time to leave.

On my way home I thought about what I had told Barb, about going to the swimming class. Maybe I would do just that.

Saturday morning I slept in, as I had hoped. When I woke up I found my family still hanging out in their pajamas, too.

“Hey Mom. Did you guys eat?”

“No. Not yet.”

“You want me to make some breakfast?”

My mom smirked. “You mean do we want oatmeal?”

I flashed her a smile. “It’s like you’re psychic.”

“Sure,” she replied. “That sounds good.”

I didn’t know what she had against oatmeal. It tasted great, was proven to lower cholesterol, and you never got sick of it. At least
I
didn’t.

I poured some water into a pot, and then I stared at it, watching it come to a boil, thinking about our plans for the day. We’d grocery shop, clean, and Tyler would do his homework, both for school and his art class. In the evening, after dinner, we’d play a game or watch a movie. A typical Saturday.

Later on, after Tyler went to bed, I could tell my mom wanted to stay up. She had that anxious look on her face that she sometimes wore. I wasn’t sure if it was hormone changes or if she was being haunted by something. Either way, she’d never discuss it with me. But I knew when she wore that expression she needed me, and didn’t want to be alone.

“Hey Ma. Why don’t you pick a movie. We’ll stay up late and watch it.”

Her faraway look disappeared and she came back to the present. With the excitement of a youngster she said, “How about
Scarface
?”

We’d seen it I don’t know how many times. I was surprised the DVD hadn’t cracked. But I knew how much she loved Al Pacino, and how she felt he’d been screwed out of an Oscar for the role, so I said. “Sure, why not.”

As I grabbed the disc and took it from its case, I remembered how Justin used to sit with us while we watched it, mimicking the lines in a fake Cuban accent as the scenes unfolded. Somehow it added to the experience.

Mom missed that too. Whenever we watched it now, she also tried to recite some of the better lines along with the actors. I joined in even though my accent stunk. It was fun. Almost like a sport. Plus, I liked making my mom laugh.

•••••

The next day was Tyler’s friend Sally’s birthday party.

In the morning, Mom asked, “Are you going to your swimming class today?”

I gave it a moment’s thought. “I’d like to. Since Tyler has that party in the afternoon. I could drop him off beforehand and pick him up on my way back home. You could finally have some time to yourself.”

“Sounds good,” she said. “Maybe I’ll do a spa day.”

After we ate breakfast, I showered and got ready to go to the cemetery. It was a numbers game. That was what I’d told myself.

Lost in thought, I realized I hadn’t seen Tyler in a while. I searched the house and found him sitting in his room with a wrapped present on his lap.

“All set,” he said.

“Did Grandma wrap your gift?”

“No,” he replied. “I did.”

I didn’t remember showing him how to do that, but I didn’t ask questions.

On the drive over Tyler seemed unusually quiet.

“Something wrong?” I asked.

“No.”

Silence lingered. I could tell this would take more work.

“You’re not saying much,” I noted.

He sat for another minute, unresponsive. Then he blurted out, “Oh… I was just thinking.” But he still didn’t elaborate.

“About what?” I asked.

“Sally’s mom.”

He left me hanging again. I decided to wait for him to go on, only if he chose to.

Luckily, he did. “Sally’s mom came back from the hospital yesterday, just in time for her birthday party.”

I hadn’t known she was ill. “What was wrong with her?”

We pulled up to a stoplight and Tyler looked directly at me. Returning his gaze, I listened as he said, “I don’t know… But she came back.”

His face was filled with a sadness I hadn’t seen in a long time. It broke my heart into a thousand pieces. I wasn’t sure what to say. I didn’t want to upset him more than he already was and ruin his party.

“Sometimes people get better,” I replied. “Thank God for that.”

Tyler nodded while holding back tears, determined not to let them spill. Then we walked to the front door and I rang the buzzer. Squeezing his hand in mine I whispered, “Try to have a good time, okay.”

He forced a smile. Then the door opened to a bunch of screaming kids and he went in and waved goodbye.

Just when I thought he was doing so well, he revealed a new level of his pain. And there was nothing I could do to take it away.

Saddened, I got back in the car and began driving to the cemetery. On the way there my mood grew darker. I was glad Sally’s mom had recovered, from whatever her ailment had been. But at the same time I was upset that Justin hadn’t made it. Even being under the care of Dr. Friedman—one of the best cancer doctors in the country—wasn’t enough to save him.

After pulling in to the parking lot, I got out and looked around, and was disappointed to find I was the only visitor. I noticed the original groundskeeper whistling as he worked nearby, the sole moving object in a landscape of gray sky and dirty snow. I ignored him and walked through the frigid air toward Justin’s grave.

The closer I got, the more I filled with overwhelming grief. Maybe it was Tyler’s reminder that we were still broken; that we only pretended to be fixed. Maybe it was the stress of why I was here. I didn’t know.

Once I reached my husband’s grave, I sighed. The ground was bare; no yellow flowers. Unsure what to do next, I decided I might as well hang around and look for clues.

I walked the rows, reading the headstones again. Same people as last time. The hilarity of the thought caused me to laugh out loud. At the same moment, the groundskeeper passed by. Once he saw me giggling by myself, he scurried away, muttering something under his breath in Spanish.

I headed back to Justin’s grave. I stood there, staring down. “I hope you’re not hiding something from me,” I whispered. “Remember… no secrets.”

In my quest to find the flower bearer, I’d forgotten to bring my own pink rose. All of a sudden the area looked desolate. The only items on the ground were a few pebbles, lying next to a golf-ball sized rock. On impulse I kicked it. With unexpected force, it flew through the air and ricocheted off a nearby headstone before smacking back on the ground.

The sound snapped me out of my mood, bringing clarity. I should go. I was destroying the place. Then I glanced back one more time to say goodbye to Justin.

•••••

After picking up Tyler from Sally’s birthday party, I noticed his sadness appeared to have lifted. He told me about all the fun games they’d played and what kind of cake they ate and about Sally’s presents. I was glad one of us was in a better mood.

Once home I plopped down in a kitchen chair to look at yesterday’s mail. There were catalogs for stores I couldn’t afford to shop at, credit offers for cards I didn’t need, and one last piece of mail that caught my attention. An envelope from the American Cancer Society.

I ripped the letter open to read its contents. As I did, I felt my stomach drop. They were inviting me to take part in one of their annual programs, something called Daffodil Days.

L
ater that night, after everyone had fallen asleep, I dug the envelope out of the kitchen drawer. I’d stashed it away so I could take a closer look at it later, when I was alone. I suspected it had something to do with my dilemma, but couldn’t chance reading it and have my mom walk in. She’d sense something was off and ask about it. And I didn’t want to share anything with her. Not until I knew more.

I sat down and re-read its contents. The Daffodil Days program happened every spring. And in appreciation for one’s donation toward cancer research, daffodils were sent to donors thanking them for their contribution.

I knew this had to be it. A puzzle piece.

I got up and headed to the computer, then sat down and did a search for Daffodil Days. A link popped up for the American Cancer Society, so I clicked on it, and arrived on their home page. It said pretty much the same thing as the mailing I’d received.

I wondered how come I’d never heard of the program before. I’d given money for cancer research in the past. As I continued reading down the page, I discovered there were other opportunities to help, as a volunteer or program coordinator.

A feeling in my gut clicked.

I did a zip code search and tried to find a campaign in my area. But there were no matches within a fifty mile radius. Then I saw a button to search for a coordinator. I punched in my zip code and again, nothing.

I guess I was hoping to find a list of names—of volunteers or coordinators—and recognize one of the people and then everything would make perfect sense. Then I would tell Mom and we’d laugh about this whole silly situation.

Unfortunately, my browsing led nowhere. All I came away with was the knowledge that there was such a group. And that the daffodil flower represents hope.