Severe Mercies

I’m working again. My sister-in-law, Susan, has returned to her new life in Minnesota, and the imaginary but oft-used brake pedal on the passenger side of the truck, where Diane sits? Gone. It is the dead of winter but a new year.

I climb solid wooden steps and pause at the door to the red-framed real estate office. My workday is over and I laugh at my Rube Goldberg fix of this poorly installed front door. The building is out of square, the door is too, but now when someone slams it, it stays shut. At least it’ll keep out the winter winds, and I know, Mary Ellen, the receptionist, will thank me. But Mary Ellen has gone home for a short visit to the Cotswolds, and as I push through the door, Eileen stands to greet me.

“You’re here for the keys to the rental unit?” Eileen asks.

“I am; I’m Michael,” I extend my hand, “And you must be filling in for Mary Ellen?”

“No, I’m a broker. I only work two nights a week. I was widowed and needed a job, but then I got married and … “

“You don’t have to work as much.”

“Right.”

Eileen is tall and slender. Her blond hair contrasts with her red lips, and she’s wearing a blue dress with three inches of white lace covering her bosom. A youthful style to be sure; I’ve seen my teenage son’s friends dress this way.

“You were widowed?”

“My husband died when I turned fifty, and my youngest moved out to go to college.”

“Ouch. That’s an empty nest.”

“My friends complain about their kids going off to college and being alone. I tell them, ‘You don’t know what an empty nest is.’ ”

“What did he die of? Look, I know I’m getting personal here. Stop me if you want.”

“Bill had cancer. He was diagnosed in ’92 and remained healthy until ’98. Then it came back – four kinds, but originally lung. When he died… I can’t describe how lonely I was. Some people say the worst thing is when a child dies, but then you’re… you’re still in your spouse’s arms.”

Eileen had so quickly dispensed with what I’d always considered a given, and I didn’t know what to say. I fumbled, “How long ago did Bill die?”

“Six and half years. I went back to work as an airline attendant. I had to do something. I was so lonely. Then I switched to real estate, and then I met my new husband, Jim.”

“What’s dating like in your fifties? I guess it can be exhilarating, but talk about awkward?”

“It was awful. And I couldn’t find anyone. I go to a church with three thousand people and there wasn’t a guy there for me. I found Jim through Match.com.”

“Online. Good for you.”

I settled into a soft, gray, upholstered chair from someone’s living room. I felt self-conscious about sitting down. It meant I was here for the duration, and I needed to explain my interest.

“Your story is compelling for many reasons. My wife’s younger sister just died after a long illness, and unexpectedly my wife’s older sister’s husband had a heart attack in the middle of the night and died. Plus, I worked for an internet website which advertised for Match.com. I know those online companies work, but I know people – mostly older people – are leery of them.”

“Many of my friends were, before they heard my story. Now I sit down with them and sign them up and help create their profiles. Match.com should pay me. People think they’ll meet an ax murderer online. They could meet one at church too. You never know.”

“You go from married with children to no husband and kids that only visit? Please, again, I’m not prying but you’re so direct about all of this.”

“When my husband died, two friends, who were also forty-nine, lost their husbands. I’d known Jane and Rebecca through my church. We’d organized dinners, and helped with fund raising. We were close before, when we had husbands, but after, we got much closer. We went to the movies together, we’d take long walks together, and sometimes we’d just hold hands. I call it severe mercies.”

“Severe mercies?”

“Rebecca, Jane and me. We’d all lost our husbands and that’s terrible. But without each other I don’t know how we’d have survived. My husband’s was the only lingering death, which is very different from Jane and Rebecca, whose spouses had heart attacks. I’d time to prepare – they didn’t. Jane met guys online too and is getting on with her life; Rebecca’s stuck. I don’t know if she’ll ever get past her husband’s death. She reminds me of my mother. My mother was widowed at fifty-three and never remarried. I was so frightened I would become my mother.”

“And your mother probably wanted you at home. Wanted the company. I have a friend who moved in with her mother.”

“No, not at all. My mother encouraged me to date. But as I say, I couldn’t find anyone my age. They’re all twenty-five or seventy-five. I was frantic.”

“Until you met Jim. And he moved here?”

“No. He’s from our town. When he answered my online profile, I told him I didn’t want to travel more than five miles. He said, ‘Well, you’re in luck.’ “

“And did you write a lot before you met? An online romance first?”

“No, and I advise people against that. You create fantasies no one can live up to. We wrote two or three times and then we met at the restaurant, Crossroads. Jim had been widowed only six months.”

“So you met for drinks or dinner?”

“At the bar. We’ve been together since. Married a year and a half now and so much in love.”

“Maybe this is a strange question. Do you feel odd to have moved on with your lives? I mean, so in love and so married and now so in love and so married again.”

“No guilt at all – for either one of us. Our spouses are buried in the same cemetery here in town. The one on Concord Road with the perfect stone chapel visible from the street through the oak trees. When we drive by we wave and say, ‘How’re you doing.’ I know they’re both with the Lord.”

“Like the book The Perfect Storm, this is the perfect story. Except, well, everybody had to die first.”

“And my mother predicted it. She saw how upset I’d become at not finding a companion. She said, ‘Don’t worry, the wife of the man you’re going to meet hasn’t died yet.’ ”