Diary of a Widower

Love is that fleeting second…

TUESDAY,  April 20 – So tired, dead-tired. This is all I was planning to write today.  Things turned out differently.

I was in the Mini on the way to an appointment in the city…  good-looking  women on bicycles sped by. It was a lovely sight and in the back of my mind I saw Jenn on her bike going over the bridges, saw how people looked at her in her denim mini-skirt and purple leggings, her black leather jacket and pale blue scarf. And the black-brown locks with those incredible curls.

Then I began to cry – and I’m still crying as I write it all down.

Why was all that taken away from her? It’s that question – to which there is no answer – that makes me so sad.  Sad for her. Not so much for myself.  She’s dead and I’m not. I’m alive.

I couldn’t shake off that feeling and during the business lunch I felt my mind drifting. Two colleagues were trying to provoke each other. I was the chair and I should have intervened, taken over, and gotten the meeting back on the rails.  But I couldn’t care less.  At that instant I was painfully conscious of the futility of it all. What the fuck am I doing here?  I excused myself, walked out of the room, put on my coat, got into the car and went home.

Home to my children. Love, that’s what I needed right then and that’s what I told Eamonn later in the car, on the way to baseball practice. That’s why I was waiting for him in the schoolyard at 3:30 which was a surprise, since he had expected his brother to pick him up. ‘You know why I enjoy picking you up, Eamonn?’

No, he didn’t know.

‘Love is that fleeting second when our eyes meet.  When I see the little rush of surprise.  Hey, it’s Papa!  You’re standing there. The quick smile of recognition, of affection, of closeness.  This afternoon, Eamonn, I needed that moment.’

Oh, okay. And he accepted my words for what they were worth.  We were both still for a moment. ‘Or do you think I’m a jerk, Eamonn?’  He laughed out loud. ‘That sounded funny, Papa.’