Diary of a Widower

Daily entries by a husband, who stayed behind with his two sons

Colour of grief today is orange

FRIDAY, April 30 – The flea market in Amsterdam South on Queen’s Day is always worth a visit. Sander learned from his experiences last year and now he has a reserved spot, with his keyboard and loud-speaker. The sign next to his top hat reads PLAYING FOR IPAD.  He comes home with 42 euros.

Eamonn and I walk around, keeping an eye out for possible bargains. He throws two raw eggs, one of which hits the organizer smack in the face. That made his day. But not mine. Wherever I look, I see jaunty earrings, daringly short skirts, unusual shoes, or other crazy objects that remind me of Jennifer’s taste.  We don’t buy anything.

In another respect today reminds me of last year. I was home that afternoon, glued to the TV, listening to the radio and clicking my way through our website. The big news was a failed attack on the royal family – something I wanted to follow, even on my day off.

I remember everything about that day, but what suddenly comes to mind is totally different:  the moment when Jenn stood in the doorway looking at me. She pointed out that now that I had a day off it might be better to do something with the boys.  It wasn’t so much her words as the withering look she gave me that will always remind me of that Queen’s Day. An ominous premonition.

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