A Teachable Moment

CW: Grief

A Teachable Moment

Yes, I’ve been seeing him in the sandwich shop on the corner for months. The Everything Bagel with Chicken Salad is the sandwich we fall back on. We’ve exchanged pleasantries and lingering gazes, with the vague excuse: " Oh, I’m sorry, I was thinking about something I forgot to do at work. When he wasn’t looking, I admit I let myself dream, fantasize, and even say "hmmm." Should I or not? You know that mystery is tantalizing. Will it be as good as you hope? He’s definitely my type: tall, dark, and breathing.

Okay, it’s been a while since I thought about anyone in this way. My husband suffered so much at the end, but he’s been gone five years now, and I think the kids are right, I’ve grieved long enough. I know that I will never find another man who will replace Spencer, so I won’t even try. He had the whole package: looks, charm, swagger, and money. He worked hard, cared hard, and died hard.

The time we spent building our life fell into a rut. You know what you want, and when it is time to enjoy the fruits of your labor, you never think your partner won’t be able to see it with you. First, you build a house and turn it into a home. You plan on two kids and the future, but God has a sense of humor; two boys, one pregnancy, and two girls the next; the factory is shut down.

I accompany Spencer to what we thought was going to be a simple in-and-out “snip job” to get devastating news: cancer. Already too far along and given about a year. It took the wind out of my sail four months after the diagnosis. We heard the verdict on St. Patrick’s Day, and it took him three days into August. It apparently went undetected, with no warning signs, and he didn’t look or feel sick until he was told. Did it make a Goliath of a man vulnerable to David’s slingshot, or did Kryptonite really kill Superman?

Soulmates are supposed to share every day, every week, every year, for the next eighty years, and share one tea bag every morning of those eight decades. How can I be contemplating starting over with someone else? When I know I’m setting him up to fail, before he knows the rules. Before he knows it is a rigged race. Before he knew that the bar was set so high by his predecessor, that only a mere mortal need not enter the race.

I am well worth the challenge, though, according to the unforgettable Timothy Jonathan Douglas the third, I don’t know how they got Spencer from that mouthful. Or maybe it was my nickname for him when he told me in the second grade, when I grabbed his quarter off his desk for an ice cream at lunch. I shared the ice cream sandwich with him and explained how it would work for the rest of the school year. He had to buy two ice creams a day, and I would have one to sit with him at lunch.

This was a standing date for the next six years until his father was sent to the Falkland Islands during the Iraq and Iran affairs in the 80’s. We lost contact for eight years. There was a familiar voice saying, “You owe me fifteen dollars or sixty push-pops or third option, your hand in marriage; your answer please!”

It was the same voice that melted my heart in the second grade, just deeper and more desperate, booming out of this lanky brown brother who filled out in all the right places (to use his favorite statement). That was a pleasant surprise to top off a horrible week.

We spent the weekend catching up. We’re both widowers with teenagers, missing out on life because we had the world’s greatest partners and just knew that life was never going to provide a duplicate. We hit the pavement running on Monday morning. to the library for the classified section of the job and apartment listings, which are revealed every Sunday.

By next week, we will be moving out of my efficiency into a two-bedroom starter home just off the army base. Did I have this kind of impressive, charming way in second grade? Wow, I didn’t know how to use them on anyone other than my father. I guess what they say is true, we secretly look for a man who is just like our fathers.

My father was not a pushover to anyone except his two favorite girls, “Little Red” and me, and definitely not to the six men who worked in the woods with him Monday through Friday and a half day on Saturday, when the weather forecast started showing signs of an early winter. There was a day that Dad forgot to let them know on Friday to take Monday after Thanksgiving off, even though it was a usual practice, but because he failed to tell them; showed up on our doorstep an hour later than anyone working would have on a normal week day and they apologized for being late and asked my mother not to dock their pay. When they smiled at her, she apologized to them. She said, “I forgot to remind him on Tuesday, and I included today in your envelopes so if you want to just cut down some trees without having to get back up in his truck right now, I have been trying to get the trees on the property line between the Crutchfield’s garden and our pig pen for a few years; and I think that you can split up the cords into eight equal piles. I will dance at your weddings or at your divorce.”

They giggled and said, “Come on, Slim.” “We have all been talking about how much time or how little we seem to have lately.” “Thanks, Mrs. Walker.”

See how nice she is, guys? Is she nice enough to let you go out with us tonight? Does she know how to say YES when you want her to? Or does she have a low-jack system in place?

Yes, it’s called a marriage certificate, and I honor my wife. I think my daughter looks up to me to teach her how a man should treat the women in his life, and I take that responsibility seriously. In this unbelievable world today, tomorrow is yesterday and already gone. I’m the first and only one who needs to teach her how she should be kept, and I don’t intend for anyone else to pick up where I left off. When you are a father, every day has 1,440 teachable minutes; I can find a few every day just for my daughter, Kimberly.