Back To The Future

I dropped my son off at school this morning and had a little time to kill before the bank opened. He’s been sick all week as have the twins and I to some degree. It sucks to lose a whole week when you have so much shit to do. I had to drop off a copy of the death certificate – fun. I had planned on grabbing some breakfast and maybe hitting a small bucket of balls at the driving range across from the bank. The universe had other plans.

As I walked to my car after leaving my ‘still a little sick’ son crying with his teacher, the tears came. That’s how it happens. Like an unexpected rouge wave. Helping our son get used to going to school was going to be her job. She wanted it; craved it in every way.  Now I get to do it; just not as well.

So, fine. I let the tears come down and I start up the car. Around the corner from the school is the cemetery where many of my relatives rest. Not her though. I decided since I was feeling sad already, I would pay a long overdue visit to my grandparents and my great aunt. My grandparents rest as my wife does and as I will: above ground. I didn’t know about her desire to not be buried until near the end. So, I’ll be in the wall too. I never really thought about it before she mentioned it, but that’s fine with me. Although, it’s much more expensive than being buried – which is SO like her! “We’d like the Louis Vuitton crypt, please”…

Then I went over to my great aunt’s grave site. It took me a few minutes to find it because I hadn’t been there since she entered it in 2001. Shame on me. But I have her owl cookie jar in my office. It’s up on the top of the bookcase looking down on me (right now) so I always feel close to her. I noticed the headstone next to hers. The wife died before the husband. According to the stone, he was still alive at 87. Usually the husband goes first. Then I saw their names. They are our names; different middle names, but our first names. She was only 42 when she died.

Oh, here come the ‘real’ tears; haven’t had those in a while. I almost like them better.

So… he made it. At least he lived. I wondered how. Not mechanically; how well. I wondered if they’d had children. Surely they must have. So many questions…

I was instantly desperate to meet him; talk to him and ask him to tell me how to do it. To be near someone who actually knows the feelings I have - that lived the life I'm going to live. I must get home to my Google machine!

…

According to my online snooping, my comrade may not still be alive; unless there is another person with the same name and the same age in this town. If I did find him, he remarried and is buried elsewhere. There was no mention of his first wife in his obituary though so there is still hope that he’s out there. He had a son. Maybe he will tell me.

Ok, deep breath. On second thought, I think I’ll just move along and do this on my own. Plus, I never did have breakfast...