Chapter 20
Twenty
Gage
This morning’s conversation with Iris stays with me as I spend the day in my office, working on the book, which I’m calling Surviving the Unsurvivable: Moving on from Great Loss to Find New Joy.
I’m about three-quarters of the way through the writing of the first draft, and it’s still kind of all over the place.
I’d hoped to finish it by the end of the year, but I’m not optimistic about meeting that goal.
Now that Iris has expressed interest in participating, I’m looking forward to seeing what she wants to add to the story, even if that will make for a more complicated writing process.
As with all things with her, I’m sure it’ll be fun to collaborate.
I’m used to putting my innermost thoughts about loss and widowhood out into the world through my daily Instagram posts, but the book goes even deeper into the subjects of loss, grief, moving on and rebuilding a shattered life than the posts have.
Writing the book has reopened some old wounds and forced me to dwell in the place of early grief once again so that I might fully capture the experience I somehow managed to survive.
The writing hasn’t been productive today as I wrestle with Iris’s obvious stress as we prepare for a week we’ve looked forward to for a year. Before we can celebrate our happily ever after, we have to attend the wake and funeral for Will and immerse ourselves in Taylor’s new tragedy.
It’s all too much sometimes, and to see Iris buckling under the strain is worrisome, mostly because she’s the one who usually carries the rest of us through the tough times.
The more I think about it, the more I’m sure that our closest friends would want me to tell them that Iris needs their help and support this week as we count down to the wedding.
As I compose a text to the Wild Widows outside of our usual group chat, I hope I’m doing the right thing by calling in the troops.
Friends, as you know, our wedding is next weekend, and we couldn’t be more excited to celebrate with all of you.
However, before then, we have to see Taylor through the services for Will, and there’s a holiday looming, with houseguests incoming as well.
I’m starting to see signs of Iris buckling under the weight of it all, and I’m asking for some help.
I don’t even know what she/we need, but I figured you guys might have some ideas of how we can all help her through these next ten days.
She would have my head for sending this message, so be careful to reply only to this thread that doesn’t include her.
I’m going to quit while I’m ahead here and thank you all in advance for any ideas you might have. Much love.
Roni replies first. I know I speak for all of us when I say there is literally nothing we wouldn’t do for you and Iris.
My first thought is to have Friendsgiving at Wednesday’s meeting, and we’ll provide the food.
Then you guys can pick at leftovers the next day and take it easy. What does everyone think?
A flood of responses arrives in support of Roni’s brilliant idea. Within fifteen minutes, everyone has stepped up to take food assignments, including pies.
You guys humble me with your kindness.
And you have no idea what a pleasure it is for us to do something for the two of you who do so much for all of us, Joy says. I’m so, so thankful you reached out, and now we also get to have Friendsgiving with all of you before we spend the next day with our own families.
Christy chimes in next. What Joy said. I’m so glad you asked us to help our precious Iris. While she stands by Taylor’s side this week, we’ll stand by hers.
Not to play the realist, Derek says, but how do we keep her from preparing Thanksgiving dinner?
Always the buzzkiller, Roni says with teasing emojis for her fiancé.
Someone has to be the voice of reason in this group, Derek says.
Lots of laughter emojis follow their exchange.
I’ll talk to my MIL, Mimi, and FIL, Stan, and plot a scheme whereby the three of us take over Thanksgiving dinner.
Good idea, Gage, Naomi says. She’ll buy that—and appreciate it.
You guys are the best. Thank you for this. Iris will kill me for involving you, but whatever it takes to get her to the big day without an overload of stress.
I’ll be dropping off two of my famous breakfast casseroles for your guests, Joy adds. We got you, boo.
Love you all so much.
I text Mimi to bring her and Stan in on the plan for Thanksgiving dinner.
I love that—and I’m sorry I didn’t think to volunteer to take it on. I’d never want to step on Iris’s toes, especially as a guest in her home.
Iris loves you to pieces, so you could never step on her toes, I reply.
It’s been one of the great joys of my widow life to see my new partner become so close to my late wife’s parents—and for them to have all but adopted Iris’s kids as their grandchildren.
I think it’ll be great to celebrate Friendsgiving with you guys and the Wild Widows on Wednesday and then have a chill day for all of us on Thursday before the wedding festivities begin. No shopping, no cooking, no cleanup.
How do we pull that off without appearing to prepare?
We could tell her we ordered dinner and it’s all being delivered Thursday morning?
Yes! Perfect. Tell her Stan and I took care of everything. I love this! She’ll be delighted when her friends come rolling in, bringing dinner.
And she’ll have my head for organizing this, but I’ll take my chances.
She’ll know you did it out of love and concern for her. We can’t stop thinking about her friend’s tragic loss and how hard that must be for all of you.
It’s been a tough one for sure. Wake is Sunday and funeral is Monday.
My thoughts and prayers are with you, Iris and everyone who loved Will. We’ll be thinking of you. And we can’t wait to hug you all.
Same. Thank you for all the love and support. Means the world to us.
We are so, so thrilled for you, Iris and the kids. Love you all to the moon.
I’ve written an entire chapter about Mimi and Stan and how the loss of their only child and their twin granddaughters could’ve been the end of them.
Instead, they stepped up for me and have supported every move I’ve made in the aftermath of tragedy, which has been an incredible blessing to me as I rebuilt my life.
I’ve heard from widows whose in-laws fought them every step of the way in dealing with their late spouse’s estate and belongings.
They’ve fought over money and decisions to sell the home where their late child lived.
They’ve ended up in court, fending off grandparents who think they should have a say in how their late child’s children are raised. And so on…
Mimi and Stan have been two of the best friends I’ve ever had and are as much my parents as my own parents are. Our shared grief for Natasha, Ivy and Hazel brought us closer together rather than driving us apart, and I’ll always be thankful for their presence in my life.
I reach for the framed photo of my girls that I keep on my desk, so I’ll see their sweet faces every day.
I use my sleeve to wipe off the dust that’s just another indicator of the relentless march of time.
My daughters would be teenagers now, probably giving us the business and making us long for the day they’d leave for college as Nat and I pulled together to survive the chaos.
Soon, we’d be teaching them to drive, and they’d be fighting over the car we’d make them share.
They’d be thinking about college and what they wanted to do with their lives.
Instead, they’re frozen forever at eight years old, when they were perfect and funny and insightful and delightful and all the things you could ever want from daughters.
And Nat, my beautiful, amazing, complicated Nat… How I loved her and the life we’d built for ourselves with our girls. I miss her every day, even as I count down to my wedding with Iris. That’s the push-pull of grief. It’s always there, even during joyful times in the after.
I kiss all three of their beautiful faces through the glass on the frame and return it to its place of honor on my desk.
When I took that photo years ago on a family trip to San Francisco, I never could’ve imagined that someday, it would be all I had left of them.
Along with the memories I’ll carry with me forever, the photographs are priceless.
With a deep sigh, I soldier on with my work for the day, acknowledging the weight of grief is heavier than it’s been in a while as I stare down the wake and funeral for a man I barely knew.
I’ll support his wife and children in any way I can for the long haul because that’s what we do, but nothing about this widow life is ever as simple as the things we took for granted in the old one.
Adrian
Wynter has been quiet since our meeting with the Wild Widows on Wednesday night. She goes through the motions of taking care of our kids, but with none of her usual enthusiasm for everything the two of them do.
I’m worried about how shut down she’s been for days now, and I have no idea how to reach her when she’s like this.
I’ve been useless at work, so I ask my boss, who also happens to be my brother-in-law, Mick, if I can leave early on Friday afternoon.
“Everything okay with you? You’ve been quiet this week.”
“It’s been a rough time in the widow world. The friend of a friend, one of the original founders of the Wild Widows, lost her second husband in an accident last week.”
“Oh God, so the first one died, too?”
“Yeah, years ago from brain cancer.”
“Jeez. That’s awful.”
“They have a baby due any minute, and two kids from her first marriage who’ve now lost their second father before they’re ten. Wynter is taking it hard. I think it was a huge blow to her to realize it can happen again, even if she knew that intellectually.”