Chapter 19
19
Lexi
We send my parents into their cozy den to watch the news and their favorite game shows while we do the dishes. With the dishwasher loaded and the table wiped, I turn to Tom. “I’d like to show you our place downstairs, if you’d like to see it.”
“I’d like to see anything you want to show me, but are you sure you feel up to that?”
I recall telling him how I never wanted to see that basement again after I moved out. “There’re a few things I left here that I’d like to have, so I suppose I need to do it at some point.”
“I’ll be right there with you.”
“Why do you think I waited until now to do it?”
He leans in and kisses me softly. “Lead the way.”
I take his hand and walk toward the basement door, which is in the hallway of my parents’ ranch home. In the den, I can hear them discussing something about Iran and Russia as the news drones on in the background. When Jim was first sick, I tuned out current events, and I still haven’t tuned back in. I lack the bandwidth to take on anything more than my own load. After having been raised in a home where the news is read, watched and discussed daily, I suppose I’ll get back to paying attention at some point, but not today.
Tom and I go down the most familiar flight of stairs in my world. If I had a dollar for every time I’ve run up and down those stairs, especially during the years we lived here, I’d be able to pay off my debt.
I flip on the light at the bottom of the stairs as a million memories flood me all at once. Maybe I’m not ready for this after all. Everywhere I look, I see him. In his recliner by the windows where he enjoyed watching the birds at the feeders my father kept in seed all year so there’d always be activity for him. In the wheelchair that made it possible for us to take him outside to get some sunshine on his face or to medical appointments in the wheelchair-accessible van that we could call on as needed for rides. The rides were four hundred dollars a pop, so we tried not to need them very often.
I see him in the specially outfitted bathroom that made it so we could bathe him with assistance from his devoted fraternity brothers. I hated them when we were in college but love them like family now after the way they stood by us through every step of the journey.
“Lex? Talk to me. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I’m thinking about how much I hated Jim’s fraternity brothers when we were in school. You couldn’t find a bigger bunch of douchebags than they were—Jim included when he was with them.”
Tom laughs. “I knew a few frat guys at school. They weren’t for everyone.”
“No, they weren’t, but oh, how they stepped up for us when we needed them. They took turns coming every day for two years to help Jim shower. Some of them drove two hours each way to get here. There was no job that was too much for them. They were my heroes—and his.”
“Wow. That’s amazing.”
“They were such a blessing, and I love them all like brothers to this day. Funny how people change, huh?”
“Life changed them. When their buddy got the worst possible disease, they grew up to be what he needed.”
“That’s exactly what happened. When I think about those years, they stand out like the brightest lights in a sea of darkness. The guys he played softball with came every week to play cards with him, even long after he couldn’t manage his own cards anymore. My sorority sisters from UVA brought meals to us every weekend. Our neighbors, my parents’ friends, cousins, extended family… They did what they could to make an unbearable situation easier than it would’ve been otherwise.”
“I’m so glad you had that kind of support.”
“It made all the difference.” I blink and realize we’re still standing on the bottom step. “I was going to show you…”
“Don’t do it if it’s too much. Your mom can get anything you need, can’t she?”
“Yes, but I want to do this. I need to. I left him here, you know? I feel like I need to say hello or something.”
“Whatever you want.”
“Thank you for rolling with all my widow weirdness. I know it’s a lot to ask of you at times.”
“I don’t mind at all. I’d say I understand, but I don’t, so I’m following your lead here, sweetheart.”
He touches me so deeply with his kindness and his understanding. No, he hasn’t experienced what I have, but he holds the space for me to be exactly who and what I am—a widow who still deeply loves the man she lost to a cruel, relentless disease.
I curl my hand through the crook of his arm. “Right this way.” I lead him into the big open living area and point to the kitchen my dad put in for us that includes a refrigerator, sink, oven with a stove on top and a microwave that made it so we could be more independent. “My dad showed up one day with an appliance delivery. He and two of his friends had it put together in about four hours. He’d planned it all out to be as quick as possible so they wouldn’t disturb us for too long. While the guys were here, they also adapted the bathroom.
“Through the back door over there, we could take Jim to the driveway in his motorized wheelchair, which is why living here made so much sense. We had a way out.”
“Things you never think about until you have to.”
“Exactly. When I was a teenager, my friends and I used to hang out down here, and we’d sneak in more people through that same door. Not once did I ever imagine how critical that door would become to me in the future.”
“That just gave me a chill.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be overly dramatic.”
“That’s not why it affected me that way. Your story about the door summed up the struggle you faced so perfectly. How it played a part in different eras of your life.”
A lot of people pretend to understand. Few actually do. Maybe it’s because he suffered his own tremendous loss when he was far too young to cope with such a thing. At least I had the benefit of maturity to guide me through the uncharted waters of young widowhood, for all the good maturity did me when I wanted to smash things.
“Jim said he missed looking at photos, so one of our friends put everything in a YouTube video we played on the TV. It was set to all his favorite music, and he’d watch it on repeat, reliving his childhood, ski trips, fishing trips, high school football and basketball, college, our years of dating, dancing at our wedding, our honeymoon, first apartment, the cat we adored and had to rehome.”
He winces at that last part. “It’s great that you found a way to make the photos accessible for him.”
“It was, until he asked me to turn it off one day because he couldn’t bear to remember everything he was missing out on anymore. He never watched it again.”
“That makes me so sad for a man I’ll never know in person.”
“You’ll know him through me.”
We wander farther into the area that Jim and I called home for his last two years and where I lived for almost two years after he died. My parents had turned the extra upstairs bedrooms into a craft room for her and an office for him. I didn’t have the heart to ask them if I could take one of them back, so I stayed put in the basement. It killed me to be there when he was ill, and it killed me all over again after he was gone.
“How did you deal with the stress?”
“I ran. Every day. Miles and miles and miles. My mom would come down every afternoon at three, when Jim was usually napping. She’d turn on General Hospital and send me on my way, telling me to take my time, that she could handle whatever came up. I’d tell her to call me if she needed me. I had my phone with me and figured I could grab an Uber to get home fast if need be. But she never once called me, even a few times when she probably should have.”
He releases a deep sigh.
“There were times when I thought about not coming back.” I stare at the print we bought on our honeymoon and had framed. We loved the sunsets in Jamaica and wanted to remember them always. I grew to hate that photo and everything it represents. The other trips we’d never get to take. Sex we’d never have again. The boring monotony of looking at the same photo day after day after endless day. I left it behind on purpose when I moved out.
“But you never acted on that impulse.”
“And I never would have, but every single day, I thought about what it would be like to just keep running and never look back.”
“Anyone would’ve felt the same way. You know that, right?”
I shrug. What do I know about how other people feel?
“I don’t know if I could’ve done what you did.”
“None of us think we can until we have no choice.”
“I suppose that’s true. I’d want to be there for you the way you were for him.”
“I hope I never need you like that—and vice versa.”
I turn on the light in the bedroom. “I mostly slept alone in here, always with the door open so I could hear him if he needed me.” I’m not sure why I keep talking, but since he doesn’t seem to mind listening, I continue the story. “Within three months of us moving in, Jim was sleeping in a power recliner that would help him up during the night. By then, it had become difficult to get him in and out of bed. It was too low for him. We bought that bed as newlyweds, along with the matching bedside tables. There were two of them and a dresser. We sold the rest of the set because we didn’t have room for it here. For a while there, it seemed like we lost something new every day. Whether it was our precious cat or a possession we’d treasured or a friend who couldn’t deal with the tragedy of it all or yet another function we all take for granted, such as brushing our own teeth or swallowing or speaking. It was like this endless doom spiral that seemed to have no end and no bottom to how low it could go.”
Only when he brushes his fingertips over my face do I realize I’m crying.
I offer a shaky laugh. “I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have come down here after all.”
“Why don’t you get whatever it is you need so we can go back upstairs?”
“Yeah, that’d be good.” In the bedroom closet, I retrieve the running shoes and gym bag that contains leggings, sports bras, the thermal shirts, hat and gloves I need to run this time of year. Anything associated with Jim’s illness was too painful to go near after his death, including my favorite form of exercise. I’ve been wanting to get back to it lately, but everything I needed was here, left behind in my haste to vacate the scene of our disaster. “That’s everything.”
He takes the bag to carry it for me, not because I need him to, but because he’s always finding ways to lighten my load.
We make our way upstairs, and I put my things by the door, so I’ll remember to take them with me. Widow brain is not to be trusted, even with the most obvious things.
When I turn, he’s right there to wrap me in a warm embrace that I badly need. The visit downstairs has left me feeling unmoored and rattled. The sight of that space was enough to trigger a trauma tsunami.
I luxuriate in his tenderness for a few minutes before I finally break the silence. “I’m sorry to put you through that.”
“You didn’t put me through anything I can’t handle. Everything you share about your life with Jim makes me see more of you . Your strength and courage are an inspiration.”
“He was the hero of our story.”
“Who would he say was the hero?”
I can’t help but grin. “You think you’re so clever.”
“Nah, I’m just pretty certain he’d say you were the heroic one.”
“He would, but I’d fight him on that. What he went through… No one should have to endure that. We’re kinder to our sick animals than we are to human beings. Why can we send a dying dog mercifully to his or her rest, but Jim, who knew what was coming and had all his faculties, couldn’t opt for a peaceful, painless death? It’s obscene.”
“Did he consider that?”
“We talked about it, and he seriously considered it. However… After years of baffling symptoms, his major decline happened somewhat quickly. Even in the states that allow it, he had to be able to administer the medications himself, which ruled it out for him long before we were prepared to make that kind of decision.”
“We always think we have more time.”
“Isn’t that the truth? Jim said if he’d known he was going to die young, he would’ve skipped college and gotten out there and lived the second he turned eighteen. So much time wasted on classes he’d never need or use. He really struggled with all the time he felt he’d wasted.”
“Hindsight can be awful that way.”
“But he always added that if he hadn’t gone to college, he never would’ve met me, so it was worth it for that alone.”
“Are you kids ready for dessert?” Mom asks.
We release each other as if we’ve been caught doing something forbidden. Teenage habits die hard.
“Didn’t mean to interrupt anything,” Mom says with a laugh. “Whenever you’re ready, I’ve got frozen yogurt. I thought that would be healthy, right?”
“That’s perfect, Mom. Thank you.”
“Yes, thank you,” Tom adds. “I appreciate it.”
“We need to keep you around for a good long time, young man. We can see how happy you make our Lexi.”
She’s gone before her words register. “Ugh. No pressure much.”
“It’s fine. She’s lovely, and of course she wants you to be happy. As do I.”
“Thank you for listening just now. It helps to be able to talk about it with you, to feel as if Jim is safe with you.”
“You both are. Always.”
On Wednesday, I head to my Wild Widows meeting with the brownies I baked earlier to share. I also made a veggie stir-fry for Tom to have when he gets home from spending two hours at his office after cardiac rehab. He swore to me that he’s not overdoing it and that he’ll nap when he gets home.
I can’t help worrying about him, but I learned in the early days of Jim’s illness that it was important for me to follow his lead and for him to feel like he still had agency over his situation. The last thing he wanted was for his wife to become his mother. Tom doesn’t need that either, so I’m careful to keep some of my thoughts to myself so he won’t feel like I’m hovering.
The caretaker mindset is hard to shake, especially when you spent years in the trenches.
Tom doesn’t need a caretaker. He wants a partner to share his life, not to fret over his every move.
I’m working on that, but it takes real effort to bite my tongue when I want to tell him to sit on his ass and rest .
Iris is telling us about our two new members tonight before we meet them on Saturday. As much as I look forward to our Wednesday meetings, I adore the times we get together with the full crew, including all the kids I’ve come to love like the nieces and nephews I’ll never have as an only child. Jim has brothers who haven’t married, so maybe I’ll get a few from them someday. His family continues to include me in every event, but there’s some distance there now that he’s no longer part of us.
His parents check in frequently, and I have lunch or brunch with them at least once a month, but my relationship with them was strained by the demands of caregiving and a few decisions I made on his behalf that they didn’t agree with. They didn’t like ceding their next-of-kin role to me, his chosen partner. Everything I did was with his best interests at heart, but at the time, you couldn’t convince them of that.
They added stress to an already horrific situation, and while I’ve forgiven them for that, I’ll never forget that they made things harder on me than necessary. And they know I won’t forget it. We pussyfoot around each other, wanting to maintain the contact, but aware of the underlying tension that’ll always be part of our relationship now.
Everything is weird in the after. Every. Single. Thing. I always had a great relationship with them until they started to question me at the worst possible time. I deeply resented the intrusion, even from the people who’d given him life. One of the last things Jim said to me when he could still speak was to always do what I thought was right and to not worry about what anyone else had to say about it. That gave me tremendous freedom from feeling guilty for doing what I felt was best for both of us, even if it angered his parents.
Jeez, I haven’t thought about that stuff in an age. It feels like part of a distant past that belongs to someone else’s life. I try to stay focused on the good with his family, the way his parents and brothers came running to help any time I asked for it, how their visits brought him joy and how deeply they grieved his death.
I’m the first to arrive at Iris’s. It’s a treat to have her all to myself for a minute, as Gage is upstairs showering, and her kids are with her mom for the night.
“What’s new and exciting?” She pours me a glass of wine and gives me a careful once-over. “You’re glowing.”
I place my hands on my face. “I am?”
“You are. Is that thanks to our friend Tom Terrific?”
That nickname still makes me chuckle. “In part. Things with him are great and getting greater all the time.”
“Oh, I love when that happens!”
“It’s been fun. We’ve been sleeping together in his bed every night lately.”
She raises a brow. “Just sleeping?”
“And some other stuff, but nothing major for him because he’s not allowed until Friday.”
“So is Friday like D-Day or something?”
I laugh at her phrasing. “I think it might be.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“I feel good about it. I’m ready. I think…”
We share a grimace over how difficult it is to know such things for certain until they happen.
“You’ll be fine. He’s been showing you his heart for months now, and you know you’re safe with him.”
“I do, and that makes all the difference.”
“I feel like I need a diploma to present when our members move into a chapter two. If I had one, I’d be giving you yours tonight.”
“That’s actually a fun idea for the future.”
“I’ll give it some thought. But a diploma doesn’t mean you move on from us, you hear me?”
“I’ll never move on from the best friends I’ve ever had, who put me back together piece by piece and helped to get me ready for what’s ahead.”
She reaches out to grasp my hand. “Love you so much.”
“Love you more.”
“No way.”
“Yes way.”
“What are we fighting over, ladies?” Gage joins us fresh from the shower with his wet hair combed back off his handsome face. True story—the first time I ever saw him, I thought he was hot, which came as a huge surprise to me because I hadn’t had that thought about anyone other than Jim in years.
“We’re arguing over who loves who the most,” Iris tells her fiancé.
“Iris loves everyone more than any of us. Her heart is the biggest one in town.”
“I can’t take issue with that, so you win,” I tell her.
“You guys… Cut it out.”
Gage pats her ass and gives her a kiss. “Truth hurts, love.”
I send a smirk her way. “What he said.”