In The End
Title: In The End
Prompt: all_unwritten
The rain had let up for the first time in days when he finally made it to one of the meetings. His brother, the psychologist, the family fix-it man, had been nagging him to go for weeks. Months, actually, but he'd just bitterly laughed. Group Loss Counseling, it was called, but he mockingly called it Widower's Anonymous. It wasn't until three nights ago, when he'd had a dream, that he decided it might be worth a shot.
The dream had been bad, very bad. They'd actually made it to Aruba this time, checked into the honeymoon suite at the Coconut Grande. The sleet, the slick city streets, the yellow cab skidding on it's hood through the red light and into the path of a garbage truck had been replaced by a sunny day and sailing on the Caribbean. Lisbeth had been gorgeous, smiling at him from the prow of the rented sailboat, giving him that "come hither" look in her new, fire-engine red bikini that she'd only agreed to buy so he'd stop embarrassing her; he'd literally gotten down on his knees and begged in the swimsuit aisle. But she appreciated it then, in the boat, and oh baby so had he. He had to have set a record dropping anchor and pulling sail until the boat gently rocked on the bright blue waves. He smiled at her and she smiled back as he made his way across the boat to her sunny perch. He'd gotten within inches of grasping her hand, pulling her face to his when the boat suddenly lurched, tipping her backwards and into the sea. He leaned over the rail and reached for her hand, but only managed to barely tap her fingertips with his. Suddenly, the sun was gone and the wind was chilly. It whipped snowflakes into his face and what had once been shining waves was now a flat, icy surface that so resembled an expanse of blacktop. Lisbeth was trapped, half in and half out of the frozen sea that had turned into that godforsaken street, bleeding and crying out his name, screaming for help in a voice fast gone hoarse. He was trapped too, helplessly caught up in rigging that pulled and tugged him back into the broken boat, smashed into 9th Avenue like some giant's twisted toy. Gone was the sun, the warmth, the bikini. Gone too, was the promise of a life together, a family together, forever. In it's place was a weeping man and a dying woman, both helpless and doomed.
He'd woken with tears still tracking down his face, and the first call he'd made had been to the counseling center. Now here he was, sitting in a circle with 14 other men who'd also lost their wives. Most were elderly; only three were under 50, including himself. He was the youngest at 20. Lisbeth had been 19 when they'd gotten married, and only by six weeks. As the new guy, he'd given his name first but would tell his story last. The other men in the circle began telling tales of years of hardship, sickness, and loss. Most had been married for more years than he himself had been alive. It burned at first, seeing these old men who'd had so much time, so much life. He and Lisbeth had been married for less than 12 hours when he'd lost her.
But, as it got closer and closer to his turn, he noticed something that checked his bitterness. Each man, no matter how long he'd been married and no matter how rough his married life had been before his wife had left him, each one had the same unfaltering passion in his eyes and voice when he'd spoken of his wife. Betsy, Mary Ann, Martha, June, Lorene; each voice said with the same love and reverence. Some men had been alone for years. Some, only a few months, like him. But no matter how many years these men had been able to spend with their wives, and no matter how long they'd been without them, they still carried the same amount of love in their voices and their eyes that he felt trapped in his soul. When his turn came to talk, the whole of it came spilling out. He cried, and felt the loss anew, especially when it came to their secret. The one thing he'd never told anyone, not even his brother or Lisbeth's parents. He'd never told anyone about the baby. She'd only been two months along, no belly to show and the baby only an inch or so long. They'd decided it was going to be a girl, and they'd name her Jillian Rae, Jill for short. It was old-fashioned, and Lisbeth liked it that way.
The other men were silent for a few moments, some wiping tears from their own faces. The man next to him laid a comforting hand on his shoulder as he coughed through a final sob and tried to stop the flow of tears down his face. The leader offered a few words of sympathy and encouragement, and he raised his head and looked around the circle. He glanced up at the ceiling before taking a deep breath and speaking again.
"It hurts. You know it hurts. But I hear...this, all this, from you guys. I see it, the love, on your faces. And it reminds me. I only had two years with Lisbeth, less than two months with Jill, but I will love them for the rest of my life. It doesn't matter, does it, how little time I spent with them. In the end, all that matters is that we spent that time, every moment we had, and loved."
Prompt: all_unwritten
The rain had let up for the first time in days when he finally made it to one of the meetings. His brother, the psychologist, the family fix-it man, had been nagging him to go for weeks. Months, actually, but he'd just bitterly laughed. Group Loss Counseling, it was called, but he mockingly called it Widower's Anonymous. It wasn't until three nights ago, when he'd had a dream, that he decided it might be worth a shot.
The dream had been bad, very bad. They'd actually made it to Aruba this time, checked into the honeymoon suite at the Coconut Grande. The sleet, the slick city streets, the yellow cab skidding on it's hood through the red light and into the path of a garbage truck had been replaced by a sunny day and sailing on the Caribbean. Lisbeth had been gorgeous, smiling at him from the prow of the rented sailboat, giving him that "come hither" look in her new, fire-engine red bikini that she'd only agreed to buy so he'd stop embarrassing her; he'd literally gotten down on his knees and begged in the swimsuit aisle. But she appreciated it then, in the boat, and oh baby so had he. He had to have set a record dropping anchor and pulling sail until the boat gently rocked on the bright blue waves. He smiled at her and she smiled back as he made his way across the boat to her sunny perch. He'd gotten within inches of grasping her hand, pulling her face to his when the boat suddenly lurched, tipping her backwards and into the sea. He leaned over the rail and reached for her hand, but only managed to barely tap her fingertips with his. Suddenly, the sun was gone and the wind was chilly. It whipped snowflakes into his face and what had once been shining waves was now a flat, icy surface that so resembled an expanse of blacktop. Lisbeth was trapped, half in and half out of the frozen sea that had turned into that godforsaken street, bleeding and crying out his name, screaming for help in a voice fast gone hoarse. He was trapped too, helplessly caught up in rigging that pulled and tugged him back into the broken boat, smashed into 9th Avenue like some giant's twisted toy. Gone was the sun, the warmth, the bikini. Gone too, was the promise of a life together, a family together, forever. In it's place was a weeping man and a dying woman, both helpless and doomed.
He'd woken with tears still tracking down his face, and the first call he'd made had been to the counseling center. Now here he was, sitting in a circle with 14 other men who'd also lost their wives. Most were elderly; only three were under 50, including himself. He was the youngest at 20. Lisbeth had been 19 when they'd gotten married, and only by six weeks. As the new guy, he'd given his name first but would tell his story last. The other men in the circle began telling tales of years of hardship, sickness, and loss. Most had been married for more years than he himself had been alive. It burned at first, seeing these old men who'd had so much time, so much life. He and Lisbeth had been married for less than 12 hours when he'd lost her.
But, as it got closer and closer to his turn, he noticed something that checked his bitterness. Each man, no matter how long he'd been married and no matter how rough his married life had been before his wife had left him, each one had the same unfaltering passion in his eyes and voice when he'd spoken of his wife. Betsy, Mary Ann, Martha, June, Lorene; each voice said with the same love and reverence. Some men had been alone for years. Some, only a few months, like him. But no matter how many years these men had been able to spend with their wives, and no matter how long they'd been without them, they still carried the same amount of love in their voices and their eyes that he felt trapped in his soul. When his turn came to talk, the whole of it came spilling out. He cried, and felt the loss anew, especially when it came to their secret. The one thing he'd never told anyone, not even his brother or Lisbeth's parents. He'd never told anyone about the baby. She'd only been two months along, no belly to show and the baby only an inch or so long. They'd decided it was going to be a girl, and they'd name her Jillian Rae, Jill for short. It was old-fashioned, and Lisbeth liked it that way.
The other men were silent for a few moments, some wiping tears from their own faces. The man next to him laid a comforting hand on his shoulder as he coughed through a final sob and tried to stop the flow of tears down his face. The leader offered a few words of sympathy and encouragement, and he raised his head and looked around the circle. He glanced up at the ceiling before taking a deep breath and speaking again.
"It hurts. You know it hurts. But I hear...this, all this, from you guys. I see it, the love, on your faces. And it reminds me. I only had two years with Lisbeth, less than two months with Jill, but I will love them for the rest of my life. It doesn't matter, does it, how little time I spent with them. In the end, all that matters is that we spent that time, every moment we had, and loved."