Emma - Now What?

by Liz Zuercher

Since James died I’ve been thinking a lot about my father.  He had his whole world turned upside down, too, when Mama died so young.  I keep trying to draw comparisons between his situation and mine, to learn how to handle this mess I’m in.  But I’m having trouble seeing the similarities when it comes right down to it. 

Here’s the only thing I can see that our experiences have in common:  we lost our spouses way too early, way before we should have.  After that, there’s only a world of difference.

Daddy had Mama for eighteen years, which seems like a long time but pales in comparison with the forty-five years James and I were together.  That’s if you count from when I was fourteen and first laid eyes on him at the lake that summer.  Forty-five years together, almost forty of those as husband and wife.  A few weeks before James died we were talking about how to celebrate our fortieth wedding anniversary the following August.  James thought we should make a big deal of it, because I’d also be turning sixty a month later.

“It’s a double milestone, Emma,” James said.  “We have to do something special, something out of character for us – a grand adventure.  Let’s shake things up a little bit.”

“But I like things the way they are,” I said.  I didn’t want to shake things up.  Why would I, when I had everything I’d ever wanted?

“But don’t you think we could stand to expand our horizons?” he said.  “The kids are all grown up and on their own.  Isn’t it time for us to kick up our heels?”

“We could have a big party,” I suggested without much conviction.

“I had something else in mind,” he said with that little silly grin of his, the one he always had on Christmas morning when I was about to open my present from him.

“Uh oh,” I said. “We’re in trouble now.  What is it?”

“I think I’ll keep it a secret for a while, but promise me you won’t say no when I tell you what it is,” he said.

“Just tell me now,” I said, getting a little impatient.  The last time James orchestrated a surprise was for my fiftieth birthday and we all ended up at the Elks Lodge dancing to a polka band.  I admit it was memorable, but I was understandably nervous about letting James plan a grand adventure.

“I need to do some research first,” he said.  “When I’ve got all the details, I’ll tell you all about it.  Promise you’ll say yes, though, no matter what it is.”

“What if I hate the idea?” I said, always the cautious one.

“I promise you won’t hate it.  You have to promise you’ll say yes.”

“Okay,” I said.  “As long as it doesn’t involve a polka band.”

“Deal!” he said with one of his big deep belly laughs.  “You’ll see.  You’ll love it!”

He looked so happy that day, as full of fun and life and love as the day I first met him.  I remember thinking how lucky I was to have such a man love me and care for me and be my partner in life.

I keep replaying that conversation in my mind, and I get really angry with James for not telling me his plan that day.  Why did he have to keep it a secret?  Now I’ll never know how we would have celebrated our years together.  It’s totally irrational and maybe a little maudlin, but I would love to be able to imagine us expanding our horizons together, as he’d put it.  I feel like he cheated me of that, and it makes me damned mad.

I wonder if Daddy was ever angry with Mama after she died.  He probably didn’t have time to be angry when he had a houseful of kids to take care of.  That’s another difference between our situations, Daddy’s and mine.  He had a family to raise, a company to run, responsibilities to keep him occupied.  He had me to help with the kids.  He had Aunt Sissy and Grandma Hilda   What do I have?  A big empty house all to myself.  Nothing but empty rooms and too much time to remember when all these rooms were alive with my family.

Another thing.  As awful as it was, Daddy had two years to get used to the idea of losing Mama.  By the time she died, we were all relieved that she didn’t have to suffer any more.  That didn’t make it any less painful for Daddy, I’m sure, but he knew what was coming.  He had time to think about it and plan for it. 

I was slapped in the face with James’s death.  One minute he was there, everything like normal.  He was grabbing his water bottle from the fridge, swatting me on the behind and saying, “See ya in a bit, kiddo,” as he left for his nightly run.  I remember the kitchen screen door smacking shut as he left.  I remember thinking, why can’t he ever just close the screen door instead of letting it slam like that?  I remember being annoyed because the pork chops were drying out and the zucchini was getting soggy and he still wasn’t back yet.  In the next minute came the frantic ring of the doorbell and our neighbor, Mark, saying things I didn’t understand.  I remember short word bursts, like gunshots:  James.  Collapsed.  Paramedics.  Hospital.  Then somehow I was sitting beside a hospital bed where James lay hooked up to all sorts of equipment.  I signed away his organs with one hand while I clenched his hand with the other, as if I could keep him with me that way.  I remember Louie wrapping her arm around me and guiding me out of the hospital, driving me home and putting me to bed.  And all of a sudden I was alone.

It occurs to me that it doesn’t make sense to compare Daddy’s experience with mine.  Death is death, after all.  The circumstances might be different, but the end result is the same.  The ones left behind have to figure out how to deal with their loss, each in his own way.  Daddy made it through and so will I somehow.

One day shortly before my father died, he and I were watching one of his real life detective shows, and out of the blue he said he didn’t know what came next.  Thinking he had only lost the thread of his day’s activities, I said that dinner came next.  I went on to tell him what we were having for dinner. 

He was shaking his head as I talked and I said, “What’s wrong, Daddy?”

He said, “I know dinner’s next today, but I meant what’s the next part of my life?  Where do I go from here?”

I didn’t know what to say.  I mumbled something about how we just need to take it a day at a time and enjoy each day, find pleasure in the little things.  I knew that wasn’t what he was talking about, but I didn’t have any more answers than he had.

What does come next?  Maybe Louie’s a better one to answer that question, what with all the studying she’s done of metaphysical issues.  I don’t know what comes next, but Daddy knows now.  And Mama and James.  They all have the answer to that question now.

As for me, I still have some living to do, and I have to figure out how to do it by myself.  My “what’s next” isn’t a metaphysical question.  It’s a question for this world, this life, and it’s got me stumped.  I find myself repeating what I told Daddy – one day at a time – but it doesn’t seem like enough.  I need to shake things up. 

Today I decided to bite the bullet and go through the box of James’s stuff his secretary brought from the office a couple of weeks ago.  I came across a thick travel brochure describing cruises to Southeast Asia, the South Pacific and Australia.  In richly colored glossy photographs, happy people explored exotic sights, relaxed at sea and ate gourmet meals.  I leafed through it, only glancing at the different trips, until I came upon a page with a yellow sticky note that said, “James, this is the one I suggest.”  It was called the Grand Exploration, a 28-day cruise from Hong Kong to Sydney, Australia.  There was not a polka band in sight.

I got myself a glass of wine and curled up in James’s easy chair with the brochure.  As I studied the itinerary for the Grand Exploration, I could hear James’s voice in my head saying, “Say yes, Emma.  Promise you’ll say yes.”