I had invited the fiance of a friend who had died across the street two years ago. My neighbor had been jogging near our house and had dropped dead of unknown causes. The fiance and I were not friends but because we had shared the experience of knowing Rosemary we were connected. I am no longer worried about making small-talk with a person who has suffered an adversity. When you have had your own brand of misfortune it clears the air a bit as though two terrible things cancel out the other. It had been an advantage for me in the past losing my dad so young. You come to understand that most people are afraid to bring up a tragic death or a terminal disease to those who have suffered, but in the contrary most who have gone through the loss need to vent even years later. You only understand this if you are part of it.
The old widow who may have lost her husband is left in the corner of a party alone because most people are thinking that if you bring it up it might cause her pain. This is not true. What they fail to understand is that as she stands alone with the gin and tonic in her hand the loss is a part of her and it feels good to talk about him. Most people don't get this and treat the poor woman like a leper as though the husband had never existed.
The fiance was somewhat awkward with me as he walked in the door but after seeing my boyish hair which was a horse of a different color we had a good laugh in spite of ourselves. We found each other becoming very philosophical over our life experience and ignored most of the bad football game. We had much to share. The funeral and letters of support were long gone for him and going to work and having those around him never mention his loss was commonplace. It was good to talk about Rosemary for him and for me... and there was little that we didn't touch upon.
All the while, our conversation in the kitchen was amidst the flurry of my three granddaughters chasing each other through the kitchen. This chaos was much to the chagrin of their dad who wanted five (just five) minutes of pretending that he was a bachelor watching the game. Poor dear. He can forget that one. Gwen is sixteen- months-old and was pushing some cart around the house - I think she clocked in at least two miles of running by the end of the night. Reese, who just turned four was quietly settled into watching a Smurf movie sipping some juice, and then there was Lily. Lily is the reincarnation of her dad... and in this case genes are a real payback. Lily, like her dad, is never happy with the activity of the moment. If we are watching a movie, Lily wants to know what we are going to be doing after the movie. And after that if we are going to have an ice cream, and after that if is she allowed to stay up too late and after that... you get the picture.
At this juncture in the evening, Lily is not happy. She is five-years-old and is bored with the Smurf movie, has played two rounds of chess with her dad, and is wandering around aimlessly with that look of do-something-for-me-now-or-I-will-make-you-pay-dearly. During my philosophical conversation with the fiance of my deceased neighbor Lily is asking me for hot cocoa and wants to know (as I am now discussing the difficulty for him in dealing with two funerals for Rosemary) if we have any of the good marshmallows, which I am scrambling around the pantry to find. Lily is a darling child but, just like her dad, will make you suffer if you don't listen to her needs-of-the-moment. I can multitask so I am doing just fine with the details of the funeral and marshmallow search simultaneously.
I look at Lily and I can see a look of despair. She is a very smart little girl and is going to be in trouble if she isn't stimulated intellectually beyond the damn cocoa. I excuse myself in an opportune moment and tell Lily to go into the piano room and wait for something wonderful that I've cooked up for her. Her eyes light up.
I excused myself, took a step-stool into the laundry room and dusted off an old Candy Land game and brought it to her. Lily loves games and if you let her win she will become unglued with joy. As I was being sent back to gumdrop lane and Lily was headed towards the sheer delight of two double blues and one green card towards a preschool victory, I had another moment of cancer clarity. I admitted to myself that I would never (ever) have left that stimulating adult conversation a year ago to enjoy a game of Candy Land, but (yes) I am different now.
I, my friends, am a horse of a different color.
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