The boys and I spent last Saturday with my sister, skiing at a small ski hill. We were there to remember Austin's birthday and spend some time outdoors having fun. Our school goes to the ski hill once a year and Austin enjoyed many ski days there, often skiing in shorts at the end of warm March days. We have good memories of times spent on the hill and we enjoyed our day. But a very strange thing happened early afternoon.
As I reached the end of a run, after wiping out twice and realizing that I needed to take a break before I broke something, my cell phone rang. I answered, but couldn't hear anything with my helmet on and asked the caller to just wait a moment while I took off my helmet. When I got back on the phone a vaguely familiar man's voice said hi and asked to speak to Austin. For a moment I was confused and didn't say anything.
The man introduced himself as an old friend of Austin's, which is why I found his voice to be familiar. I met him once, a long time ago, but we had talked on the phone and I knew how important he and Austin were to each other when they were younger. They kept in touch sporadically over the years and when Austin died I sent his friend a letter and a copy of the obituary when I couldn't get a hold of him by phone. I always thought it was strange that I never heard from him.
So last Saturday, on the ski hill, in the snow, I was confused. Didn't he get my letter? And I realized that when he sounded equally confused on his end, he hadn't. He didn't know. I just told him that I was sorry, that I'd tried to get in touch with him, but Austin had died almost two years ago. I felt the sorrow and grief in his voice and for a moment it was like Austin had just died, again. He kept telling me how sorry he was, that he'd been ill and had moved, which is why he never got my letter, and he apologized for the fact that he'd left Austin a happy birthday message on our home answering machine. I felt bad for him, not knowing for so long that his old friend from an era gone by was dead.
In our slightly stunned conversation, I invited him to call me when the boys and I got home again so we could talk. I'm sure he has questions. And just talking to someone who knew Austin in a different time makes me feel closer to him for just a moment. Selfishly, I hope his friend calls just once, so we can both reconnect with Austin one last time.
When Austin died, everyone I knew told me how sorry they were. I knew they felt bad for the boys and I, but I was in such a state of shock that I never appreciated that many of them were missing Austin and grieving his death. This week, Austin's friend gave me a gift. As he kept repeating how sorry he was, I just kept thinking how sorry I was for him in his new grief of a lost friend. I reassured him that the boys and I were ok. For a moment, I wasn't focused on my grief. I was able to put myself in the position of comforter, not the widow needing comforting. And though it was short lived, it felt good to be in reversed roles.
I also appreciate another gift I was given on the ski hill. I answered a phone and a friendly voice on the other end asked for Austin. That hasn't happened in almost two years, and it probably won't happen again. For a moment, it took me back to my life before, when I still believed in happily ever after.
5 comments:
Thank you for sharing this beautiful gift; what an amazing way to put things in perspective, and an unforgettable experience for you. So poignant and precious.
oh Deb, what a beautiful post. Weirdly I received a facebook private message from an old friend saying that she hoped Cliff and I were still happy and to get in touch. It stunned me. That she didn't know ... I thought the whole WORLD knew! The conversation went a similar way, and it as you say was a gift to know how much Austin and Cliff meant to so many people because they were wonderful wonderful men. We were so lucky, eh?
p.s. I think you are pretty special too xxx
i know what a gift this man and his memories can be. i remember when Brick connected with me. all the stories he would tell me were incredibly comforting. nothing was off limits for me to ask. when Brick was killed in action, i thought, "now they are together. my Dragon is probably smacking Brick in the back of the head for telling me some of that stuff." i smiled for a second. and then it washed over me. all Brick's Dragon stories are gone forever. so much pain filled me, very selfish pain.
i hope you and Austin's friend can engage in lengthy conversations about Austin. i hope you get the chance we all crave ~ to talk about how great our husband's are {were}. love to you, Deb. you are in my thoughts so much right now. i wish you peace and light.
Deb: There are many things I love about this post. First, I love the image of your Austin skiing in his shorts. I love the way you continue to find light in the darkness because I know then that you'll be OK. And, I'm so happy you got this call because we need these real world visitations every once and a while, in whatever form they arrive. Thanks for writing.
Moments like that are exactly the reason why I avoid most public places when I go home to visit my dad-- I'm afraid to run into someone that asks me how my mom is when she's been dead for three years. I literally scan every aisle of a certain store before I go down it (my mom used to be one of the managers many years ago, and although she quit and started helping my dad with his company, I know many of the employees that work there still from that time!). I would just feel terrible if they hadn't heard about her, and I would have to tell them in the middle of a store. But you handled it so well. I hope I can too if the situation ever arises. I hope he calls you again to chat!
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