“Of course.”
It takes everything I have not to cry when I walk into the kitchen. It’s been nearly six months since I’ve seen Gwynn, when she came into the café to have lunch. She would call from time to time to check up on Caroline and me but I wasn’t very talkative, especially when she would bring up Linc. How could I have been so selfish after all she’s done for me?
Gwynn doesn’t miss a beat, immediately taking me in her arms and hugging me tight. It’s impossible to hold back the tears.
“I’ve missed you and that sweet girl so much, Sylvie,” she whispers.
“I’m sorry I haven’t called or come by, Gwynn. Things have just been so…”
Her hand cups my face as she gives me a knowing smile. “No apologies. You’re both here now and that’s what’s most important.”
I nod, envious of her forgiving heart and strength. She doesn’t look sick at all. She’s as vibrant as ever with a colorful paisley scarf wrapped around her head and her cheeks a rosy shade of rouge. Linc told me she lost all of her hair because of the chemo, but it clearly hasn’t stolen her beauty.
No medicine in the world can rob her of that.
“My boy has been hard at it all day. He won’t let me lift a finger to help so why don’t we go out on the porch and have a visit while he finishes up.”
“That sounds lovely.”
I can’t remember the last time I laughed so much. There are people in our lives that no matter how much time we spend apart, you can always pick back up right where you left off. That’s the way it always is with Gwynn.
And with Linc.
I’ve forgotten what it feels like to live outside of the darkness I allowed to consume me. It feels good to step into the light. We sit on the porch for the next hour, reminiscing about our younger days.
“Dinner was delicious, Gwynn. Thank you for having us,” I tell her as we sit at the kitchen table sipping coffee. Linc and I cleaned up then he and Caroline retreated to the living room to watch America’s Got Talent, one of Caroline’s favorite shows.
“Well, Linc did most of the work.”
Every now and then, a burst of laughter trickles into the kitchen, tickling my soul.
“That’s a beautiful sound,” she murmurs over her cup before taking a tentative sip. I nod, smiling back at her. “He’s missed you both so much. The last year has been really hard on him.” Tears burn the back of my eyes and clog my throat. “I’m not saying that to make you feel bad. I’m pretty sure you do a good job of that all on your own. I’m telling you because you need him. Just like he needs you. I know what you’re goin’ through, Sylvie. I may not have lost my husband the same way you did, but grief has one common denominator. It’s a heavy fuckin’ load.”
I’ve never heard her use that word before. Matter of fact, I’ve never heard Gwynn Matthews utter a curse word.
Ever.
She can clearly see the shock written on my face. “Sometimes life requires the “F” word, sweetheart.”
Laughing, the tightness eases in my chest. She appears to be reflecting on a memory before she finally begins again. “Best way for me to describe it, grief is like a suitcase. You have to get out of the bed every single day, pick it up, and take it with you wherever you go. Some days it feels like it’s filled with rocks, other days, light as a feather.” Her open hand reaches for mine. “But you don’t have to carry it alone.”
I think about her words carefully, allowing them to seep into my heart and mind. Sharing the grief I carry requires more than a little courage and whole lot of strength. Two traits I’m sorely lacking. My body sags with defeat.
“You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for, darlin’.” She continues squeezing my hand. “You always have been.”
“I’ve made so many mistakes, Gwynn. I’m not sure how to overcome them.”
She waves her hand between us. “The past is where you learn the lesson, the future is where you apply it. We all make mistakes, dear. We learn from them and move on.”
“That’s good advice, Gwynn.”
She gives me a soft smile. “I speak the truth, child.”
After filling me in on her diagnosis and treatment plan, we move onto lighter topics when she tells me about a date she had with Greg Bradley a few weeks ago. “Don’t say anything to Linc. I’m not sure how he’d feel about it, but I really like Greg. He’s funny. He makes me laugh, and you know what they say, laughter is the best medicine.”
We both laugh as Linc enters the room. “Shh!” he says as he walks toward us. “You’ll wake her up.” His hands meet my shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze.
“She fell asleep?” I ask.
