“Are we having our own mini grief group here?” she asked as she fished a couple fresh tissues from her walking purse, sharing one with him. “I came prepared.”
“Thanks.” He blew his nose. “And thanks for listening.”
“I’m so sorry for all you went through,” she said.
“Thanks.” He blew out a deep breath. “I never told anyone all that before.”
“I can understand how today’s topic would stir up old feelings.”
“Especially unresolved ones.”
“Are they unresolved?” she asked.
He paused for a moment before answering. “I’m not sure. I suppose I thought they were. Good grief, it’ll be six years next month. But I think what still bothers me is that I can’t remember if I ever told Anne that I forgave her.”
“For leaving you?”
“Yeah, and to be honest, I’m not sure I had forgiven her at that time. I mean, when she died I think I was still working on it. Have you heard the quote that it’s easier to forgive an enemy than a friend?”
She nodded. “Probably even more true with a spouse who hurt you.”
“I know. But I still feel bad to think she left this world with my unforgiveness weighing on her.”
“But she must’ve known, Marcus. I mean, you took her back,you took care of her. If actions speak louder than words, she’d have to have known.”
“Maybe so. But if I’d only known she was about to go, if she hadn’t sent me out with that list, maybe I’d have been there and I could have told her ... before it was too late.”
“Maybe you still can. Why can’t you tell her now?”
“Now?”
“Yeah. A friend sent me a poem after Paul passed.” She pulled out her phone. “I keep it in my notes to read sometimes. I haven’t read it recently. I guess maybe I should.” She pulled it up.
“Want to read it now?” he asked.
She looked at him. “Do you want to hear it?”
“Please.”
“It’s called ‘Death Is Nothing at All’ by Henry Scott-Holland.” She started to read. “‘Death is nothing at all. It does not count. I have only slipped away into the next room. Nothing has happened.’” She continued with a part about speaking to the departed in the same way, saying their name without solemnity or sorrow and enjoying the jokes they once shared. And finally, she read the last line. “‘How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!’”
“Do you believe that?” he asked. “That you will laugh over your husband’s parting?”
“I try to believe it.” She slid her phone back into her bag. “I’ll admit that sometimes I believe it more than others. But I do find it reassuring.”
“So you think I can just tell Anne that I’ve forgiven her? That I forgave her?”
Riva shrugged. “I’m no expert on this, but I can’t see that it would hurt to try.”
“I guess I’d like to think about that some. I don’t think I can do it right now, but I’m open to the idea.” He stood, then reached for her hand. “At the moment, I’m distracted by my stomach. I feel more hungry than sad. In exchange for your helpful grief counseling, can I take you to a late lunch, or have you already eaten?”
She let him pull her up. “I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
“O’Malley’s is just a couple blocks away. You in?”
“In like Flynn, as Fiona would say.”
As they walked toward O’Malley’s, Marcus made small talk, but Riva was still mulling over his sad story about Anne. What an awful way to say goodbye ... to not even have the chance. At least she’d had a better parting with Paul. That was something to be thankful for.
