Well, I’m back. Apparently, I don’t know how to quit this column.
I joked with my sister that I should change its name from ‘Rants & Raves’ to ‘Widow’s Pique.’ Clever, don’t you think? But also depressing. And way too confining. Dear Lord, I have to believe there’s life – and writing life – after widowhood.
A friend sent me an encouraging email after my last piece – the one where I pondered the fate of this column – saying, “You could write about caterpillar poo and it would still be the best thing I read all week.” I think caterpillar poo might actually be more interesting to most readers than my adventures in widowing.
But for now, that’s what you get. Because it’s all I’ve got. I will try to make it as zany and fun-filled as the aftermath of sudden, heart-wrenching spousal loss can be.
To that end… here’s a story for you. Last week, after visiting Palmetto State Bank to get a new debit card – because of course I lost my debit card – I was driving home when my car warned me to “check air pressure” in my tires.
I say my car, but it’s actually Jeff’s car – a 2011 Mazda that I’m driving mainly because my car, the 2012 Honda, suddenly developed a “condition” right before Jeff died. On his death bed, he told me with his eyes (those of you following our saga know about Jeff’s eye-spelling system) to “sell both cars and get something reliable.” Like I know how to sell a car! Or buy one! Has he MET me? I suppose I will do that eventually – Chat GPT will talk me through it, like everything else – but I’m not there yet.
Anyway, I stop by the Enmarket gas station near my bank and pull up to the air machine. I barely remember how to do this – Jeff handled all the car stuff – but I’m feeling pretty good about myself, because it’s working! And, really, the air pressure in my tires isn’t too bad… until I get to the back left tire. As I begin to fill it with air – ostensibly – the gage starts going down, not up. The more air I give it, the lower it goes. The car wash manager walks by and I ask him, “Hey, do you know anything about cars?” (Duh. Widow’s brain fog on full display.)
To my relief, he takes over… but the air pressure in my tire continues to fall. Then, two other Enmarket employees get in on the project – bless their hearts – but to no avail. By the time we’re finished, I have spent $15 on air and my back left tire is almost flat.
And nobody knows what to do.
And suddenly it hits me, for the thousandth time in six weeks: I have nobody to call. Oh, I have friends – but it’s the middle of the afternoon on a workday, and anybody I call will be mightily inconvenienced. Inconvenience is a horror that I, in my deep-rooted southern-ness, have always been loath to inflict on even my nearest and dearest. Except for Jeff, of course. Jeff was the person I called. Always. And he never complained or guilt-tripped me about the inconvenience. He just showed up. Always. He was my person.
I no longer have a person.
Don’t get me wrong – the employees at the Enmarket were very kind, going above and beyond the call of duty, but they had to get back to their jobs. One of them assured me I could limp my car to Barnard Tires, a couple of miles down Boundary, so that’s what I did… holding my breath and praying all the way.
Sure enough, the tire needed patching. (There was a nail involved.) I also needed two new front tires… or so I was told. I couldn’t call Jeff for a second opinion. I had to make the decision on the spot. By myself. I told the tire guys to go for it. I was similarly bold a couple of weeks ago at Valvoline, going in for an oil change and coming out with “the works.” I need one of my two unreliable cars to be reliable, right? I’m a widow, for God’s sake!
My sister gently reminded me later that I could have called AAA. She was right. According to the card in my purse – the one Jeff handed me every year, and I promptly forgot about – I’ve been a member for 25 years. I don’t think I’ve ever called AAA. Not once. Because I always called Jeff. And also, I didn’t want to inconvenience AAA.
As I drove away from the tire store, Boundary Street suddenly felt much smoother – so all this time it wasn’t the road, it was my car? – and I vaguely remembered Jeff saying something about needing new tires before the world turned upside down six weeks ago. I knew I had done the right thing. I’ve had to do many, many things since Jeff died – things he always did for me, or at least with me – and every time I get it right, I feel like maybe, just maybe, my life isn’t falling to pieces after all. Maybe I can actually keep myself up and running.
Last Friday, I ventured to the beautiful new Witness Tree Park for a poetry reading, part of the Pat Conroy Literary Festival. I’m still getting used to doing things alone – something I never minded before, ironically – and I shyly crept into the crowd, hoping to “blend in.” Well, that didn’t happen. I saw too many friends, both new and old – some I hadn’t seen since last year’s Conroy Fest – and I found myself wrapped in hugs and showered with love. A couple of folks even cried on my shoulder about Jeff, which touched me deeply.
I may not have a person anymore, but I have people. And that’s not nothing. In fact, that’s quite a lot. As the holidays approach, I certainly will need them. Remember what Barbra Streisand sang about people who need people?
Well, I don’t feel lucky, exactly. But I sure do feel blessed.
