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| Widow Walks Into Wall, Finds Hope | Widow Walks Into Wall, Finds Hope |
| (7 months later) | |
| The wall must have moved into the doorway when I wasn’t looking, and I walked straight into it as I was rushing out of the kitchen. I had just burned my thumb on the oven rack while pulling out a casserole, having forgotten it was hot. (This was before the pandemic but after the funeral.) | The wall must have moved into the doorway when I wasn’t looking, and I walked straight into it as I was rushing out of the kitchen. I had just burned my thumb on the oven rack while pulling out a casserole, having forgotten it was hot. (This was before the pandemic but after the funeral.) |
| What are the chances that becoming widowed on the eve of a pandemic and practicing self-isolation in grief will give me some perspective on life and death? Or, put another way, will I survive? | What are the chances that becoming widowed on the eve of a pandemic and practicing self-isolation in grief will give me some perspective on life and death? Or, put another way, will I survive? |
| Dinners without him are terrible, the worst time to heat a casserole and touch hot oven racks — though practically speaking, weren’t casseroles invented for giving to widows to heat as their solitary dinners? | Dinners without him are terrible, the worst time to heat a casserole and touch hot oven racks — though practically speaking, weren’t casseroles invented for giving to widows to heat as their solitary dinners? |
| He and I didn’t eat casseroles. We preferred steak, some fish, a chicken, a chop. Oh, we loved our lamb chops. Like Jack Sprat and his wife, he couldn’t eat the fat along the rib, while I devoured it. He didn’t like the marrow in Osso Bucco, either. How lucky to be married to someone who left all the good bits for me. Did I ever think that while he was alive? | He and I didn’t eat casseroles. We preferred steak, some fish, a chicken, a chop. Oh, we loved our lamb chops. Like Jack Sprat and his wife, he couldn’t eat the fat along the rib, while I devoured it. He didn’t like the marrow in Osso Bucco, either. How lucky to be married to someone who left all the good bits for me. Did I ever think that while he was alive? |
| When we met, he was leaning against a wall at a party. Dark brows, dark eyes, his head inclined to the girl next to him. He looked like just the kind of bad boy I was partial to, all smoldering looks and banked fires. And I was a little drunk, so I went over there. | When we met, he was leaning against a wall at a party. Dark brows, dark eyes, his head inclined to the girl next to him. He looked like just the kind of bad boy I was partial to, all smoldering looks and banked fires. And I was a little drunk, so I went over there. |
| [Sign up for Love Letter, our weekly email about Modern Love, weddings and relationships.] | [Sign up for Love Letter, our weekly email about Modern Love, weddings and relationships.] |
| “Do you mind if I ask your fiancé to dance?” I asked the girl. | “Do you mind if I ask your fiancé to dance?” I asked the girl. |
| She shrugged. “He’s not mine,” she said. “Go for it.” | She shrugged. “He’s not mine,” she said. “Go for it.” |
| He was a Brooklyn boy, back in town from the army, from Korea. On our first date, he smelled like camphor balls, and a moth flew out of his jacket pocket. | He was a Brooklyn boy, back in town from the army, from Korea. On our first date, he smelled like camphor balls, and a moth flew out of his jacket pocket. |
| I was a Bronx girl with literary pretensions, and I read everything I could get my hands on, good and bad, high and low, about love. I wrote poems and fantasized endlessly about those strict, strong, brooding men, like Heathcliff, Mr. Rochester or Rhett Butler. | I was a Bronx girl with literary pretensions, and I read everything I could get my hands on, good and bad, high and low, about love. I wrote poems and fantasized endlessly about those strict, strong, brooding men, like Heathcliff, Mr. Rochester or Rhett Butler. |
| But I found out that his silences, and those piercing eyes that fooled me into thinking of dangerous love and dramatic heartbreak, were not who he was at all. His eyes were simply beautiful, and his silence wasn’t fierce; he just didn’t have anything to say at the moment. He wasn’t a bad boy. He was a quiet man. Yet his kisses did taste like vanilla, and I began to feel that the unspoken could be as sexy as the withheld. So, we got married. | But I found out that his silences, and those piercing eyes that fooled me into thinking of dangerous love and dramatic heartbreak, were not who he was at all. His eyes were simply beautiful, and his silence wasn’t fierce; he just didn’t have anything to say at the moment. He wasn’t a bad boy. He was a quiet man. Yet his kisses did taste like vanilla, and I began to feel that the unspoken could be as sexy as the withheld. So, we got married. |
| I have to tell you, our prospects were not good. We had nothing in common. We didn’t know how to argue. I made noise; he stayed silent. We didn’t seem to want the same kind of life. I was a show-off; he kept a low profile. I had ambitions, while he only had exigencies to “make a living.” To support me, he would have said (since we were the postwar generation, when husbands took care of their wives, and the wives were grateful). By the time I knew the phrase “passive aggressive” and he knew pretentiousness when he saw it, we had two children. | I have to tell you, our prospects were not good. We had nothing in common. We didn’t know how to argue. I made noise; he stayed silent. We didn’t seem to want the same kind of life. I was a show-off; he kept a low profile. I had ambitions, while he only had exigencies to “make a living.” To support me, he would have said (since we were the postwar generation, when husbands took care of their wives, and the wives were grateful). By the time I knew the phrase “passive aggressive” and he knew pretentiousness when he saw it, we had two children. |
| In the ’70s, no-fault divorce, the sexual revolution and feminism were in the news, and marriage breakups were common, if not rampant. He was still struggling to make a living selling medical equipment. I was writing and working in a bookstore, with Doris Lessing, Gloria Steinem, Betty Friedan, Simone de Beauvoir & co. | In the ’70s, no-fault divorce, the sexual revolution and feminism were in the news, and marriage breakups were common, if not rampant. He was still struggling to make a living selling medical equipment. I was writing and working in a bookstore, with Doris Lessing, Gloria Steinem, Betty Friedan, Simone de Beauvoir & co. |
| I thought about life without him. I thought about redecorating my life with brighter colors, a more adventurous style, even another man, one with perhaps more wit, more words. (The night he went out “for a long walk” and took the car, I was pretty sure he was thinking about it, too.) But as taxing as his habitual silence could be, there were certain things I had come to value and was not willing to give up. He was a great friend. A great father. A kind man who helped anyone who needed helping. | I thought about life without him. I thought about redecorating my life with brighter colors, a more adventurous style, even another man, one with perhaps more wit, more words. (The night he went out “for a long walk” and took the car, I was pretty sure he was thinking about it, too.) But as taxing as his habitual silence could be, there were certain things I had come to value and was not willing to give up. He was a great friend. A great father. A kind man who helped anyone who needed helping. |
| So we made our way through the ’80s. He started his own business and we felt the pressures of that and of raising two teenagers. But by then I had developed a taste for quietude, and he discovered he could make me laugh. | So we made our way through the ’80s. He started his own business and we felt the pressures of that and of raising two teenagers. But by then I had developed a taste for quietude, and he discovered he could make me laugh. |
| When it looked as though my first book would be published, I worried that it would disturb the equilibrium of our union. Would his ego be able to take it? What would it do to us? I think I would have backed off, but he said not to be afraid. His ego didn’t work that way, he said. He might not read what I wrote, but he knew it was good. He was behind me all the way. | |
| Life was sweet in the ’90s. I was teaching and there was room in our life for me to write and find my way as a writer. My second book was published. He joined a medical supply company that sent him all over the world. We had some money and a nice car. Sometimes he took me with him. Sometimes he brought home gifts. And stories. | Life was sweet in the ’90s. I was teaching and there was room in our life for me to write and find my way as a writer. My second book was published. He joined a medical supply company that sent him all over the world. We had some money and a nice car. Sometimes he took me with him. Sometimes he brought home gifts. And stories. |
| He knew how I loved stories, and he brought me stories. On Sunday mornings when he was home, from early March through October, we would sit outside on our little city patio and read the newspaper and have our coffee. A neighbor once said it gave her pleasure to see us there, quiet, in harmony, together. | He knew how I loved stories, and he brought me stories. On Sunday mornings when he was home, from early March through October, we would sit outside on our little city patio and read the newspaper and have our coffee. A neighbor once said it gave her pleasure to see us there, quiet, in harmony, together. |
| In 2000, he retired from his position as director of international sales, and I left my teaching job at the City University, and we settled in Woodstock, in our vacation house, where we built a life, made friends, worked, volunteered. We got sick and better many times; he took care of me and I took care of him. Our children and grandchildren came to visit. We got a dog, Pete, so we would walk more; I walked Pete in the morning, and he walked him in the afternoon. | In 2000, he retired from his position as director of international sales, and I left my teaching job at the City University, and we settled in Woodstock, in our vacation house, where we built a life, made friends, worked, volunteered. We got sick and better many times; he took care of me and I took care of him. Our children and grandchildren came to visit. We got a dog, Pete, so we would walk more; I walked Pete in the morning, and he walked him in the afternoon. |
| I cooked. He did most of the driving and paid the bills. Once in a while (after he had a heart attack) he would say, “Come here, let me show you what I’m doing.” But I didn’t want to see, knowing he was preparing me for when I might have to do it on my own. He brought me coffee in bed every morning. | I cooked. He did most of the driving and paid the bills. Once in a while (after he had a heart attack) he would say, “Come here, let me show you what I’m doing.” But I didn’t want to see, knowing he was preparing me for when I might have to do it on my own. He brought me coffee in bed every morning. |
| Six months ago, things got serious with his heart. Three months ago, I began bringing him his coffee in bed and started doing both the dog walks and driving him to and from doctors. I also took over doing some of the other things, such as collecting the week’s trash and hauling the big cans down to the end of the road. And I had let him show me where the water shut-off valve was in the garage. But I hadn’t let him teach me to pay bills, so he kept doing those, breathing with effort. | Six months ago, things got serious with his heart. Three months ago, I began bringing him his coffee in bed and started doing both the dog walks and driving him to and from doctors. I also took over doing some of the other things, such as collecting the week’s trash and hauling the big cans down to the end of the road. And I had let him show me where the water shut-off valve was in the garage. But I hadn’t let him teach me to pay bills, so he kept doing those, breathing with effort. |
| He was winding down and we knew it. Here’s the thing: We talked about it and didn’t talk about it. He had learned to say some things and I had learned not to talk so much. When he felt a pain or a twinge, and I would see it in his face and say, “What?” he would say, “Nothing.” For me. When he closed his eyes in the middle of the conversation and fell asleep, I didn’t wake him; I waited for him. | He was winding down and we knew it. Here’s the thing: We talked about it and didn’t talk about it. He had learned to say some things and I had learned not to talk so much. When he felt a pain or a twinge, and I would see it in his face and say, “What?” he would say, “Nothing.” For me. When he closed his eyes in the middle of the conversation and fell asleep, I didn’t wake him; I waited for him. |
| We kept up what we could. He didn’t have the breath to walk the dog anymore, but we drove to the market, and while I went in and shopped, he stood outside with Pete. He wasn’t very hungry, but we kept our dinner hour. We had a cocktail whether it was tomato juice or a beer, or, if he felt like it, a small scotch. We clinked our glasses and talked about the past, and laughed and held hands, and talked about the “future” and how we were going to get ourselves to a beach as soon as he felt better. | We kept up what we could. He didn’t have the breath to walk the dog anymore, but we drove to the market, and while I went in and shopped, he stood outside with Pete. He wasn’t very hungry, but we kept our dinner hour. We had a cocktail whether it was tomato juice or a beer, or, if he felt like it, a small scotch. We clinked our glasses and talked about the past, and laughed and held hands, and talked about the “future” and how we were going to get ourselves to a beach as soon as he felt better. |
| We said our wish would be to end together, just like this. It had taken us 56 years to perfect the ordinary in this extraordinary marriage. He died just short of his 85th birthday, and a month before the pandemic that has landed me in the house, alone, having kitchen accidents and walking into walls. | We said our wish would be to end together, just like this. It had taken us 56 years to perfect the ordinary in this extraordinary marriage. He died just short of his 85th birthday, and a month before the pandemic that has landed me in the house, alone, having kitchen accidents and walking into walls. |
| The pandemic distracts me. I sit alone, unable to be with my children. But I’m not thinking I would rather die than live without him. Instead, I am thinking after all that life, I hope I don’t die. I want to see what comes next. And I believe that is what a lifetime of good loving can do. | The pandemic distracts me. I sit alone, unable to be with my children. But I’m not thinking I would rather die than live without him. Instead, I am thinking after all that life, I hope I don’t die. I want to see what comes next. And I believe that is what a lifetime of good loving can do. |
| Bette Ann Moskowitz is a writer living in Woodstock, N.Y. Her new book is “Finishing Up: On Aging and Ageism.” | Bette Ann Moskowitz is a writer living in Woodstock, N.Y. Her new book is “Finishing Up: On Aging and Ageism.” |
| Modern Love can be reached at modernlove@nytimes.com. | Modern Love can be reached at modernlove@nytimes.com. |
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