Page 94 of Someone to Watch Over Me

I flip on the light at the bottom of the stairs as a million memories flood me all at once. Maybe I’m not ready for this after all. Everywhere I look, I see him. In his recliner by the windows where he enjoyed watching the birds at the feeders my father kept in seed all year so there’d always be activity for him. In the wheelchair that made it possible for us to take him outside to get some sunshine on his face or to medical appointments in the wheelchair-accessible van that we could call on as needed for rides. The rides were four hundred dollars a pop, so we tried not to need them very often.

I see him in the specially outfitted bathroom that made it so we could bathe him with assistance from his devoted fraternity brothers. I hated them when we were in college but love them like family now after the way they stood by us through every step of the journey.

“Lex? Talk to me. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking about how much I hated Jim’s fraternity brothers when we were in school. You couldn’t find a bigger bunch of douchebags than they were—Jim included when he was with them.”

Tom laughs. “I knew a few frat guys at school. They weren’t for everyone.”

“No, they weren’t, but oh, how they stepped up for us when we needed them. They took turns coming every day for two years to help Jim shower. Some of them drove two hours each way to get here. There was no job that was too much for them. They were my heroes—and his.”

“Wow. That’s amazing.”

“They were such a blessing, and I love them all like brothers to this day. Funny how people change, huh?”

“Life changed them. When their buddy got the worst possible disease, they grew up to be what he needed.”

“That’s exactly what happened. When I think about those years, they stand out like the brightest lights in a sea of darkness. The guys he played softball with came every week to play cards with him, even long after he couldn’t manage his own cards anymore. My sorority sisters from UVA brought meals to us every weekend. Our neighbors, my parents’ friends, cousins, extended family… They did what they could to make an unbearable situation easier than it would’ve been otherwise.”

“I’m so glad you had that kind of support.”

“It made all the difference.” I blink and realize we’re still standing on the bottom step. “I was going to show you…”

“Don’t do it if it’s too much. Your mom can get anything you need, can’t she?”

“Yes, but I want to do this. I need to. I left him here, you know? I feel like I need to say hello or something.”

“Whatever you want.”

“Thank you for rolling with all my widow weirdness. I know it’s a lot to ask of you at times.”

“I don’t mind at all. I’d say I understand, but I don’t, so I’m following your lead here, sweetheart.”

He touches me so deeply with his kindness and his understanding. No, he hasn’t experienced what I have, but he holds the space for me to be exactly who and what I am—a widow who still deeply loves the man she lost to a cruel, relentless disease.

I curl my hand through the crook of his arm. “Right this way.” I lead him into the big open living area and point to the kitchen my dad put in for us that includes a refrigerator, sink, oven with a stove on top and a microwave that made it so we could be more independent. “My dad showed up one day with an appliance delivery. He and two of his friends had it put together in about four hours. He’d planned it all out to be as quick as possible so they wouldn’t disturb us for too long. While the guys were here, they also adapted the bathroom.

“Through the back door over there, we could take Jim to the driveway in his motorized wheelchair, which is why living here made so much sense. We had a way out.”

“Things you never think about until you have to.”

“Exactly. When I was a teenager, my friends and I used to hang out down here, and we’d sneak in more people through that same door. Not once did I ever imagine how critical that door would become to me in the future.”

“That just gave me a chill.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be overly dramatic.”

“That’s not why it affected me that way. Your story about the door summed up the struggle you faced so perfectly. How it played a part in different eras of your life.”

A lot of people pretend to understand. Few actually do. Maybe it’s because he suffered his own tremendous loss when he was far too young to cope with such a thing. At least I had the benefit of maturity to guide me through the uncharted waters of young widowhood, for all the good maturity did me when I wanted to smash things.

“Jim said he missed looking at photos, so one of our friends put everything in a YouTube video we played on the TV. It was set to all his favorite music, and he’d watch it on repeat, reliving his childhood, ski trips, fishing trips, high school football and basketball, college, our years of dating, dancing at our wedding, our honeymoon, first apartment, the cat we adored and had to rehome.”

He winces at that last part. “It’s great that you found a way to make the photos accessible for him.”

“It was, until he asked me to turn it off one day because he couldn’t bear to remember everything he was missing out on anymore. He never watched it again.”

“That makes me so sad for a man I’ll never know in person.”

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