Page 10 of Don't Tell Me How to Die

“Okay, but let’s stay five more minutes,” Mom said. “There’s one more thing on my mind, and I can’t talk about it at home.”

“Lay it on us,” Lizzie said.

And then my mother dropped the second bomb.

FIVE

“This is about your father,” my mother said. A smile bloomed on her face at the mere mention of him. “He’s only forty-three years old, and that man is tough as nails. He’s going to live at least another forty-three years—probably more.

“But...” she said, and then paused, choosing her words carefully. “But he’s not going to want to spend all that time alone.”

“Don’t worry, Mom,” Lizzie said. “Maggie and I will be there for him. We promise.” She turned to me for confirmation.

“I don’t think that’s what she’s saying, Liz.” I looked at my mother. “You know we’ll be there for him, but that’s not what you’re talking about. Right?”

“Right. Let me try it again. Lizzie, your father will grieve when I’m gone. You all will,” she added quickly. “I know how difficult it will be, but when the initial pain lifts, and I promise you it will, you and Maggie will move forward in the very same direction you were headed—college, a career, marriage, a family...”

We nodded, still not sure where this was going.

“It won’t be the same for your father,” she said. “Years ago, he and I charted a course from our twenties all the way into old age. We had plans; we had dreams. Nothing exotic. Just the simple things most married couples think about—retirement, a house on a lake, travel. But when I die, a lot of those dreams will die with me, and with the path to his future gone, I’m afraid he’ll be rudderless... lost at sea.”

Lizzie looked lost herself. I knew Mom had something important to say, but she was treading so lightly that it was hard to connect the dots.

“I spoke to Father Connelly,” she said. “The church has support groups to help people get through their loss. There’s one specifically for teens.”

“We’ll be okay, Mom,” Lizzie said. “Maggie and I have each other.”

“That’s your choice, but tonight when I talk to your father, I’m going to ask him to please go to some of the meetings for widows and widowers. Father Connelly told me it’s the best way for him to cope with his loss. I know he will miss me something fierce, but eventually I know he’ll come out on the other side and be ready to find a life partner to share the second half of his life.”

“A life partner?” Lizzie said. “You mean astepmother.”

We were no longer treading lightly.

“No. You’re not five years old. You don’t need another mother to take my place, but your father will need another woman to make him feel whole again, and I want you to promise me that you’ll support him, maybe even help him choose the right person.”

“Eww,” Lizzie said. “You want us to find Dad a girlfriend?”

My mother laughed. “Trust me, sweetie, the girlfriends will find him. I know you think of him as Daddy, but in the grown-up world, Finn McCormick is a successful, funny, lovable, sweet hunk of a man. He goes to church, volunteers for school functions, and he’s the magnet that draws people into the restaurant. I guarantee you that once he is single, women will flock to him like stray cats to an overturned milk truck. The problem is, he’s not going to know how to handle it.”

“Mom, women flirt with him all the time,” I said. “They see the wedding ring, but they have a couple of glasses of wine, and they get all playful. Don’t worry. Dad knows how to handle them.”

“He won’t once I’m not there to come home to. And they won’t beplayful. They will know that he’s lonely and vulnerable, and let me tell you, some of these women are predators. I know. I’ve seen it firsthand.”

“You’ve seen women hitting on Dad?” I said.

“No, nothing like that. Forget it.” She waved me off.

“No. I’m not forgetting anything. What did you see?”

Mom sat there organizing her thoughts. Finally, she said, “Did you know Bernadette Brennan? She used to come into the restaurant all the time.”

“Yes!” Lizzie said. “Didn’t she die?”

Mom nodded and crossed herself. “Last year just before Thanksgiving. I went to her wake. I never told anyone this story before, but I was standing on the receiving line, and Rita Walsh was in front of me. She was wearing a flower print dress with a Queen Anne neckline, which struck me as a little bit out of season for November and maybe not the most delicate choice for a wake. But, hey, she works in the women’s clothing department at Macy’s, so who am I to tell her how to dress?

“Anyway, when she gets up to the front of the line, she kind of sidles up to Leon Brennan—that was Bernadette’s husband—and she flashes him more than a little bit of cleavage. And the poor man—his wife is dead, but he isn’t, and he can’t help it. He takes a good look. And then Rita starts in with, ‘Oh, Leon, I’m so sorry about Bernie. She was so wonderful. After this is all over, I’m stopping by, and I’m bringing you a nice, hot home-cooked dinner.’ And then he said something, and I couldn’t hear him, but Rita gives him a little laugh and strokes his hand, and says, ‘Oh, Leon.’

“Can you imagine? Right there in the funeral home with Bernadette laid out in a box, not even in the ground yet, and that... that tramp is coming on to the poor dead woman’s husband. It was none of my business, so I forgot all about it until four o’clock this morning when I woke up with my mind racing.

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