The Widower

George wasn’t a depressed mess of a man constantly crying over the grave marker of his lost love. He didn’t feel the need to hurl himself onto his wife’s casket as it was lowered into the ground. He was sure he felt sad but so far it hadn’t manifested itself. The priest brought everyone else to tears with his stirring thoughts on how wonderful a woman Marjorie was and how she was truly a part of God’s kingdom now.  There wasn’t a dry eye in the church, except for George.

He sighed and looked out over the cemetery as the final prayers were said and Marjorie was put into the Earth. George looked at all the other grave markers and considered how soon he’d be beneath one of those stone monuments to mediocrity. He’d be next to his mediocre wife, near a mediocre tree, in a mediocre cemetery, in a mediocre suburb. He sighed again.

George was approached by his only loving daughter April and she took him by the hand. She’d been crying since George called her on Tuesday to let her know that her mother had passed away in her sleep. A weak heart the doctor had called it. It just seemed to give out. George knew better. It was a broken heart. A heart that loved too well a man who’s passion had gotten old. He didn’t tell April that though. He just squeezed her hand back and walked with her to the waiting Town Car.

April’s douche bag husband opened the door for George and he got into the back seat. George had forgotten what restaurant they were going to after the funeral. It was probably some cheap place with a phony aura of expensive taste. Probably some buffet style place were all the food is the same but white table cloths and white napkins was somehow supposed to make you forget that you were being served crap they wouldn’t allow in British Children’s workhouses of the 1880’s. He really didn’t care though.

The car moved forward and George looked back at the grave marker for his now departed wife. He figured she’d be okay there. They’d looked at the plot nearly ten years ago after George had a little scare with his prostrate. George’s father had always told him to buy land as a good investment, but this probably wasn’t what George’s father meant.

George knew he missed Marjorie. He missed her presence already, but he was just so accustomed to a silence that developed between them that he just wasn’t all that worried that she was gone. He remembered when they were quite young and couldn’t keep their dirty little hands off each other. He remembered Marjorie’s affinity for garter belts and thigh high nylons. She only wore them for George and he liked that. She loved him. He knew it. They had simply run out of things to talk about. Or their conversations were incredibly brief because they knew each other so very well that they just didn’t need to verbally communicate. A nod, a wink, or a quick hand gesture was all their communication was for the last few years of marriage.

Neither one of them was angry with the other. George and Marjorie hadn’t argued for 15 years at least. The arguments they’d had in the past were never all that bad. They were pretty silly in fact. He remembered one about a TV show and a comment he made about a woman’s “endowment” and Marjorie got so mad at him about it. They fought for hours only to wind up having some of the best sex they’d had for years.

“Dad”, said April.

“Yes dear”, said George.

“Why are you smiling”, asked April.

“Oh, just thinking”, said George.

He looked at his daughter and saw so much of Marjorie in her. He felt this feeling of mediocrity start to melt away and realized that he had loved his wife as passionately as he could and their life together was amazing.

“Dad, are you really alright”, asked April.

“I’m fine”, he said.

A tear was rolling down his cheek for the first time and he felt wonderful about it.