Losing What You Never Had

The majestic sized wooden door adorned with stained glass windows was heavier than I anticipated. I tugged on the brass handle aware these were not their normal business hours, but doubtless the door would open. I was greeted with an overwhelming, intoxicating and nearly nauseating aroma of flowers.

The entrance room was dim but after the staggering moment it took my eyes to adjust, I could see a wide hallway directly in front of me through a large, heavily carpeted room. Sound was quieted, acoustics purposefully muffled with velvet drapes and furniture upholstered in brocade to capture sad voices. The sconces lining the hallway in the distance leaked enough eerie, mystic light to guide me forward.

Spaced evenly down the side walls I could see at least six, possibly more, dark wooden doorways, each designated with a slotted, felt-covered announcement board balanced on a single silver post with little white plastic letters lined up identifying to whom the room belonged. The second on the right was the name I was looking for proclaiming "Reese." Inside my head I heard screaming: "This way! Yes, step right up if you want to come in, see, walk this way!" but all was pin-drop silent.

I slowly walked into the designated room, an unseen pressure making it difficult to lift each foot, to breathe. There it was, the casket. Perched perfectly centered between two more sconces, and two loaded grandstands of huge, obnoxious bouquets of flowers, each with ribbons and garnish looking as though to win first place. "BROTHER" read one, "DAD" announced another. A small pillow propped in the lid of the casket read "GRANDPA."

From the doorway I could see his bright white shirt, nearly glowing in contrast to the dim room. As I inched a bit closer I was surprised at how light and pale were his face and hands, those athletic hands that I knew so well, now posed in a perfect way.

I stepped even closer to his casket, mindlessly playing with the necklace he bought me on our "anniversary" over four years ago, a sparkling diamond pendant with a cheap, tarnished monkey dangling beside it. We had our nicknames along the way, his being Monkey.

I didn't realize I was crying until a teardrop fell on his suit, a suit I recognized from a picture of his daughter's wedding I had spied while in his house, most likely the only suit he owned. I wiped the droplet from the fabric, feeling a shock just to touch him. Emboldened, I felt his face with the back of my hand. It was cool, waxy, and smooth, not the warm bristly face to which I was accustomed, which I saw every morning we woke up together. I fought the urgent longing to pry open his sealed, shut-forever eyes, to look once more into his "big coppers." I was leaning over him now; I could smell the chemicals they used to prepare him.

I heard a slight rustling of fabric and slowly straightened, expecting the mortician to inquire as to what I was doing, to advise me visiting hours were at four o'clock. Instead I met a pair of penny-bright eyes, the same eyes I had been envisioning, the same "windows to the soul" I had longed to see one more time.

"You're her, aren't you?" she hurriedly asked, a hushed statement more than a question.

"I am."

"What the hell are you doing here?" she spat, exasperated, slightly threatening.

"Saying goodbye. Goodbye to someone I love," I said evenly, factually.

"You're not welcome here," again a statement, bordering on hateful.

"I didn't expect to be, that's why I came when I did, hoping to not run into anyone and avoid a confrontation."

"I knew you would come."

After a long, awkward pause I simply said, "I see."

I turned back toward the casket, the man that was never truly with me while living, now in death gone forever, all hope lost of us ever being together. I touched his face, his eyes, his hands, gave him one last brush of a kiss and turned to walk away.

Her hand on my arm, she said, "I, um, I want to talk to you, ask you a question."

"Only one?" I asked.

"Well, maybe more that one...." her voice trailed off.

"Okay," I said, "but not here," nodding my head toward the casket. I looked to her, his favorite, with features similar but different than his. She possessed a matching spirit, I knew, from the family life he had shared with me.

"Mom and, uh, the family will be here in about half an hour. There's a coffee place up the street. Is that good?"

"Sure. I'll meet you in ten minutes."

As I straightened my makeup and wiped my red, mascara smeared eyes in the rear view mirror, I gathered my thoughts. What did I have to share with this girl, this young woman, a daughter to my married lover? This young, impressionable spirit, intelligent enough to hold a respectable position, married, supposedly happy. I also knew she loved her father immensely and lived purposefully near him to be part of his life. What could I possible say?

The car windows had started to steam up. How long had I been sitting there, crying, hot faced, moaning a strange keen?

I touched the little stuffed monkey hanging from the mirror, turned the key in the ignition and left my parking space. I turned right at the intersection, merged on the Interstate and drove until fatigue made me stop, all the while wondering, "How did she know?"