Through the Picture Glass

It was February 14th, and Rachael was setting a romantic table in preparation for her Valentine’s dinner with her husband. In all the years since they got married, they had yet to miss this special occasion. Never did they go out for a fancy dinner. Instead, Rachael prepared it for them perfectly, year after year. 

Her thoughts wandered. “I have to make this perfect. Table cloth? Check. Napkins? Check. Salad forks and dinner forks? Check. Steak knives? Check. Oh!” She suddenly realized, “I’ve got to get the potatoes out!” 

She quickly ran to the oven and pulled out the most beautiful twice baked potatoes she had ever made. These were her husband’s favorite. Rachael hated this about him because they were such a hassle to make. 

“Wouldn’t mashed potatoes do just as well?” She would always ask. 

To which his response never changed: “Sweetheart, you’ve never made anything I haven’t liked. Make whatever potatoes you’d rather.”

His never failing, perfect composure was always enough to convince her to go through the trouble. The difficult potatoes were worth it to them.

With that, their traditional dinner was ready to be served. As always, Rachael served her husband first, and then fixed a plate for herself. 

“I’ve got a lot to tell you,” Rachael started. “I got a promotion at work. Now I have my own assistant. It’s not much, but it seems promising to me. It really hasn’t been that long since I was the assistant myself.”

She drank some of her wine, and then continued.

“My mind has been moving a thousand miles a minute these days just to keep my feet on the ground. I tell myself I have to keep moving—that if I ever stop, even just for a minute, I will never be able to start again. I hope that’s not true. You would never think that way, but it feels true these days, Jack.”

The dinner that Rachael had prepared was beautiful. On each end of the table was a perfectly seared ribeye steak, perfectly grilled fresh asparagus, a beautiful salad with her famous homemade dressing, and of course, the infamous twice baked potatoes. 

Rachael kept talking. “Everything is changing. Do you think that’s a good thing? I can’t decide. You know I’ve always been one to resist change at all costs. Maybe, though, these changes won’t be so bad. I hope I can accept them. I can’t keep going through the motions like I have been doing—no, I refuse to. I will be better. I promise.”

Taking a moment to collect her thoughts, Rachael drank some more wine. She gently cut the rest of her steak and finished off her salad. 

“There are some more things I haven’t told you, Jack, but I think I’m ready now. Maybe you already know. I’m still so new at all of this.”

     She breathed, and it seemed deeper than any breath she had ever taken before. It seemed time would never turn this one breath into the next. After a moment, Rachael was able to continue.

“Jack, I have to tell you that…” Her voice trailed off and was replaced by tears—sorrowful, mourning, agonizing tears.

She stopped for a moment and then began again. “What I need to tell you is that I have found out some news. It’s big news, Jack. Now, it could be exciting news—if we will let it. It’s really up to us, I guess. Okay. I’ve just got to say it.” Another pause—and then: “Jack,” she said, “I’m pregnant.”

Expectation—no, anxiety—filled the entire dining room. Rachael couldn’t think of any more words to say. Her brain seemed empty. Her soul was tired. She was finished with her dinner, and she started clearing off the table in complete silence. Nobody said a single word. Once her plate was in the dishwasher, she came back to clean up Jack’s place at the table.

Nothing on his side had been touched. The fork had not been moved a single inch. She grabbed some containers from the cabinet and filled them with the food off of Jack’s plate. She stored them in the refrigerator for her lunch at work the next day. 

Rachael came back and picked up the wedding picture that had been sitting across the table from her, where Jack used to sit before he died just a few months earlier. She gazed into the picture glass long and hard. She had a million feelings stored in her heart and even more thoughts rushing around in her head. Finally she said, “I can handle these changes, Jack. I know I can. I only wish you were still here to see them all—to live them all with me.”

Tears filled in her eyes. She tried to hold them back. She tried, but this time she failed. Sobbing, she continued to talk to the picture of Jack, but it felt like more than a picture. It felt to Rachael as if he was sitting in the room right beside her. She knew this wasn’t real, though, because if Jack was there, he would be gently stroking Rachael’s hair, telling her everything would be alright.

“I promise I will make sure that our son is as kind and gentle, and as loving and caring, overall as perfect of a man as you were.” She stopped. What else could she say? What was left to be mentioned? 

“And I will make sure,” she continued, “to tell him all about his Dad, at every possible moment, and I will tell him daily that you would love him past the moon. Knowing you, my sweet Jack, you probably still do love him past the moon. You probably started loving him years ago. You just can’t do it from down here anymore.”

Placing the picture back on the mantle where it belonged, she said, “I just hope you know, Jack. I still love you past the moon—every day. I hope I’m making you proud. Please keep watching over me and our precious little boy.”

Rachael kissed the wedding picture on her mantle and the wedding ring that she still wore on her finger daily, and she went to bed. This was one of the hardest days of her life, and it was finally over.