Tick Tock

I will never forget that woman’s face at that memorial. They rang that bell and she put an arm around one child. They called out his name and she held onto the other. The pipes swelled and even from across the cemetery I could see her suck in a deep gulp of air, her shoulders rising as she tried to hold it together while the Celtic strains of Amazing Grace soared heavenward. I watched as she blew out a huge breath, straightened her posture, and resumed a stoic expression.

Looking back now, I realize it was like looking into my future. 

Stiff upper lip, I could imagine her saying to herself. It’s been months. You can do this. You can sit on the front row where everyone is watching you, wondering how you’re doing and thanking God it’s not them. They’re honoring him, remember? It’s been a year. People expect you to be better by now. You owe it to his friends to be here. You owe it to him. The fire service was his life.

It still makes me weep. The things we do out of obligation.

Sigh. She was young, and I imagine that in time she remarried. Most likely she's had a wonderful life, in spite of it all. I'm sure the kids got therapy and turned out okay. It’s been twenty years. That’s a lot of Christmases without him, but they probably made it. Life goes on.

Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.

I didn't want to stare but I couldn't help myself. I felt like I was trespassing on her pain. Look away, I told myself. It’s too hard to watch. How is she even holding up, sitting there on the front row with her two fatherless children? I could never do that. I could never survive. I dug in my purse for a Kleenex and stepped back into the sparce shadow to escape the heat and shift my view.

Rob’s in administration now, I thought. He’s not on the end of a hose line anymore. This is part of the risk. Everyone knows it and accepts it. This will never happen to him. Or to me. I don’t know how it happened to her and her husband. It was unthinkable. Unbelievable. Even unforgiveable. They get so much training. He was so strong. He was always the hero. Now he’s the one being mourned.

I looked at my watch. Was it time to go yet? How could Rob stand there so patiently, attending these memorials and tributes every fall? How could he make himself show up at funerals of men he didn’t even know and yet still considered his brothers? How could he endure the sadness knowing he was helpless to change anything?

I hated this. I should never have come. It was too scary to watch her and know at some shallow level of my own just how deep her loss was. All the dreams destroyed. All the nights while her heart was breaking that she’d have to find a way to console their children on her own. It was so unfair. There must be an explanation. Somewhere. Did he do something wrong? Miss a protocol? Go rogue and abandon his team? Get stubborn and try to be the hero? How could he leave her like this?

I didn’t know her. I could only watch and wonder and try to reassure myself that I would never be in her shoes. Her sorrow would never be mine. Especially if I followed the rules and didn’t deviate. If I stayed afraid and never took a risk. If we remained alert and avoided trouble and lived by the Book, I’d never find myself sitting on the front row in a cemetery where a uniformed man walked toward me and handed me . . .

“The Fire Service extends its deep sorrow at the passing of your husband, Rob McLeod,” his friend said, interrupting my reflection with the folded American flag in his hands.

Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.