The Future of Us
How do I carry on our story now?
I ask myself this day to day, in those rare moments when I am left alone to contemplate in a corner, undisturbed by one of our many grandchildren. It is a thought that plagues my mind even with all the time I have now had to consider it. Neither of us ever wanted to contemplate the day that we would be parted from each other. Despite every warning, every ill-timed attempt from a Doctor or relative reminding us of how soon the end would be, we never faltered in our belief there would be one more day.
I remember the day I met you, some fifty odd years ago now. Little did I know then that one singular meeting would prove to be the happiest and consequentially, most important day of my life.
We met in a park. Unassuming. Not looking for anyone in the slightest. I was with my friends and you were with yours. You had only just arrived in town and clung onto your neighbour’s daughters like paper and glue, walking over to us through a field of lavender. You were only thirteen then, slight, and beautiful, with a wonderous top of wavy blonde hair. I was instantly besotted, and you had not even said hello.
The older daughter, Martha, introduced us to each other. I cannot fathom what you saw in me, little Jeff Dunford. I was just some gangly thing then, all limbs and no muscle, carrying the same crooked smile I still have to this day. Yet, somehow, I said hello and you replied with a smile and a tilt. A moment and I was hooked.
We became fast friends after that, riding our bikes over to each other’s houses after school each day. Your mother worried you were spending too much time with me, at risk of causing a dint in your reputation but she need not have worried, we were still innocent then.
We climbed trees and baked cakes, road our bikes, and wandered the creek, never tiring of each other’s company and never wanting to go home without the other. I did not know it at the time, but I was already falling in love with you, I just could not recognise it yet beyond our simple friendship.
It stayed the same over the years, even as we both began to change. Suddenly I was not the only boy who noticed you on the street and I finally, began to add some meat to the bones. It wasn’t your change of dress that caught me nor the new way you fixed your hair, I noticed the lingering stare as you caught my eye in class one day and I thought maybe, just maybe, you might feel the same.
Senior year, the school dance. I finally found the courage to ask you to attend with me, one late night in my father’s old Ford. You said yes in an instant. My heart raced, warmth pulsing through my chest and arms fuelled by just how much I had wanted you to say that exact word, along with annoyance at myself for not asking you out years before.
We went to the dance together and it was a perfect night. I wore a suit I felt ridiculous in and you wore a deep crimson dress, the envy of all the girls, but the key to my heart. I will be forever grateful for your ability to pretend I could lead even with my two left feet because on that night I realised, it was you I wanted to be dancing with forever.
Graduation Day.
We had been dating for nearly six months by this point and I was anxious to ask you the question. With my saved up pennies from working the garage I made my way to the store and bought you a ring, hands clammy as I slipped it into my pocket to take with me to our last school event.
I sat there happily in the auditorium as you gave a speech about the future and the daring hopes you had for what we might accomplish. You shared a smile with me as you spoke, and I thought perhaps this plan was not so crazy as it sounded.
That night, I drove us down to the same park where we met, pushing myself to dare ask the question. It was far from romantic, it sort of slipped out, but it was more than enough to get your attention. You sat up and pulled me with you, staring into my soul with a sense of wonder, the most brilliant smile curling up your lips as you whispered “yes” and from there it was game over, we could never again be parted.
We had a simple wedding a few months after the announcement. Our family thought we were crazy but our friends well, they knew better. We spent the whole night dancing, your veil long tossed to the side, as Martha made comments in the background about how she introduced us confirming that she was cupid to anyone who would listen. It was a perfect night.
One year later. We moved into an apartment on the other side of town. I started my trade and you started university when a routine doctor visit gave us some astonishing news. Yes, one simple test and baby makes three. You stayed in school and I worked extra hours and in the spare moments planned for our little soon-to-be. I was a nervous wreck of course but a soft word from you and I felt ready for anything.
Charlie turned up first, Annie second, and by the time Michael arrived we were experts at managing our happy, messy home. It appears seamless how we went from one to three over the years but with each new arrival you seemed to glow more.
I remember how proud I was of you, the day you became a teacher. Little Annie had only arrived the year before yet somehow you found the time, and the willpower to push through and achieve your dream job as well. It might be the thing to do nowadays but back then you were a marvel to me.
We carried on like this for the next twenty years, raising our children, chasing dreams, never losing sight of those kids we used to be. Even when money ran tight or when our tiredness got the better of us, we never forgot what we meant to each other and for that I am forever grateful.
Before we knew it, we had an empty nest. One by one the children left and moved on to start their own lives and careers. Of course they promised they’d visit but still, it was the first time we had both felt the keen sense of absence of our little ones, and the promise of all the time we could now spend together, alone.
We took it slowly, started dating each other again as if we were teenagers, and before we knew it, we were planning a trip. But we were stopped in our tracks. A grandbaby was on the way via Charlie, and a wedding for Annie. We could not leave just now. So, we went through the next year with grace and patience, celebrating the gifts of life while still quietly dreaming of our trip. Next year perhaps.
The next year it happened again. Annie was expecting the baby this time and Michael was engaged. Neither of us thought much of the girl he chose but we went along with it regardless. People had thought we were crazy when we got together after all. Who were we to say what he felt was not real?
It went like that for the next ten years, a series of peaks and troughs, and almost with our plan. More grandchildren arrived year after year. I retired early and you, you were slowing down.
I am sorry I did not notice it better. I had just always seen you so clearly in my mind as young and healthy. I never thought to look.
You were slipping, day by day, regressing inward before it was diagnosed. By the time we discovered the truth it was too late and from there it was only a matter of time.
It was the most cherished and painful year of my life. The last year with you. I was there when the shakes started, when you admitted aloud that you could not control your hands. I observed as you fell for the first time, trying to catch you and missing. I cried with you as you bid farewell to your students and departed the career you had worked in for over two decades. I drove you to every appointment and fought with you when you no longer wanted to go. I held your hand through every procedure, promising that this time would be the last time you would have to suffer pain. I did it all, convincing myself through every battle we would get you through this, I would not lose you.
It seems life thought differently.
It has been almost a month now since you left us and, in many ways, I still do not believe it. Every time I think I have hit the point of realisation I pass something that reminds me of you. First it was the magazine you used to read, delivered on the clock mid-month. I forgot to cancel the subscription. Then it was our granddaughter Holly, waving her spoon around as she spoke over breakfast just like you used to do. Finally, it was a scent, entirely unexpected but so triggering I had to leave. Annie came over to check on me again, and she was wearing the most extraordinary perfume. I asked after it and when she told me the scent I knew where I had to be, where I could find you.
The park looks the same as it did the day, I met you, a few more trees here or there perhaps. I did not know if I would ever come here again. It has been so long yet in many ways, it feels like only yesterday.
The question of the future still plagues my mind. Any time I made plans you had always been in them, since we were thirteen years old. I never let myself believe there would be a day I would have to go without you, must learn to build a future without your shadow next to mine. I think about that trip we never took and wonder if it would have the same appeal if I did it all myself. Maybe, in time, I’ll know. I keep telling myself you will always be with me, in our family as they grow. I see it already. It is the one thing that makes me excited for the future still, the ability to watch as they learn and change, to be there for them if ever they come calling. I know you would want me to be.
For now though, I just want to think on you and the memory I keep with me, tucked away safely forever in my mind, the day I met a girl in a lavender field.