Looking Back, Looking Forward

"Signore, I'm deeply sorry to tell you this, but your wife died on the way here." The blackness squeezed and my head felt a size too small. I just stared at her, blinking.

"She's gone?"

"Si." She reached out and put a hand on my shoulder. "I am very sorry, Signore."

I glanced down at her hand. "So she didn't get her gelato then?" I really wasn't functioning well.

She gave me a queer look. "Uh, no, Signore." After a moment, she said, "I must also apologize again, Signor Fletcher. We will need you to identify the body. In your own time, of course."

I looked back up at her. "Yes. Yes, I need to see her too. Can I do that? Now, I mean?"

She nodded and moved away through the double doors. This room was larger and had that stringent aroma of antiseptic. A metal table was in the center of the room underneath a surgery lamp and there were three stainless steel doors on the far wall. It was the morgue. She crossed the room and, after consulting a chart, put her hand on the handle of one of the doors. She paused and looked back at me. I nodded to her and took a deep breath.

Dr. Russo opened the door, reached in, and pulled out the drawer. Laying on it was Katerina, a sheet neatly draped across her body. Someone had cleaned up the blood on her face, but there was no denying the large swollen gash across her forehead. Her skin had already started to take on that pallor of death. And yet despite that color, the gash, and the... emptiness that only a corpse can have, she still looked beautiful to me. "Yes, that's her. That's Katerina."

"Grazie," said Dr. Russo. "Let me know when you are done viewing. Take as long as you like." I did. I don't know how long it was - there were many memories moving through the fog in my head. Eventually, I told the doctor it was sufficient. She slid the drawer back in and, as she swung the heavy steel door, it shut with a low clang...

*********

I startled awake, my heart in my throat. Blinking my eyes quickly to regain my focus, I sat up in my car seat. The clang was a teenage boy slamming his car door shut in the spot next to mine. A girl was getting out of the passenger side and he slid across the corner of his hood to take her into his arms. Kissing passionately, they seemed oblivious to my presence as well as that of the other teens around them. Or maybe they just didn't care. I gathered up my briefcase, glanced in the mirror to make sure I was somewhat presentable, and, as I was stepping out of my truck, they parted. She started heading up the hill to the red brick building across the lot and he shouted something about picking her up after school. He looked over at me as I walked by, gave me one of those chin thrust nods that says, "yeah, I'm cool. How you doin'?" I gave him a tip of my imaginary hat and headed up the hill myself. As I got about halfway there, I stopped and looked around more thoroughly before heading inside.

Everyone deals with the loss of a loved one differently; some go out and find someone else immediately to fill the void. Others drink themselves into a blackout. I apparently try (and nearly fail) to cope and then eventually go on a three-month sabbatical, followed by packing up and moving across several states to fill a long absent teaching position in the Pacific Northwest.