At James’s funeral, I felt completely detached, as if I were standing outside my own life, observing a somber scene play out before me. That morning, a gentle drizzle fell over the small cemetery, and I held my husband’s old hat tightly in both hands, as if it were a lifeline. The gathering was simple and heartfelt, filled with family, a handful of neighbors, and some familiar faces from his beloved fishing club. They offered gentle words of sympathy as I stood quietly by the graveside. I felt a deep numbness in my heart, weighed down by sorrow.
For almost forty years, James had been my steadfast support. He was the one who showed me how to fix a squeaky door hinge and taught me to laugh at little mishaps instead of letting them get under my skin. Even in the hospital at the end, he made an effort to comfort me, cracking jokes about the sharp scent of disinfectant. When the doctors informed us it was just a matter of days, he asked me to promise that I would keep living, really living. I held on tightly to that final wish. But when he passed away, a part of me felt like it had passed as well.
I was lost in my sorrow, only half paying attention to the pastor’s closing remarks, when a voice from behind broke through the haze:
“Elise?”“
My name, whispered gently, seemed to fade away in the light rain. I turned, and my breath hitched at the sight of a woman who had once been as steady in my life as the very act of breathing. She had on a plain black coat, and her stance seemed a bit unsure. Those features—definitely older, but you can’t miss them. My voice shook. “Is that you, Naomi?” Is that truly you?”
She nodded, her eyes glistening with tears. Before I could fully grasp what was happening, another figure emerged at her side, exuding the same air of confidence she had carried with her for decades. “Layla,” I murmured, taken aback. It felt as if I were encountering the spirits of my past. These women were once my closest friends—my “girls,” as we affectionately called each other during our more carefree days. Then, as time went on and life’s demands took hold, we found ourselves moving in different directions, and slowly, we drifted apart.
Naomi offered me a shy smile. “As soon as we heard about James, Layla and I rushed over.” We needed to be here.
I simply nodded, feeling tears on the verge of falling. We exchanged glances, the heaviness of the lost years bearing down on us. The last time the three of us were together, we were in our forties, sure that we had all the time in the world for reunions. Then life rushed past. At this point in our late sixties, dressed in funeral attire, we found ourselves attempting to reconnect after years of silence.
Once the burial was over, I didn’t stick around. The silence in the funeral home’s reception was almost overwhelming. Naomi and Layla stayed close to me, leading me softly to a cozy little café just around the corner. It was the sort of spot that had an eclectic mix of chairs and a chalkboard menu showcasing the soup of the day and delicious homemade pies. We found a cozy corner table, the ambiance quiet and relaxed.
A young waitress served us tea, throwing me a few sympathetic looks. My hands trembled as I reached for my cup, and Naomi quietly nudged it closer to me. We lingered in a strange silence until Layla finally shattered it with a deep sigh.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” she whispered. “I really regret that it took… this to reunite us.”
Naomi nodded, her gaze fixed on the tea that sat untouched before her. “So many years wasted.” I was unsure about how to reach you, Elise, or if you even had any desire to meet with me. Everything unfolded in the blink of an eye.
I took a deep breath, pushing the words past the tightness in my throat. “I… I’ve dedicated the past few years to taking care of James.” He fell ill in no time, and everything else just faded into the background.
Layla reached over and gave my arm a gentle pat. “We would have been there to help if we had known.” But I suppose we had all become accustomed to being strangers.
It really was true. We let pride, lingering resentments, or simply the weight of habit hold us back from making that call. I shifted the topic to them, partly to steer clear of any more tears. “How about you two?” How have you been doing?”
Naomi offered a half-smile, her eyes reflecting a bittersweet emotion. “I really care about my family, but I have to admit that it can feel a bit suffocating at times.” It feels like they see me as just a caretaker, you know? Last year, I switched up the Thanksgiving recipe, and my kids reacted as if I had done something terrible. It seems like I just blended into the background. “I’m constantly playing the role of mother and grandmother, but I rarely get to just be… myself.”
Layla chuckled softly, a hint of dryness in her voice. “At least you have a family that cares for you.” I’ve been alone for such a long time that I sometimes lose touch with what it feels like to have someone by my side. I gave retirement community life a shot, but it turned out to be just a lot of gossip and bland potlucks. I felt more isolated there than when I was on my own.
I felt a tightness in my chest, overwhelmed with compassion. That’s when an idea ignited—perhaps out of sheer desperation. The idea came rushing out before I had a chance to reconsider: “What if we do something together, right now?” Something daring, or audacious. So, like… a journey?“
Naomi’s eyes grew wide. “Are we going on a trip?” Are you for real?”
Layla glanced at me, and then a familiar mischievous grin spread across her lips, just like in our younger days. “Why not?” Let’s embrace a little chaos. Even in our sixties, we’re still capable of having an adventure.
A small thrill ignited in my chest. James’s final words echoed in my mind: “Keep living.” Perhaps this was the way forward. “I want to see the ocean again,” I said, my voice shaking. “James and I always intended to go one more time, but… we just never got around to it.”