Paul and Toos

I had a chat with Toos this week as we gathered in her son's home. It's been two months since Paul died. I asked how she's doing and was not surprised at her answer. The first thing she said was not actually a word, just a sound, something close to a moan, though briefer, and her face made the meaning absolutely clear. The next thing, in her Dutch accent, "It's two months, and it's harder now than it was at first."

Not that her family has neglected her, not that her friends have sneaked away. They haven't. Not that she has no happy memories. She has. Not that she can't ever laugh or smile. She can. Just that he's gone.

She said, "I think we should have two tries at it."

I'm not sure how that would work, but I know what she really means. She means, "Paul was sick. I knew he would die, and I thought I would be fine, but this is harder than I thought it would be. I've had enough of it. Paul needs to come home now."

I believe people expect this thing to get easier with the passage of time. But it can take a long time before that begins to happen, like years, and still, you think about him every day. Still you look for him in the house. Still you cry at random moments. The way Toos said she does.