Closure

He had been surprised when he received her letter. Their first contact in years, since their brief encounter. Almost ten years, since she walked away from their life. He had lived alone for so long, and yet, there were signs of her everywhere. He still found yarn in the cupboards, or an old journal in a drawer somewhere. The paint, now chipping, was the one she had chosen. But he hadn’t heard her voice, hadn’t seen her face in so long. Hadn’t expected to as long as he lived. And despite that, he had received a letter. She wanted to see him. Asked if he would leave his home and come to her. Maybe he should have said no. Maybe it would tear open old wounds. But the anniversary of the boy’s death was coming up, and if she wanted to spend it with him, he wouldn’t say no.
He wouldn’t have said no under any circumstance, but especially not then.
At first, he had laid out his finest shirt, and scrubbed his boots. He had combed his hair and trimmed his beard, and looked at himself in the mirror for longer than he had in the past few years combined. Then he had to laugh at himself. She knew what he looked like. No need to make a fuss. He was a little bit nervous. He wanted to be on time, wanted a chance to gather himself before they met up at the cemetery. Both for her sake, and the boy’s. He walked around for a while, up and down the streets that no longer were familiar to him. She would arrive in just a little while, her train coming in mid morning. It felt strange that she wasn’t living here anymore. He knew of course that she had left their home, but for some reason it felt alien that she had moved even further away than the little town where they had met. But he understood. She needed to.
He walked to the cemetery to wait for her, just like they had agreed to. The place was oddly peaceful, and some of the nerves settled inside his body. Soon they would see each other again. All three of them. And it would be alright.
When a woman’s voice called out his name he had to look around for a moment. Then he saw her. Only he almost didn’t see that it was her. She was older, of course. Same as him. The darkness of her hair had turned into salt and pepper. But it was more than that. There was something about the way she moved, like every step pained her. And she was thin. When she smiled at him and pulled him into a hug, he felt every bone in her body. Gone was the softness of her curves, the glow of her skin. Only vibrant eyes he knew. His stomach turned. Something was wrong. This wasn’t her, not how he remembered her.
She kept asking him questions about how he had been, nervously fiddling with the small handbag she carried. Her voice was almost shrill, as if she couldn’t speak to him like she used to. He held open the gate to the cemetery for her, and resisted the urge to take her hand as they walked towards their son’s grave. He wasn’t sure he was allowed to do that, not after so many years.
“I brought flowers,” she said and held up a brown paper bag. He nodded and showed her the small bouquet he had picked. The wildflowers made her smile, a hint of the woman he had known returning to the sharp lines and hollowed cheeks of this new face. They found they’re way to the boy in minutes, the path familiar even if neither of them had been here for some time. A small part of him felt guilty for it, for not visiting his son more often. But he quickly freed himself from his guilt. Kept him alive in his mind. He didn’t need a physical place to be with his son. He only hoped she felt the same.
She placed the bouquet of gardenias on the ground in front of the gray stone. They brightened up the spot with their lightness. She smiled down at the ground, as if the boy could see her. He placed his own flowers next to hers, not so neatly arranged as the gardenias, but they too, made the grave seem less sad.
“I cannot believe it’s been so long,” she said quietly. “He would have been almost a grown man by now.”
He nodded. It was a strange thought, to think of the boy as a man. Would he be tall like them? Would he have hair on his chin? Would he tower over them both, as they shrunk in old age? He couldn’t picture it. No. The boy would forever be a boy. Yet the thought of what could have been, how it never came to be, woke some ache in the chest.
They stood there in silence. For how long, he didn’t know. Ten minutes or an hour. Her hand right next to his, and yet he didn’t dare take it. After a while, she asked if he would have some lunch with her. He agreed, thankful that she wasn’t leaving quite yet. They sat down at a small restaurant that served sea food, their outdoor seating facing the water. He didn’t think it had been there the last time he had been to town. The waiter poured their water, and took their order. A small breeze made her hair fly across her face, and she tied it back in the nape of her neck. A memory of how her skin felt just there came upon him, of all the times he had kissed her neck. She kept making small talk as they were waiting for their food, and he didn’t quite know what to make of this tension between them. It had never been there before. Perhaps he was a fool for thinking things would feel as they once had.
The food was good, he supposed, but he could barely taste it. He wanted to ask if she was alright, wanted to ask why she looked so… Sick. Wanted to know, and at the same time not wanting to hear her say the words. But in the end, he couldn’t keep quiet. She put down her fork and knife when he asked if everything was as it should. Swallowed her food slowly as she looked out across the ocean, as if she tried to give herself more time. Eventually, she had to answer though. As she spoke the words, a familiar sense of dread came over him. The same cold feeling he had gotten that day in the hospital with the boy. World threatened to crumble. She did not have the same sickness, but bad enough that she was wasting away, day by day. She told him she wanted to see him, to talk to him before she was too sick to travel here. He asked her how long that would be, and she sighed and shook her head. Said that the doctors weren’t sure, but she would be surprised if she lived to see the trees change from green to red. This summer would be her last. She wouldn’t turn her head towards the sun in spring again. Did she still do that? He hoped so. It was part of who she was. But maybe there was no need for it in the city. The winters didn’t get quite as harsh there as out on the ocean.
“Will you walk with me for a bit?” she asked as they finished up their meal. He nodded. He wanted this to last, wanted to have her for a little while longer, like he had the night before she left.
They walked beside each other on the beach, her with her shoes in her hand, sand slipping through her toes. Her shoulders weren’t as tense as at the restaurant, and she seemed to breathe in the salty air with a sense of pleasure he knew all too well. Her presence felt familiar, yet strange at the same time. There was something different about the air at sea. He couldn’t explain it, but he felt it in his soul. She asked him about the house, and he told her of the new roof he had put in a few months back. It had been due for a rebuild, after a particularly rough winter. He told her he couldn’t fish as much anymore. But he lived a good life. She told him about her life in the city, how she had taught soap making for a few years. She didn’t work anymore though. Hadn’t for almost five years. She suddenly turned to him and asked if he remembered the summer when she first had moved in with him. He did, of course. He remembered it all. She talked about a time when he showed her how to fish, and she had spent the entire day on their little bridge, patiently waiting to catch their dinner. They hadn’t eaten until midnight. When he asked what had made her think of that she just shrugged.
“I had forgotten about that. I remembered just now. I forget so many things these days. It makes me sad. Sadder than this sickness has ever made me.”
He told her that he would remember everything for both of them. Every little detail that made up the story of their lives. From the very day she crossed their little town in a long raincoat, to the freezing night before she left . She seemed to relax a bit at that.
They sat down in the sand, facing the crashing waves. The wind was stronger now, and she laughed about it. Said she had forgotten how windy it was this close to the ocean. He realized that the wind no longer lived inside her, as it lived inside him. As it had lived inside the boy. But there was something else. A sort of rage behind her eyes he didn’t recognize. Rage about the world, or her sickness, he didn’t know. Rage about the life that was about to end, or the life that once ended years ago.
After a while, she went quiet. It was as if she had run out of words, but not in the awkward way words tended to run out between strangers. They had run out because there was nothing left to say at that moment, and that was alright. They just sat there, side by side, and listened to their own hearts beating. He didn't remember the sound of hers anymore.
He had thought he would be upset, sitting with her like this. In that moment it was as if the past years hadn’t happened, as if they never had said goodbye. He thought he would feel tricked somehow, because their final goodbye hadn’t been final at all. That was still coming up. But he didn’t feel any such thing. He just felt at peace. At home. Despite everything that was different, he felt at home.
She told him she wanted to ask him things. Wanted to know what his life had been like, with and without her. So he told her. At least he did the best he could. Words had never been his strong suit. He told her about all the things he remembered about their life together, and he told her about the life he had lived after she was no longer his. It had been a quiet life, a simple one. Just as he liked it. Sometimes he missed having people around though. No, not people. Sometimes he missed having them around, her and the boy. But despite everything, it was not a bad life.
She told him she had sometimes wondered if she had done the right thing by leaving. Sometimes, late at night, she thought it might have been a mistake. He shook his head. He didn’t think it had been a mistake. She couldn’t have continued on living in their home after the boy was gone. It would have destroyed her. She had chosen the lesser of two evils. Stay and slowly wither away. Or go, and at least have a chance at a new normal. She nodded when he said that, looking out across the ocean. Said that maybe he was right. He probably was. But she still felt a bit guilty at times, even though she shouldn’t. He told her he never could have asked her to stay. They had lost their little world already. He couldn't stand watching her slowly being crushed like that.
She asked him if she was keeping him from something, she didn’t want to get in the way if he had other plans. He had to laugh at that, when had he ever had other plans? She smiled, and he could have sworn there was a flicker of relief in her face. He wasn’t ready to go quite yet, and apparently, neither was she.
He ran his hands through the sand, letting it filter through his fingers. He had always loved that feeling, it was grounding somehow. With the smell of the ocean, it almost felt like they were back on their safe little island. Together. He just had to close his eyes to imagine it. But his eyes couldn’t stay closed. He had to face reality. And reality sat right beside him, in her thin frame and hollow eyes. He asked her if she was afraid. Afraid of the unknown, of not having enough time left. She considered his words for a long time. Then she told him that she wasn’t scared, exactly. It ran deeper than that, and it wasn’t so simple. There was fear, sure. But there was also anger. An all consuming rage that she had never experienced before. Mixed in with the fear and rage, there was calm. A silent resignation, where she just accepted what was. She told him things would be alright, and he told her the same. He wasn’t sure he believed those words. Then again, he wasn’t sure she believed them either.
She stumbled when they got to their feet. He had to catch her, grab onto her arms to stop her from falling. It was as if he was touching a stranger. Her skin didn’t feel like hers. Gone was the softness of her, replaced by the relentless sickness that ate her up from the inside.
Things would be alright.
He repeated the words inside his mind over and over again. Everything would be alright. She brushed the sand off her dress and then, finally, she smiled. One of her real smiles, the kind she had usually reserved for only him.
“I would like to go swimming,” she said.
He had to bite his tongue to keep himself from saying anything stupid. This new frailness of her made him want to pull her to him, protect her from the wind and the water. But of course, he couldn’t do that. It was summer, but the water was still cold. He had been about to say that she might catch a cold, that she would get sick. Ridiculous. She was already sick. So he started unbuttoning his shirt, and threw his hat to the side. When he was down to his underwear, she stood before him in next to nothing as well. He forced himself to smile, but truthfully, he was shocked at the sight of her. On some level he knew he wouldn’t see the same woman who had shared his bed for so many years. He knew that the sharp angles of her face would show themselves in her body as well. A proof of the thing that was slowly killing her. It reminded how they witnessed day by day the boy slowly fading away until nothing was left.
He reached out a hand and she took it. Together they waded into the water. She laughed as the cold hit her legs and he gritted his teeth as goosebumps spread over every inch of his skin. She asked him to stop when the water reached their waists, and said she needed to get used to the bite of the ocean. She let go of his hand, and reached into the water. Slowly sinking down, inch by inch. Her lips were almost blue, but they were open with a delighted smile. Soon all that was visible was her head, with her beautiful eyes looking at him. He lowered himself with one swift movement, howling as the cold engulfed him so entirely. It made her laugh again, and for that, he would have done it a million times over. Just to hear that laugh.
It wasn’t so bad once they started swimming around. After a while, it was almost nice to float around, the summer sun shining down on them. She told him she was glad she got to see the ocean again at these familiar shores. He knew she loved it. Then she stilled, and said it was probably time to get up. It was getting late. He lent her his arm as they made it back to the beach, making sure she didn’t slip on any rocks or uneven ground. The sand instantly stuck to their feet and legs, coating them as they let the sun dry their bodies. As they got dressed, she told him she had to get back home. A train would leave in forty five minutes, and she should try to catch it. He nodded and tried to ignore his own brain. Only forty five minutes. In forty five minutes he would have to say goodbye again. Watch her leave, and know that this time, it really was their final goodbye.
She leaned on him on their way to the station. Had this all been too much for her? Had coming here made things worse? He hoped not. He hoped she had gotten what she needed out of this trip. A chance to say goodbye to the boy, and to him. To return to a semblance of the life she had once lived. He hoped, as autumn came, she would feel at peace. He hoped, as autumn came, that he would as well.
“Thank you for this,” she said. They stood on the platform, only fifteen minutes left until she would go. “This was just what I needed.”
He took her hand, needed to feel her, just for a moment. “Thank you, Grace.”
He meant it. Now that they stood there, he was thankful. Thankful to have had the chance to spend one last day with her. The woman he had loved. Still loved, but it was a different kind of love. One that bore into his soul, that had made its place there in a way nothing else ever had. A natural part of him, same as his lungs, his spleen, his heart. It would stay there for the rest of his days.
She hugged him tight when the train rolled onto the platform. He put his nose to her neck, honey and oat soap filling his senses. Scent that reminded of home. Her scent always was that of a home. They looked at each other, not saying a word. There was no need for it.
And then she left.
He looked at her go, saw her board the train, and as it started to leave the plattform, he ran beside it. His legs screamed at him, but he still ran. He ran until the plattform ended, and he could no longer see her. When the train was just a dot on the horizon, he finally turned around and started to walk.
Trip home wasn't easy. Surreal feelings haunted him. He almost questioned if he actually had met her. How could it be? He got to see her and she was gone once again. How many times he had seen her go? It didn't matter. This was the last time. Last chance he didn't take to say how he felt about her. He wished he had done that. Told her how she changed his life, how she taught him things he never knew he was capable of, most important ones. How her leaving wasn't breaking their wedding promise. They had been there for each other through happiness and sadness, through the best and the worst. It changed only after the worst. He still loved her. And he wished he had told her that. He never did, not wanting to make it harder, not wanting her to feel guilty or remorseful. But he wished he had told her, especially now that he wouldn't have any more opportunities to do it.
The home waited for him on his little island, and he welcomed the sight of it. It was warm inside, and he cracked a window open to let in a breeze. The salty air put his mind at ease, and now that he was back here, he started to believe that everything actually might be alright. It was terrible and unfair that she would only have this summer. It was enraging that she would never smile at the sun in spring again. But she had been right before. She had needed this, to see him and the ocean again. He had needed to see her too. When he first received her letter, he didn’t think he needed it. That he had already said goodbye. He had been happy to go see her, of course, but he hadn’t thought he needed it. But he did. He was glad to have had the chance to hold her hand again. To hold her close one last time. People sometimes talked of closure, but he had never really understood what that meant. At least, not until now. She had lived inside him like an open wound for so many years. Now, that wound would close. It would heal and he would too. Slowly, painfully it would.
He would miss her. He had missed her every day for years. Sometimes waking up and reaching for her on the other side of the bed. But it wouldn’t be the same way. The longing wouldn’t be there, at least he didn’t think it would. Instead, there would be a sort of fondness, knowing that he had loved and been loved in return. There would be the memories he kept inside his mind, and there would be today. He would always have today.
He talked to the boy as he did every night. As he prepared his supper, he told the boy about his mother. About how they had swam together in the cold water. If the boy could talk back, he would have laughed at that. In the summers, the boy had been more fish than anything else. Swimming from dusk till dawn if his parents let him. He had always wanted them to join him. Sometimes she did. But he would always just watch them, see them splash around in the cold water. Couldn’t understand what was so wonderful about it. Maybe he should have joined them then? He was glad he did today, at least.
When he went to bed he could sleep. The tiredness that came upon him so often these days would not come. His mind was still awake with the day’s activities. He smiled to himself in the darkness. He would go into town more often. Put gardenias on the boy’s grave. Because even though he didn’t need a physical place to see his son, he wanted to know that she was with the boy as well. So he would get the gardenias from her. He could put his feet in the ocean, feel the cold water in his veins, as he had today. Yes. He would like that. He thought that she would like that too.
In the end, after hours of thinking back on today and on what was yet to come, sleep did come. He dreamed for the first time in months. It was a quiet sort of dream. The kind where you’re just there. He was in his hut, standing in the kitchen. There had been plenty of fish when he took his boat out that morning, more than there had been for years. He prepared them, quietly singing a song he had heard somewhere. Maybe she used to sing it to him. The boy sat beside him, watching his father work. It was strange, the boy was both grown and not. Stuck in some sort of middle ground. It didn’t matter. His son was there, and he couldn’t ask for more.
“Mom came to see me today,” the boy said.
He nodded, glad that they were together somewhere. He would see them someday too. Not yet though. He kept working on the fish. One after the other. Singing his song, her song, and listened to his boy finally speaking back at him.
When he woke up the next morning, his mind was quiet. It was time he got on with this brand new day. He would take it on by himself, and the next day after that. It didn’t seem so bad.
Everything was going to be alright.