A terrible method for puting things in perspective

Last week's underwhelming Mother's Day, E's terrible twodom, M's refusal to eat anything that hasn't been pureed just so, the roof that is a structural disaster--all of these are just ant hills. I wish it didn't take tragic news to remind me of this.

Last week, I made plans to take the kids to the aquarium with B, a French adjunct with whom I am friendly. It is impossible not to be friendly with B; she is seriously peppy. It would probably be annoying, but the French accent makes it rather endearing. "Bonjour! Bonjour!" she greets me each morning as I huff and puff up the steep stairs to my office. B and I were pregnant at the same time, and we both had girls. We aren't close, but we do get together for coffee and our girls attend one another's parties and are slated to be classmates in the fall.

When I last spoke to her last Thursday, B was as happy as ever. She was looking forward to her husband's return from an extended business trip and was hoping to fill the time with beach trips and play dates. Her husband, E, is Filipino. I can't remember the story of how they wound up in the U.S., but I'm sure they told me. Their daughter looks exactly like him. In fact, when I visited after the birth, she proudly held up her little bundle of joy and told me, "I made an Asian baby!" Did I mention she is peppy?

Last Friday, I tried to call B to get her cell phone number because I was concerned that the baby's nap would make us late to our Saturday aquarium date. Her cousin answered the phone. I remembered B telling me that her cousin's English was "very bad, very bad" and considering that my French is worse, all I could get out of her cousin was that B was out and would not be home until Saturday. Given our difficulties speaking, I assumed that she misspoke. I called back Saturday morning an hour before we were to meet at the aquarium. Once again, the cousin told me to call later. It was odd, but I thought that perhaps B had made a quick trip to see her husband and had car trouble.

Later that afternoon I received an email from another friend, "I just received word that B's husband, E, was killed in an automobile accident yesterday."

I had a physical reaction to the news: my stomach clenched and my heart pounded wildly. Pure shock. It was just unreal. It is still unreal. And so very unfair. She is in the U.S. alone, save for a cousin who happened to be visiting. She will raise a daughter alone. She didn't get to say goodbye.

I've not seen her or spoken to her. No one I know has seen her yet. We are all giving her space until she is ready for visitors. However, she has been sending emails. Late at night. They are full of rage and pain. She sounds furious with the driver of the car* (he "is intact and E is dead.") She speaks of being full of regret for not having joined him on this business trip as if she could have stopped this from happening. She speaks of their recent decision to have another child. She sounds so grim. So raw. I have to have a box of tissue handy when opening them.

Sometimes when I hear of someone who is losing or has lost a spouse to a lengthy illness, I think that it might be easier to lose your loved one suddenly. But I'm not sure. Maybe a long, slow goodbye is better. There is closure. Time to plan. I don't know.

This weekend, B will bury her husband in the Northeast where they lived before coming here. When she returns, I hope she will feel up to receiving visitors. However, I think it is going to be a long while before I hear a joyful "Bonjour! Bonjour!" again.


*I googled a newspaper account of the accident. The driver lost control of the car and the car went down an embankment, hit a tree on the passenger side, spun around and hit another tree on the driver side. In an email, B said they had been attending a "function" so I would not be surprised to learn that alcohol was involved.