Sunday Morning Post, Vol. 3, #29 A Breakfast Out

 When we first relocated to what we considered our home turf Anne Marie and I would make a point of having breakfast out on Sunday mornings.  At that time there were 4 diners and a chain restaurant nearby waiting to fill us with Happy Juice and whatever cholesterol laden goodies they offered.  Times and the economy changed.  The diners closed one by one for a variety of reasons,  but the chain restaurant survives.  

I went to this restaurant on my late day this week as part of my effort to get out and break the constricting feeling that I can't do the things we used to do just because she is gone.  We've always had good food here in the past,  but this time the service was a little slower than in the past.  To be fair it was a weekday when they would not schedule a full crew to work.  This time though there was a sign on the door letting customers know that they,  like many other businesses in the pandemic,  are having staffing issues. Wait times for service may be longer than usual.  I was warned and entered anyway.

The one hostess on duty was very friendly and did everything she could to accommodate  the four or five parties in there at the time.  It took awhile for me to get a cup of coffee,  but otherwise I had time to spare and observed the others in the dining room.

There were two ladies, I would estimate at least middle-aged, at the next booth.  They were having a lively conversation and there were a few laughs shared between them.  In the past Anne Marie would have been sitting opposite me and able to hear every word of their conversation if she was not engaged in a conversation with me.  If the conversation was interesting she would whisper to me what the talk was about.  This day the seat was empty, and there were no whispers.  

A young family of four came in later and sat at another booth on the other side of the room.  The older child seemed quiet, but his younger sibling had more energy then he/she knew what to do with and kept up a barrage of chatter.  The mother spoke to the child a few times about his noise, but after all was said and done,  the child wasn't behaving that badly.  Anne Marie and I had seen worse in our lives.

I must admit I was a bit envious of the family and their ability to maintain order with their brood.  Had Anne Marie and I possessed the emotional and psychological maturity to have our own children things would be quite different now.  I might have one near adult son or daughter at this point to be helped and help me through these times. Alas,  we decided very early on in our relationship that we were not cut out to be parents for humans.  Cats, okay.  Humans no.

An older couple came in while I ate my breakfast.  The man was tall and seemed to be reasonably healthy.  His wife was smaller, thin, gaunt and accompanied by an oxygen tank.  I saw her and somehow knew that was how Anne Marie would have ended up if she had lived.  She was asthmatic as long as I knew her,  and had to swallow a dose of cough syrup whenever she would have a mild attack.   For stronger attacks she would puff on an inhaler.   

The sight of the older couple put my current situation in perspective.  Certainly,  I would've liked to have had Anne Marie around longer than I did.  Yet I doubt very much either one of us would have wanted her to suffer this decline in her quality of life.  I would do my best to put on a brave face, but she was a smart woman.  She would know that we were both miserable at her decline. This would have made her suffering all the worse, knowing that I was not happy.  I am convinced that she devoted her life to my happiness.  And I was devoted to her every wish and whim....

This is my consolation that she went so fast. I was spared somewhat a long slow decline.   She did suffer a condition in the last few years, but we always thought that she would heal,  much like society is healing through the pandemic,  and things would be normal again someday.

I broke down briefly there in the restaurant;  the sight of the empty chair across the booth got to me a few times.  Still, my emotions were not loud enough to be heard over the two women laughing at the next booth,  the young child yammering on across the room,  or the quiet conversation between the elderly couple a few feet away.  I recovered, finished my meal and came home to work.  

I thought about this episode later and figured I will have more moments like this in the months to come.  I cannot fool myself: I know I  will have a number of low emotional points in the months to come, but I will have to overcome them.

All I have to do is learn how to climb....

(Thank you for reading.)