I've had a chance encounter at the back of a crowded A&W on my mind a lot over the past couple of days....
Driving back from my parents place to our place, Gavin and I stopped at the A&W. If you know the route, you know the one I'm talking about. Its the half way mark in a small community, and depending on the time of day is either empty or full of truckers and farmers who all know each other. Today was something of an anomaly. It was full, but of other people on the same holiday route - a pilgrimage of sorts. Gavin and I took our table, back in the corner, and as he proceeded to eat his cheeseburger I caught wind of the conversation going on between the two tables next to me. The woman to my left was on her way home after visiting her grandkids. She was alone.
After her conversation friends had packed up to hit the roads, she turned and started talking to me. Or rather talking to Gavin until his dwindling cheeseburger diverted his attention back to the important things at hand. Thats when she talked to me. Somehow we got onto the topic of our dogs anxiously awaiting our return in their respective vehicles. She had purchased her dog as a companion after her husband fell ill and died. In October of last year.
I don't know why I told her, why I shared the intimate with a complete stranger, but I revealed that Gavin's daddy had died in August of the same year. She smiled the smile. Its a look that comes from understanding. Then she said "I'm sorry. I thought so." I must have looked surprised, as she continued, pointing out that I was young, traveling with a small child alone over the holidays, and wearing wedding rings. She then stated that she had noticed his ring around my neck. Kurt's wedding ring has been hanging there, close to my heart, since the day I retrieved it from the bedroom nightstand. She then proceeded to pull her own silver chain out from under her shirt. A similar sized ring. A dog tag of sorts, identifying our relationship to each other. The words that followed were something only someone who really understands would say, especially nearly a year and a half later. "It doesn't get easier." I shook my head. "No, it doesn't. Not really." She continued with "Its different though. Not easier. But different." I nodded. Small talk followed, but our conversation didn't go much further than that. There was nothing else to say. But as she departed, she wished me the best. And she didn't mean just on the travels ahead... All I could do was wish her the same.
We're all traveling our own separate roads, each of us marching to the sound of our own drum - our heart beating in time with our own rhythms. But even on the loneliest and most desolate of roads - like the one I feel I am on today - there are intersections, places where people come and go from our lives. Kurt and I were a double highway, our roads running parallel and merging as one. His exit ramp just came sooner... far too soon. But even as my road continues on, intersections such as this - brief encounters be it from strangers or friends - serve to remind me that there are similar roads running near me, in my blind-spot, hidden. Far too many similar roads, actually. I'm not as alone as I feel
I hope that nameless woman is well today. That the upcoming year treats her better than the last couple have. Really, that's all I can hope for us all.....
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