For the five weeks following Gordie’s death, I hid as much as I could and isolated myself from any situation or environment that felt unsafe. I really only left the house for several reasons: to go to work, to go to the Estate to feel closer to Gordie, to take the boys where they needed to go, to run, to hike with my friend Stacy, and to go to the homes of a very, very select group of friends. When I found myself in places with a lot of people, like Nathan’s baseball games, I would hide behind my dark sunglasses and often sit alone.
Jane’s birthday was in mid-April and our Class of 1987 friends were taking Jane out to dinner, as we do for everyone in our group. Stacy sent me the details of the birthday dinner with a note that said “I’m sure she will understand if you don’t want to go. But everyone would love to see you.”
I wasn’t sure I was ready for a Girls Night Out. Everything about it made me nervous. What if people in the restaurant recognized me? What if I was unable to keep my composure and cried? What if I actually had a good time and then felt guilty for having a good time? What if. What if. What if. I could not shut my mind off.
For God sakes Staci, it’s a dinner. Stop overthinking it, I thought.
I had to go. Jane was my best friend and had been by my side since Gordie died. I could not imagine missing her birthday dinner. Truth be told, I kind of wanted to see my friends and have a night of escape from my nightmare life.
The morning of the dinner, I went for a run before work. I jogged through my parents’ neighborhood thinking about the dinner. Questions floated throughout my head and from seemingly nowhere, answers floated behind them.
What if I cry and can’t stop?
Then leave.
What if people in the restaurant stare at me?
They won’t.
Should I have a glass of wine?
I had not had a drop of alcohol since Gordie died. I was terrified that if I started drinking, I might not stop.
Good God Staci, you are beyond disciplined. Have a glass of wine.
What if I am not myself? What if me being there brings everyone down?
These girls have been your friends for 25 years. They just want to see you.
I finished my run and walked up the hill to my parents’ house. I looked up at the sky and said a silent prayer.
Please God, make tonight OK.
I came home from work and started getting ready. I looked in the mirror and once again could not believe how crappy I looked.
It’s been six weeks since Gordie died and I look like I’ve aged six years.
I tried to put some make up on and do my hair but it was a losing battle. I ended up throwing my hair in a ponytail.
I picked Jane up on the way to the restaurant. When we arrived, everyone was already there. I looked carefully around the restaurant but, thankfully, did not recognize anyone. Each of our friends got up and hugged both Jane and I. Nearly all of them gave me a tight squeeze and said “it’s so great to see you.”
I took a seat next to one of my friends and ordered a glass of wine. When I took my first sip, it tasted so unbelievably good. Despite it being a chilled Chardonnay, it felt warm as it traveled through my body. I could feel myself relax.
My friends handled the conversation that night in a way that only friends of 25 years can. They asked about the boys and then they switched the conversation to light-hearted, fun, ridiculous, and disgusting topics. It was perfect. For a few hours, I felt like I was back in my old life laughing with my friends. I also felt safe. Nobody at that table had pity for me. They were sad for me but they did not pity me. Nobody at that table was hungering for details surrounding Gordie’s death. Nobody at that table was going to tell me about my new normal. Nobody at this table was going to ask me what Gordie was like before he died. They knew. They had gone to high school with him. Some of them had known him longer than me. They also had known me since I was 15 years old. They knew me before my husband died. Being with people who knew me and who knew Gordie before he died, became very important to me and it’s difficult to explain why. I guess it’s because it felt familiar. Or maybe it was because I felt like they viewed me as Staci Ball, Gordie’s Wife. Not Staci Ball, the Widow.
I did not cry at the dinner. However, when I drove Jane home that night, I could not hold it back anymore. We sat in her driveway as I cried and asked over and over “why did this happen?”
“I don’t know Stace. I don’t know” was all that Jane could say.
Jane then told me how she had been having very vivid dreams about Gordie. So vivid that in one of them she felt like he was standing at the foot of her bed.
“They are so real Girl”, she said “like he is right there. I really think he’s been here and he’s trying to tell me something”, Jane said.
To this day, I think Gordie was indeed paying multiple visits to Jane. Gordie and Jane were very close. Jane loved to give Gordie a hard time and Gordie just adored her. I know that Jane and my parents would have been at the top of his list of people he could trust to help me and the boys survive his death.
In fact, I am pretty sure I know what he was telling her.
“You owe me Jane, for all the crap I’ve taken from you over the years. Help Staci. Help the boys. I’m counting on you. I’ll see you and your shit giving on the other side.”