As my friend entertained the crowd with all manner of songs and musical instruments (he’s a very talented guy!), people chattered over dinner, kids played tag, and a bus load of sunset cruisers disembarked looking like they’d been kissed on their foreheads by the sun as it retired for the evening.
I was seated at a long white table under a fruiting mango tree that had light bulbs strung in a row under its branches. The biergarten was buzzing.
An elderly gentleman was sat at the other end of the table from me, alone and looking a little sad. His fish and chips had been served and I felt an inner nudge to speak with him. I shifted closer.
“You come to talk with me?” he said in surprise.
“I sure have,” I said. “What’s your name?”
“Russ,” he replied. “And you?”
“Cath,” I said.
I asked two questions of Russ and the following 30 minutes were him sharing his heart.
At 72 years of age, Russ is traveling around Australia for the second time. His first time around Australia was with his wife. After losing his wife of almost 50 years 3.5 years ago, he wanted to make the trip again.
“Grief is hard,” he said. “People tell you that you get over it, but that’s a callous thing to say. You don’t just get over losing someone you were married to for almost 50 years.”
He talked about his kids. He talked about his occasional work. He talked about his aversion to remarriage pressure from friends. He talked about how people aren’t interested in chatting with him because he is older and that when they do, they don’t know how to give eye contact, etc. He talked about the places he had been and the places he’d be going.
“You know the hardest part of losing someone you’ve been married to for so long?” he said, teary.
I shook my head ‘no’.
“Not having them say “love you—goodnight” just before you fall asleep, and not having them there in the morning to say “good morning”.
“That’s so sad,” i said. “I can see that would be hard.”
He nodded ‘yes’.
Russ went on to talk about what he liked to do and some of the things he had done. It felt like a necessary release of the thoughts running around in his head.
When my friend came up to chat for a second time, Russ finished his meal and excused himself.
I went to wave goodbye to him, but gave me a hug instead. “Thanks for listening,” he said.
I pondered our interaction. All he had needed was some love and kindness. We all need love and kindness—moments of human interaction to remind us that we are worthy and of value no matter our age, disposition, belief, or station in life.
(Photo by Beau Carpenter)
