In the Park

It was a perfect March morning, not perfect in the sense of a perfect morning, bright warm sunshine and gentle spring breezes. No, it was perfect in the sense that this is what March is all about, tough, unpredictable, raw, even ugly and painful and yet it beautiful and perfect, all of the paradoxes that birth is, even the birth of spring. The rain was cold and driving like a thousand tiny insects stinging one’s face and the wind cut through even the heaviest of jackets. I knew I shouldn’t be out here along the lakefront in this weather, lord knows my bones would complain about it for the rest of the week, and from the moment I left my door I thought about how good a thick thirsty bathrobe and a hot cup of tea, maybe even a nip of brandy were going to feel when I got home. But I never could resist this kind of weather, nature rebirthing spring from it’s long quiet winter pregnancy, however I’m what my daughter politely refers to as eccentric and my grand-daughters just call nuts. I like that about them, they’re honest. I’m quite used to having these mornings to myself, they’re aren’t a lot of nuts around out there on ‘perfect’ March mornings, or if they are they’re rushing as quickly as they can from one warm dry spot to another. So I was indeed rather startled to find the bench where I usually ruminate on mornings like this, aww hell ruminate is such a fancy sounding word, call a spade a spade, I wool gather, I veg out, (as those granddaughters would say) I get lost in an old man’s dreams and memories. Ruminate? Bah! Anyway I was surprised to see ‘my’ bench occupied

The couple occupying my small space in the world weren’t that old, I’d be surprised to learn they’d seen their third decade. She was beautiful, eyes too big, mouth a bit too small, her long brown hair plastered to her by the rain, and very pregnant. The young man with her, was well dressed, in a heavy woolen coat that wasn’t going to keep him dry on a morning like this, and I’d hesitate to guess is going to take three days to dry. I was settling myself in for my usual sojourn with my own thoughts but as wisps of their conversation drifted over to me I found myself listening for it. I have always been far too interested in my fellow human beings, I called it anthropology, Mairi called it nosy.

"No! Peter I won’t go back!", the young woman was vehement through obviously hot angry tears.

"Please dear, we must. They’re my parents", Peter pulled gently at her sleeve.

But her face was set firm despite her pain, "I love you, but I will not set foot inside that house again. They’ve gone too far. I know they’re your parents and I know you love them. I won’t ask you to choose between me and them. You go if you must but I won’t."

"No, you’re my wife and I won’t go anywhere without you but I do wish you’d come back. Storming out like that.... well it just doesn’t look right"

I saw the look of fury cross her face and I knew right then that he had lost the argument. My but she looked so like my Mairi when I’d really stepped in it.

"Doesn’t look right? Listen to yourself! You sound just like them. ‘No son of mine will be an artist.’ ...’A Camponell just doesn’t do that.’ Peter really! We didn’t ask them for much, and your mother acts like we’d ask them to sign over the family company", her tears dried up as the anger took firm hold.

Peter looked abashed and uncomfortable, his shoe scuffing about in the mud, "Karen, I’m sorry, but you know how they are, and how they feel about this baby."

"Yes, I know how they are, and I’ve had enough of it." Karen looked him firmly in the eye, "I didn’t blink when they cut you off without a cent for marrying me. I took it all in stride and said ‘I know how they are’ when they refused to come to your first showing. I believed they owed you something better than that, but for your sake I kept my mouth shut. But this is your child, their grandchild and they owe it something, whatever they think of me."

I sighed, so it was about money, how typical, how boring. Everything seems to be about money these days, maybe it always was. My thoughts began to turn inward again. This beautiful young woman, with such a strong set to her jib, whatever the reason, reminded me so of my Mairi. Then again it didn’t take much to remind me of her. Ten years and still I think of her daily. It doesn’t hurt, not like it did at first, still when someone is a part of your life everyday for 47 years and then is suddenly gone, it’s like you’ve lost a part of yourself and you could no more not miss it everyday then you could not miss and arm or a leg. The wind blew another snippet of conversation my way.

"Really, they owe our baby something. It wasn’t much to ask for. I don’t understand how they can be so hard hearted." Karen’s tone and face had softened, and she look so hurt my heart went out to her a little.

"I know darling, but they’ve always been that way, they were born and raised that way themselves. In some bizarre fashion it’s there own way of trying to say they love me, by protecting me from ‘bad’ moves and appearances. I know they don’t have to protect me from you. I’ve always lived my own way and they haven’t liked it, but I’ve done okay, and marrying you was the smartest thing I ever could have done. Don’t let them get to you hon" he held her softly to him.

" I just wanted him or her to have grandparents, that wasn’t so much was it? With my parents dead, was it so much to ask your parents to be there for their grandchild, to love it, to be there for it?"

"No of course it wasn’t. You know I wanted that too. It would have meant so much to me to have my family back together." Peter sighed.

"I only wanted to extend an olive branch and I got beat up with it. There really isn’t anything else I can do now I guess." her soft tears nearly broke my heart.

 I saw something else there though, her resolve, a strong proud woman inside that gentle creature. I didn’t really know just what it was I wanted or planned or expected or even really why, but somehow I knew it was the right thing to do when I stood up and walked over to them.

I’m not even sure where exactly the words came from, but I found myself saying, "Hello, my name is Edward, I couldn’t help but overhear some of what you’ve been talking about. My wife’s name was Mairi and she died 10 years ago."