Patty, Part One

I read The New York Times every morning, and I always find some story about a horribly niche way to die. 

“Do you know what to do if your car falls into a body of water?” I’d ask Pat, just to be sure. 

“Of course I do,” he’d scoff, then sneakily Google what to do, just to be sure.

The same routine followed when I read about grizzly bear attacks in Yellowstone, poisonings in Russia, sinkholes where you least expect them, cars camouflaged for weeks at the bottom of an overgrown ravine because someone forgot to charge their phone, surfing accidents, failed brakes at busy intersections, and way-too-optimistic planning when saving others in a fire. 

“Sorry, girls,” he’d tell an aghast Lillie and Grae and Esmé. “Statistically, I’d only have time for one rescue, and it’d have to be Mama.”

I just needed him to know all the ways to save himself, because the only thing I knew was that I didn’t want to live a day without him.

**

When we were asked how long we’d been married, I always blanked. I’m horrible with numbers and only remember—

“This one,” he’d jerk his thumb in my direction. “She’s horrible with numbers and only remembers we eloped on a Wednesday in Nantucket. We got married on June 23^rd, 1993…which makes this year…”

Whenever he’d say the amount of time, I’d gasp. It was a lot. Most days, it felt like three minutes. Others, three lifetimes. But this year was a big one: thirty years at the end of June. Thirty.

He’d been telling people lately, “…which makes this year number thirty.”

I was shocked, as usual. “Thirty?!” I’d choke. “Only weirdos are married for thirty years!”

He’d laugh and offer — a little too willingly, to be honest — to divorce so we could start over at one again. Man, if that was an option, I would’ve stolen it. I’d go back to the beginning with him. We still had so much left to do together.

**

Like go to Yellowstone. I’m obviously scared of grizzly bear attacks and ravines, but he really, really wanted me to see it. Or wash the dishes while he cooked, so that the kitchen was mostly spotless when we sat down to eat, and he could say to our girls one more time, “Mama and I work well together.” Or drive through McDonald’s again to order fries. I’d hunt for all the crispies at the bottom and feed them to him, one by one by one, while we drove off and chatted about nothing and everything. We’d dream together about our girls’ lives while he wiped away the tears that always fell with the very mention them, marveling at all they’re about to do.

He would’ve been so proud of what they handled on his very last day and ever since, and that is an understatement. I’m absolutely gutted that he didn’t get to stay with us longer because he loved his life and everyone in it, and that is an even bigger understatement.

I’ll miss him telling the truth, even when it made him look bad. I’ll miss him prioritizing the work rather than his own career. I’ll miss his unshakeable will, which was his superpower. I will not miss his won’t at all, though, which was his kryptonite.

I’ll miss how he responded to all of my big ideas with, “That sounds great, Canary. As soon as we win the lottery.” I’ll miss him walking through the door after a trip or a day at work or just an errand. It always felt like he came home hauling the sun and moon and all the stars. 

They’ve disappeared since he left for good.

He wasn’t always lovely. Ages ago, I told him, “You are not a picnic today.” To which he replied, “You don’t need a picnic every day. Because then it’s not a picnic. It’s just lunch.”

He used more f-bombs, but that’s basically the gist. 

**

I would’ve really enjoyed holding his hand when we turned eighty. He’d smile that killer smile of his and tell me I didn’t look a day over seventy-nine, and I’d tell him his profile is still the best in the business. I’d make him promise not to tell anyone how long we’d been married, and he’d agree with me as he always did…even when I was wrong.

Because I was wrong. He’d never surf, there’s no way he’d be caught anywhere near Russia, he’d save us all in a fire, and his phone was always fully charged, just in case. We already won the lottery, a few times over. He was such a picnic.

It’s not weird to be married for thirty years. It would’ve been pretty wonderful.

And. I finally know exactly how long we were together.

Not nearly long enough.