At James’s funeral, I felt detached, as if observing my life from the outside. A gentle drizzle fell over the small cemetery as I clutched my husband’s old hat, seeking comfort. The gathering was intimate—family, a few neighbors, and members of his cherished fishing club—offering condolences as I stood by the graveside, my heart weighed down by sorrow.
For nearly forty years, James had been my rock, teaching me to fix squeaky doors and laugh at life’s little mishaps. Even in the hospital, he comforted me with jokes about the sharp scent of disinfectant. When doctors told us his time was short, he made me promise to keep truly living. I clung to that final wish, but when he passed, a part of me felt lost.
Lost in grief, barely hearing the pastor’s closing words, a gentle voice behind me broke through:
“Elise?”
My name, softly spoken, seemed to fade into the light rain. I turned to see a woman who had once been as integral to my life as breathing. Dressed in a simple black coat, she stood hesitantly. Despite the years, her features were unmistakable. My voice trembled. “Is that you, Naomi?”
She nodded tears in her eyes. Before I could fully process it, another figure appeared beside her, exuding the same confidence she had for decades. “Layla,” I murmured, astonished. It felt like encountering ghosts from my past. These women were once my closest friends—my “girls,” as we called each other in our carefree days. But as life progressed, we drifted apart.
Naomi offered a tentative smile. “When we heard about James, Layla and I came immediately. We needed to be here.”
I nodded, tears threatening to fall. We exchanged looks, the weight of lost years heavy between us. The last time we were together, in our forties, we believed there was ample time for reunions. But life hurried on. Now, in our late 60s, dressed in funeral attire, we attempted to reconnect after years of silence.
After the burial, I didn’t linger. The silence at the funeral home’s reception was overwhelming. Naomi and Layla stayed close, guiding me to a nearby cozy café. With mismatched chairs and a chalkboard menu of daily soups and homemade pies, it offered a comforting atmosphere. We settled at a corner table, the ambiance quiet and soothing.
A young waitress served us tea, casting sympathetic glances my way. My hands trembled as I reached for the cup; Naomi gently nudged it closer. We sat in uneasy silence until Layla sighed deeply.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” she whispered. “I regret that it took… this to bring us together.”
Naomi nodded, staring at her untouched tea. “So many wasted years. I didn’t know how to reach you, Elise, or if you’d want to see me. Life passed by so quickly.”
I took a deep breath, forcing words past the lump in my throat. “I’ve spent the past few years caring for James. He fell ill so quickly; everything else faded away.”
Layla gently patted my arm. “If we’d known, we would’ve been there to help. But I guess we all became strangers.”
It was true. Pride, lingering resentments, or simply the inertia of habit kept us from reaching out. I shifted the focus to them, partly to avoid more tears. “What about you two? How have you been?”
Naomi offered a half-smile, eyes reflecting bittersweet emotions. “I’ve been devoted to my family…”
