My Heart is Breaking

There was an episode yesterday, and I want to talk about it. I've been up half the night, crying and remembering. My heart is breaking, and I'm not entirely sure why.

I may have mentioned some time ago that I became enraged by a co-worker, an elderly, fat, Germanic bigot who used to work with me at Costco. His racist, hateful remarks had for a long time been the source of unending aggravation to me, and I was not at all sorry to see him fired several months ago.

It may have been as much as a year ago when one of his remarks occurred that I will tell you about. There is a couple who frequented Costco who were of some other nationality. That's all it took for Ted. They dress in what I guess is traditional Pakistani garb. The man wore a fez of sorts, and carried a cane. She wore a sari of some kind. They were always together, inseparable. I was friendly to them, offering them samples, and they were friendly back, although the man did most of the talking.

On one particular day, they strolled by, and I was standing near Ted, the racist. He looked at me, then looked at the floor, shook his head, and lamented, "What is this country coming to?" His demeanor was one of disgust.

I took this episode, in combination with several similar episodes, as reason to take a thorough dislike to Ted. My positive reaction was to make it my business to be especially warm to this couple whenever they came thru the store.

She was in yesterday with her son (a stunningly beautiful man in his 30s. Breathtaking.) I almost didn't recognize her without her husband. Her son approached and I gave him a sample. She followed him over to me. She came very close to me and said, "You know my husband." It wasn't a question.

I nodded.

"Well, he died. His heart." Her English was limited, but she curled her hand up near her own heart. The look on her face was heartbreaking.

I was very stunned and quite upset. Abruptly, I was flooded with memories of the loss of my husband and the pain I went through. I saw in my mind's eye what this poor woman was going through and what she had yet to go through. I wept and hugged her. She wept, too.

I think the beautiful son (she has at least 2 sons, both handsome) was quite taken aback by my response. I explained that my husband died from his heart also, and I am so very, very sorry for her loss.

She walked away with the son eventually, but he came back in a few minutes to ask me where we keep something or other. I quizzed him. His father passed about six weeks ago (her wound is open) during an operation to replace a heart valve. The surgery went badly, and he died on the table. He had been married for 57 years. The son told me that his parents never left the house separately. They were together every day for 57 years, deeply in love.

He told me he is sorry for my loss. He wanted to know how long ago my husband passed. I told him six years. He asked me how long it took before the pain calmed down. I told him I'd let him know if that ever happens.

He told me he would pray for me, this Muslim man. How sweet. I am praying for his family, too, that their wounds would close.

I asked what his father's profession was. He was a college professor, very educated, very well read, very knowledgeable. The opposite of Ted, who reviled him for his ethnicity.

I suppose I am selfish and it is just the flood of emotions from my own loss that has me so upset. I've been crying since 3 this morning, and finally got up. I hardly know these people. I don't know their names at all. But the misery on that woman's face when she told me of her loss was so much that it all came back on me.