She stood on the welcome mat reading the word HELLO in bright red hand-sewn letters on a woven background that glowed from beige to yellow to orange.
Anyone who would put such a welcome mat outside his door would be easy to get along with, she thought. So she took a deep breath and rang the doorbell.
She was greeted by a muscular man with a friendly smile.
“Come on in,” he said.
She was glad to go inside because her feet hurt after the long walk to his house. It had been a mistake to wear the cheap brown plastic pumps on bare feet. Her skin was raw and red where the shoes had rubbed.
In the entryway of the man’s house there were several sets of shoes lined up, so she slipped hers off and added them to the parade.
Her toes wiggled happily.
Out on the porch, sitting in comfortable chairs, they sipped cold, cold champagne and watched young rabbits frolic in the grass.
After a while she turned her gaze away from the rabbits and looked into the eyes of the man.
“You look peaceful,” she said.
“I am,” he said. “Are you here for the five things?”
“Yes. I would like to start by saying how sorry I am. You know—for it all.”
She put her hand over his, feeling the strength of it.
“You’re strong again,” she noted.
“I am.”
“I want you to forgive me,” she said. “And I forgive you.”
“We forgive each other,” he agreed, standing up to pour more champagne and to turn on the overhead fan.
There was a sudden heat wave in Ithaca that week. It was only May and no one was ready for it.
She wiggled her happy toes and drank more champagne.
She looked at him again and smiled. “There is so much to thank you for. Thirty years to thank you for . . . thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he said. “And I thank you as well.”
There was a sudden streak of bright yellow, then crimson—quick visitations of the goldfinch and cardinal—here a moment, sitting in a branch—then gone.
“Is there time?” she asked, gripping his wrist and leaning in close.
“Not for that,” he said. “I don’t think I can stay long.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “I know I just came for the five things. “
She paused.
“It’s easy to say I love you,” she continued, “because I do. I still do. I always will.”
“You know I love you,” he said.
“I do know that.”
And then, all that was left to say was the one thing she’d never said to him before he’d died.
The champagne glasses were empty. The sun was setting.
She could barely see him in the waning light.
They both stood up.
“One more hug,” she said, embracing him. And then she whispered, “Goodbye.”
Note: “The Five Things” are from the book, Grieving Mindfully by Sameet M. Kumar.
