Funny You Should Ask

Do you have family or love ones who weren't there for you after your spouse died? Where were they when you needed them the most? Those were the discussion questions on the widow/widower forum.

I’m so happy to say that my husband’s family, my niece, Sharon, and nephew, Donnie, check in with me to see if I’m okay. He came from a warm loving family.

My darling came into my life, when I was nineteen, just over a year after my father died. My sister, who wasn't quite four, went on our dates almost from the beginning. The first time Kirt came to pick me up for a date he sat in the living room with the precocious three year old while I got ready. Kirt saw the seven dwarf dolls lined up on a table, so he said, “Would you like me to tell you about the seven dwarfs?” She replied, “No, I’d rather hear about Simon and Garfunkel.”  “Why don’t you tell me about them?” Kirt said with a wink to me as I came into the room laughing.

Drive in movies with the kid sister sitting in the middle; it’s a wonder he put up with me. My motto was clear from the start; love me, love my family. Dinner dates were frequently threesomes. Our mother an attractive young widow had begun to date.

We were married in what now seems like record time. The kid sister spent weekends and summer vacations at our house. Kirt told her fantastic stories of trolls and fairies. He taught her how to swim. She biked in New Orleans City Park with us. I showed her St. Louis Cathedrals where our grandmother took me to mass. At the Café du Mon she had beignets and chocolate milk as I did with grandma.

Dance lessons, piano, and horse backing riding of course, my husband generously agreed we could afford for the girl we adored. Our second home, we chose on the basis of the best high school for little sister to get into college. He preferred a house in the next suburb, where we could have had a brick home on a huge country lot, but the school didn't compare. Love me, love my family rule was still in full force and effect. I always credited my success in life with the quality of my high school education. Thanks to the sisters at Mercy High School in Chicago for everything I've achieved. My sister had to have that start in life.

Once living in our house little sister became known as give me, take me or I’m so bored. When she came home from college, it felt nice to have a grown sister. She met the man she would later marry, told us what a great mechanic he was. Somehow he ended up fixing my husband’s tractor, since Kirt didn't have time to do the job.

We paid for parts the boy friend said were needed. He didn't usually work on tractors, but he could fix anything with a motor. Kirt sensed that the guy didn't know what he was doing, but sometimes you just need to let things play out.  Sister’s great mechanic delivered the tractor, wanted to be paid the rest of his money, so he could go. He had things to do, places to be. “Wait til Kirt comes home.” No he couldn't do that. You and my sister come over for dinner; we’ll celebrate a working tractor and pay you then, was my directive, since he was in such a hurry anyway.  

Kirt came home late, tired and hungry, so we had dinner with anticipation building to try out his beloved Ford 8N tractor. In the twilight I saw his lips curl up as we walked to the barn. He took a big breath, smiled, mounted his machine, and then click-click, nothing happened. He got off, checked fluid levels, looked things over and tried again, nothing happened.  Crestfallen he went to bed. He had to leave for work at five am, my hard working guy.

My sister’s last words to my husband were, “Put some gas in it.”

That was in 1984 or 85’ish. She hasn't called to this day to offer condolences, no email.

All I can say to others who've been hurt by this type of callous behavior is let it go. I don’t want the karma that comes with wishing her to rot in hell. I pray to God to give me grace.