The Retirement Party

My friend's husband retired at the end of September. He is a year younger than I am; she is three years younger. I have known her family since I was five years old; her sister and I went to kindergarten together. My friend and I have taught together for more than twenty-five years, and have carpooled almost the entire time. I have known her husband since we were in junior high/middle school, and he and my sister used to walk to their piano lessons together.

The people in his office (he was the director of our town's branch of a very large state university, and his branch is primarly geared to teachers who are working on advanced degrees) decided to give him a surprise "retirement roast", and instead of gifts, they have established a scholarship fund in his honor with the university. The roast was held yesterday afternoon at a local museum (he's on the board of directors), and there were probably one hundred people attending. When I returned my RSVP card (along with my scholarship donation), I said that my sister would be attending as my guest.

It is still difficult for me to attend social functions without my husband, and especially one that he would have enjoyed. My friend's daughters were our bridesmaids when we were married (they were nine years old at the time; identical twins), my husband and my friend's brother-in-law went to elementary school together, my husband and my friend's sister ran with the same people in high school, my husband had worked with several of the judges and lawyers who were at the roast, and between my husband and me, we knew/know a lot of people.

Well, my sister had to go to the doctor yesterday morning. She had been fighting a kidney or bladder infection all week, but finally decided she needed an antibiotic to help her get well. I picked up her prescription for her so that she could take a dose or two and get ready to go to the party with me. She called about an hour before it began to tell me that there was no way she could go with me. I understood, but I cried for about ten minutes, trying to decide if I could go on my own. I worked up my courage, and put on my new jacket (from Coldwater Creek's clearance sale, and it is a beauty) and headed for the museum.

My friend's mother was one of the first people I saw, and we hugged each other tightly. Her husband--my friend's father--died at the end of August, after fighting cancer for most of the summer. I told her that I had not been sure I could handle the social situation, but I knew she'd be there, and that helped.

The party was wonderful. The food was good (and done by a caterer that was new to me), the bar was open (but I stuck to a Diet Coke since I was my own designated driver), and the slide show was full of memories. The master of ceremonies was a dear friend of the retiree, and we all laughed together at the retiree's foibles, then cheered at his strengths, and ended with a standing ovation for him and his wife.

I called my sister on the way home to tell her that I was still sorry that she wasn't able to come, but that God took care of me because I ended up sitting next to the cutest guy at the party and talking to him all afternoon. She laughed, and then asked who it was. I gave her a few clues--I'd known him since he was five years old, and he used to own a local restaurant--but she couldn't get it (probably because of her sickened condition). When I finally told her his name, she agreed with me that I had been with the cutest guy in the room...and his sweet wife.

We run into each other every few years, and he always makes me feel good. He is someone I've known for almost fifty years, and even though we didn't run in the same circles in high school, he always remembers me, and that's exactly what I needed yesterday. The last time we'd talked, he'd laughed about passing my house and always seeing my husband working in the yard. This time, I had to tell him that I'd moved (he'd noticed that it didn't seem as though anyone lived in the house), and that my husband had died. He knew that Mother had died (read it in the paper), and wondered if I had moved into her house (next door to my old house). I told him that I had moved--kicking and screaming--out of my old neighborhood (where he and his wife still live, but they are in the "historical district", which is about five blocks from my old house), and still miss my 10.5-foot ceilings, pocket doors, and big rooms. I miss the neighborhood grocery store, where I would always run into someone I knew, and the old people from the retirement complex across the street would stop me to tell me how to cook beans...just so they could have someone with whom they could talk. I miss the even smaller neighborhood grocery store where DH would always go to buy meat. I am probably safer in the "new" neighborhood, and I'm close to my sister, but nostalgia comes calling...especially on a fall afternoon with old friends and good food.