A nannosecond

Nstoryville

Almost two weeks ago my first husband died. Years of winning and losing a war with cancer finally ended when the disease overcame his stubborness. He died on his birthday, a consequence I find somehow spiritual.
I never expected to be affected by his death. After all, we were seperated by bitterness, 30 years, new marriages, and some 1,000 miles. Yet, we were bonded and bound by two children and a history of love before the pain crept in. I know it's true that when you love someone or something, they (or it) is part of you forever. So, a piece of me went with my children's father when he died in the early morning hours in a lonely hospital room in a small town in Kansas.
Our children were there, traveling from the different states where they live to be at his side. I was glad they did even if he had not always been a devoted father. I wish him only good in the afterlife, whatever that may be.
So, today I went to the social security office to apply for benefits under his grant. I felt a little swarmy doing that so soon after he died. But I went just the same. The office was crowded with the many faces of America. A huge black security guard kept watch over all who entered, even passing a wand over me and others who entered. He spoke to people and called out names so we could understand when the public address system was unclear.
I waited in the plastic seat, beside others who looked neither right nor left. I opened my novel and realized I was the only one reading. A cell phone rang now and again, but people answered them quietly and spoke softly for a short time. None of the long, loud conversations like those in coffee shops.
After two hours, I was out of there, still clutching the marriage certificate and notice of disolution I had saved all these years. Most of my life, it seemed. Now some much of it is gone.
I offer this tribute to a man who always ran when he could have walked, who struggled through childhood, was a soldier, a hard worker, a horseman, sometimes cruel, sometimes gentle. Always a man's man. The only mark he left in this world was children who have inherited the best of him.