...about my husband. Seriously. I do want to talk about him.
I went to a BBQ over Labor Day Weekend and my cousin, who is the sweetest person ever, was talking to me about any and everything but Bobby. At one point in the conversation, it was natural for me to mention him. I don’t remember what we were talking about...but his name came up. My cousin said, “I knew that, but I didn’t know if you wanted me to mention him. I didn’t want to remind you.”
“Remind me? I think about him 24-7,” I said.
She hugged me.
Last week, I met a new supervisor at work, who I know for a fact knew my husband through work (for new readers, we worked at the same place, only in different departments). We exchanged formalities and went on our way. I saw her again the next day in the hall, and we again exchanged formalities. No mention of Bobby whatsoever.
I felt like I’d been punched. It was like he did not exist. I wasn’t looking for a dissertation, but a simple, “I knew Bob. I’m sorry for your loss." Even something simpler like, "I knew Bob. He was a great person to work with." I would have even settled for, "I knew Bob. He drove me crazy."
I love when people remember my husband to me, and I feel badly when they don’t. They don’t even have to say his name. Now that school has started, and summer is over, I re-enrolled my son into a music program that he had enjoyed last year, and when we walked into the first session, the director of the program saw me and he asked, “How are you?”
I responded with the customary, “Fine.”
He said, “No, really.” Then he hugged me.
Even though he didn’t mention Bobby, I knew he was thinking of him. I like when people remember him. I want to hear his name. I want people to know that it’s OK, even more than OK, to mention him. It actually makes me feel warm that he is not forgotten.