Sixteen Elizabeths

I have been in serious need of some Bob time. 

Last Sunday as we were catching up at the kitchen table he proudly showed me the program from Tony's graduation ceremony a few weeks earlier.  (Tony is another adopted grandchild from across the street, and Bob had attended his MBA graduation ceremony with Tony's parents.) I flipped through the pages as he recounted the ceremony, the Maryland Transportation Secretary's address, the rain, Tony's honors. 

I noticed how he had circled Tony's name each time it appeared in the program.  He truly is proud of all his "kids" and their accomplishments.  I also noticed he had placed numbers beside other names in the program, names I didn't recognize.  But I decided against interrupting him for an explanation:  he went on to recount mowing the church lawn, Ben's birthday party and his most recent meeting with his lawyer.  This month he has big plans to go to an Orioles game with Tony and then he's coming to a Nats game one night as well ("Honey, I want you to meet us if you can").  For the 4th he's going on a boys' trip with Harvey and Ben and they'll have a huge family reunion at his brother's cabin in the West Virginia mountains.

"And honey, wouldja believe they had sixteen Elizabeth's at Tony's graduation?" his eyes got big behind his thick frames and a grin spread across his face. 

"See I counted 'em, and I marked 'em all in that book,"he pointed to the program. "That's a lot now isn't it?"

All of a sudden I'm imagining him sitting there under a large tent watching in anticipation each time he hears the name of his beloved late wife being called.  I feel the ironic twist of pain and hope and happiness he must have felt to watch each stranger-Elizabeth walk across the stage, a reminder of all he has lost.  Sixteen of them, one by one.  I remember the Sunday a few weeks earlier when he draped a strand of her white beads around my neck and choked out, "Happy Future Mother's Day, honey, I want you to have these."  Right before we both melted into tears in the same kitchen. 

But this Sunday he was smiling at me expectantly as I stared back, a bit surprised and feeling his pain.  All I could do was smile back and answer, "It sure is, Bob, it sure is." 

"She's been gone 10 months on the 4th," he reminded me.  Still no tears, as I held my breath and searched his face for signs.  He chuckled softly and changed topics, leaving me in a daze. 

These have been a rough few weeks for him, and I'm still not sure how to react to his sixteen Elizabeth's. 

All I know is the Bob I love and adore has experienced loss to a degree that I may never understand.  He is not too proud to cry or to tell me when he's having a hard time.  He's not too independent to ask for help when he needs it.  And he still finds the strength to smile, serve and keep living and loving. 

And to find some odd, small joy in counting Elizabeth's.