I must’ve had a weird expression on my face when I was looking at their daughters. They were being terrible. Hitting each other and squealing in the grocery cart. They were being little brats.
The mom and dad were together trying to finish the shopping quickly (we’ve all been there, right?) and they probably thought they could do it with all three little girls. They pushed their luck though, because they looked defeated as they were pushing their cart. Those girls were as cute as buttons, but mean as fire.
Unfortunately, we were in sync as we followed all of the one way arrows in the isles and tried as I might, I couldn’t get away. I must’ve been scowling. The dad caught me looking and sweetly whispered, “Sorry.” We had even parked next to each other and we left at the same time.
To him, I probably appeared to be a carefree lady who had just played a round of golf and was loading my kid-free car with my adult groceries. I had to move golf clubs around to fit all of my bags, and he had to move a double stroller around to fit all of his. After he apologized to me he probably got in his van and told his wife, “She has golf clubs in her car- lucky lady!”
What he saw was not annoyance on my face. He wasn’t reading mean thoughts on my lined forehead. I was deep in thought and didn’t even realize how I must’ve seemed.
It was jealousy. I was jealous.
He got in the car with his wife and three screaming brats and I got into my car alone.
I loaded all of the groceries into my car alone, to deliver to my empty house for my teenagers who will feed themselves as they’re coming and going. I will eat alone.
I hadn’t been golfing earlier, like he must’ve thought. They aren’t my clubs, they’re Tom’s. They’re rattling around and taking up space in my car, like Tom’s memory is constantly rattling around and taking up space in my mind. Golf clubs are not a symbol of leisure or recreation or sport to me anymore. I had just picked them up from the storage room at the course. He played with them not even a week before he died 10 months ago. That night, like I did every Tuesday evening, I waved enthusiastically at him on the course from the tennis court. And I giggled like a school girl as I said to my friends, “There’s Tom!”
That couple got home and gave baths and hugs, read books and had children cozy up on their laps. They brushed hair and kissed boo boos. When one parent got tired, the other would take over. He and his wife will collapse on the sofa tonight together with a glass of wine or a bowl of ice cream and talk about what little shits their kids were.
They’ll laugh. Or cry. Together.
I wonder if they know how awesome their life is. I bet they don’t. No one does.
It wasn’t just jealousy I felt, though. It was pain. It was loss. It was me missing my husband, missing my babies and missing the life I had when my kids were that age. And missing the life I had just last year. Missing my entire life up until Sept 24th, 2019. Also, missing the future – all of the time, life events and memories my kids won’t have with their father.
I found myself being jealous of that couple at the grocery store who are living their normal, everyday lives. I want to tell them, “Today sucks, right? You are managing a lot right now- your little family, a pandemic, maybe unemployment. But, you are TOGETHER! I can’t wait to get away from your kids who have been screaming like banshees for 45 minutes, but THESE are the days. You are ALL together!! What you have is wonderful!!”
Of course I didn’t say that. But, I became self aware and decided to change my demeanor for the remainder of the car loading. I became a little peppier, I answered a phone call happily (even though it was a sales call) and I hollered an optimistic “Have a good night!” To him before I shut my car door.
I wanted to look like I had it all together. I wanted him to be hopeful that his life will be carefree someday like mine seemed to be. And that he’ll be lucky and take up golf like he thought I did. I wanted him to know that he WILL make it through all of this chaos.
He doesn’t need to know that life might possibly get harder than it is right now. That someday a terrible life disruption will make him long for the difficult days of having toddlers.
He doesn’t need to know that someday he might cry the whole drive home from the grocery store.
(Side note: this was originally titled “Your Kids Are Assholes and I’m Jealous”. I wrote it while I was in the parking lot. I thought I should let it simmer for a few weeks so I could soften my perspective of the event. And it made me laugh when I forgot about it and saw the title again. However, those girls were total assholes. But, they were perfect, too.)
