The Trip

Mac spent time with me every day. He was so mindful of me and knew how deeply I was still in love with him, after all our years together. Our affection had endured for many years. We met in college and were inseparable. We went to grad school together and were never apart. Our love was the subject of many conversations. The soulmate bond we shared was something I had always been aware of. He felt it from the first day we met, and he still did. It was hard to explain how it felt. I couldn't even remember whether I found him or he found me. Mac and I were just meant to be together. Nothing else ever seemed to get in the way of that.

We had similar experiences with others we dated before we met. We had both experienced good and bad relationships, but ours was unique. There was not a single day when we didn’t appreciate each other and feel complete together.

We married after grad school and had three children. Life at home felt like a fairy tale. Love, kindness, and respect were the staples. Yes, we had our differences. What marriage doesn’t? But they weren’t life-altering or relationship-killers. The little things kept us glued together and in love.

Our children are all grown and married with families. They started coming by more and more, it seemed. I loved that they had been, but it was unusual given their busy lives. I didn’t complain.

Mac did unforgettable, sweet deeds daily, more so lately. He had been spending more time with me. We took strolls along the Seine while I enjoyed warm croissants beneath the flowering trees in spring. He wrote me little poems and kissed me as he recited them. My husband made sure I felt loved through these small gestures. There was a gentleness in the way he cherished me. It felt like being fragile antique crystal, handled with the utmost care and delicacy. He was always attentive, even from the beginning.

Each night he did something sweet and utterly amazing. He brought me flowers, asked me to smell them, and said his love for me was as sweet as they were. Sometimes he showed me a colorful array of art and said I was more beautiful than the most prized piece. He told me every time we were together that our time together was like a winding clock that never stopped ticking or needed rewinding. “It’s timeless,” he always told me.

One night, Mac asked me if I’d like to go on a trip with him.

“Of course!” I said.

Why wouldn’t I? I knew he would make every moment special. I wasn’t sure where he was taking me, but I knew I’d love it and cherish the memory for years to come. The things he did for me were always special.

We often took brief excursions here and there, but this new trip lifted my spirits more than any other. Mac said the next trip would be longer and that, since we were empty nesters in our later years, it was time to go off on our own. I was ready and excited to see and experience what he had planned.

I told the children we were planning a long trip and that their dad had something special in store for us. They all came for lunch, picked me up from my volunteer site, and took me to the corner bistro up the block for a pleasant meal.

It was a beautiful summer day, and the smells in the air were especially hunger-inducing. The scents of baking bread, meals being cooked in nearby restaurants, and sweet confections blended and swirled around us, as we had always experienced while living in Paris. It was a treasure to live here, and it was a marvelous place to raise our family.

The air seemed sweeter that afternoon, as if it needed to be savored even more deliberately. I took it in and told my daughter and sons to enjoy it, too. Mac and I always made sure they knew not to take life's small pleasures for granted. We hoped it would stay with them throughout their lives and, in turn, that they would share it with their growing families.

We sat down and ordered a nice bottle of Petrus from Bordeaux. One by one, we ordered our meals and slipped into conversation. I always loved hearing about their week and their children. I was thrilled by the tales and mishaps from their week and couldn’t wait to share them with Mac this evening. When they had exhausted their musings, I told them about the trip.

I explained to them about their father's planned, extended holiday–the very trip we had discussed when the children were young. I shared that I didn’t know where he was taking me or the exact date, but that it would be soon and that I couldn’t wait. Their reaction surprised me because it wasn’t what I expected.

My two boys, Jean-Paul and Max, stared at me. Jean asked whether it was wise to undertake a long journey at my age. Max was quiet and didn’t comment, but I noticed him looking at me with concern. Maybe he thought we were too old to take long trips. My daughter teared up. Did she think I’d be away too long and that she’d miss us too much?

I sat there for a long while, wondering how to handle them. Then I asked them why they were unhappy about the news. I got stares, and then my eldest son, Jean-Paul, told me he was worried that a long trip at my age would not be a good idea. It was as I suspected. Our age.

I chuckled and told them not to worry so much. We planned to be cautious and take our time. We had no reason to rush or to find ourselves in an unsavory situation. I told them we would be fine.

Our meals arrived, and we enjoyed lunch while making small talk about their work. I didn’t eat much. I wasn’t hungry. I just enjoyed being with them. When we finished, we ordered coffee, paid for the meal, and walked back to my work at the shelter. Michele, my daughter, asked if I wanted to stay at her home for the rest of the day, but I declined.

I volunteered at a shelter for abandoned children, and the kids needed my attention, so I wanted to return. I had been working more hours there over the last few months. It kept me busy and made the days go by faster. Michelle looked a little disappointed, but she smiled anyway, kissing and hugging me before we all parted ways.

I told Mac about having lunch with the kids. He smiled and said he was so happy they had all stayed so attentive in our old age. He also said he was sorry he had missed our lunch, but it had been unavoidable. He said he was busy preparing the way for our journey.

I asked Mac if he had a specific date in mind for us to leave, and he said he would let me know when it was time. He added that it was not time yet. Excitement was building inside me, and I was fit to be tied. I loved pleasant surprises, and he always surprised me with something memorable.

A few days passed, and Mac finally told me we would be leaving very soon. He asked me to keep it between us for a couple more days, just in case the date changed. So I kept it under wraps. I decided to tell our children soon enough, and given the response I got at lunch the other day, we thought it best not to worry them.

It had only been a couple of days since my beloved said he would tell me when we would be leaving. I sure hoped he would give me time to get what I needed for the trip. I was a packer, and he knew that, so I hoped he kept that in mind.

Mac finally told me when we were leaving. We would leave within a couple of days. I wasn’t sure whether it would be in the evening or during the day, but he said we could finalize the timing later.

He didn’t give me much time to plan and pack our things, but I made do. This was a once-in-a-lifetime trip, and I wouldn’t complain about the short notice. I was happy he said we didn’t need to pack much. He said everything was taken care of and that we would have what we needed without my fussing.

That was a welcome revelation. I hated packing because I invariably ended up packing more than I needed. That Mac, knowing my proclivities, took the burden off my hands and showed me yet again how much he loved me. He always did thoughtful things like that.

Before we left, I finished my responsibilities at the shelter. I didn’t want the other volunteers to be burdened with excessive duties while I was away. While I couldn’t take on all the responsibilities they would have while I was away, because there's always work to do, I did my best. When I finished my shift, I gave my co-workers a brief peck on the cheek and said goodbye. One of the volunteers asked if I was going to be okay. I just said I was going home and slipped out the shelter door. I strolled back home slowly, not wanting to rush. I had slowed down a lot over the past few months. I hadn’t been feeling very energetic, but I was fine walking home. Paris was always a beautiful place for a nice afternoon walk.

It was another beautiful day in the city, and people were milling about. Parents with children, lovers on the bridge, kissing and tossing coins over their shoulders, and the intense aromas of Parisian cuisine wafting through the air. I smiled as I got home and wondered whether the place we were going to had amazing food.

I was alone when I arrived home. Mac usually got home later, so I made some tea. Where did I put Mac’s cup? He enjoyed a cup of tea in the evening, too. I didn’t find it, became distracted, and went to check that the post had been held for the next couple of weeks. Then I showered to get ready for bed and to wait for Mac to get home.

When I got my nightgown, I spotted a black dress in the middle of the closet. I thought I wore it once, but I couldn’t remember when. Maybe I’d wear it again on a special occasion. Then I lay down, called my sons, and said goodnight to them, as I always did. If I was lucky, I’d get a brief word with my grandkids, too. That always made my day complete.

I called each of the boys and had to leave them voicemails because there was no answer. I told them I would be leaving with their dad the next time I talked to them, and I left them voicemails to call me if it wasn’t too late when they got home, or to come by before we left if they could. I told them I love them, then I called our daughter.

Chloe, my daughter Michelle’s little one, answered, and I was instantly happy. I loved speaking with my grandkids. They were always happy to talk to their nana. Their honeyed voices were such a joy to me. I was briefly distracted from the reason for my call, but I quickly recovered and asked to speak to Chloe’s mère. She chuckled and said her mom was out with her père.

Chloe told me her nounou was there, watching her, and asked if I wanted to talk to her. I said no, just to let mère know I called and that I’ll be leaving with Mac early tomorrow. I asked her to have her mother call me if it wasn’t too late when they returned home and if her mother stayed up. She chuckled, like the silly little girl she was, and said, "Okay.” We disconnected, and I settled into bed to read for a bit until Mac came home.

My book was a bit boring, so I fell asleep. I woke to Mac sitting beside me on the edge of the bed, caressing my arm. He whispered the most beautiful, intimate things into my ear. I woke with a delicious smile on my face and looked at his handsome face. He smiled at me with that glowing grin of his and told me to wake up because it was time to leave.

I looked at the clock and saw it was 1:00 a.m., then asked him why it was so early. He gently replied that it was time and that the trip would be a bit long. So I got up, dressed, and was ready in short order. My anticipation built into anxious elation.

I felt so happy and better than I had in months as I thought about all the amazing moments we shared throughout our marriage. I never had any regrets, and I knew this journey wouldn’t give me any, either. We always had the most incredible memories.

As I stepped out of the bedroom, I saw my beloved husband. I pondered our fortune in finding one another and in sharing the many years we had together. He looked at me, took my hand, and told me he missed me. I replied, “Likewise,” as I always did.

Mac smiled and said, "Let’s go.” We exited the house, walked down to the curb, and waited. I looked over at him with a question on my face, and he said we were waiting for our transportation, which would arrive in a second or so.

We entered the arriving vehicle and began to depart. As we left, I noticed one of our kids pulling in, and I asked if we could turn around to say goodbye. Mac said it was okay and that we didn’t have to say goodbye.

“They would understand,” he said. “You already said your goodbyes this week, in your own way.”

Then I saw something strange: our bedroom was visible, and our three children were crying beside our bed. What was this? I was so confused. Was I dreaming?

I became agitated, and that was when Mac put his hand on my back and told me they were crying because Michelle had found me gone this morning, right after we left. What did he mean by gone? I was right there, in the room with the kids all around me. Then I realized something. I was looking down on the room. I had died, and my children were crying. I could feel their sorrow, but not my own anymore. I was looking on; Mac was at my side, in person.

Then the memories began to trickle in that Mac had passed away a few months earlier. Flashes of memory came faster and hit me like a freight train, and I wept. I didn’t weep for my death, but I wept for our children and our grandchildren. I wept for Mac and for his death again.

I had stopped weeping soon after he passed. I was so numb. I now remembered that I had stopped eating. I spent more and more time out of the house we had made a lifetime of memories in. I couldn’t stand being around the house and all of our things. His things. Then I remembered the dress. How had I not seen it when I came across it?

When I asked him what happened and why, Mac kissed me and held me in his arms.

“It was time, my love.” You were in such grief that you stopped living. You essentially died when I did. You slowly declined, and no one could help you, even though they tried.

I came to you when it was clear you would not come out of your grief, when nothing anyone tried to help you with worked. And that was when I began spending time with you on our walks, here in our home, and doing all the simple little things that gave you comfort when I was alive.

My ability to help you during your transition was made possible by our strong bond. As your time approached and it became clear you were not able to get past it, I had been waiting for you. I was allowed to be with you.

I adore you, he said, and I missed you. We were no longer going to remain apart. Eternity together was now ours.

I was silent, thinking back over the months since I lost him. Tears streamed down my face; I recalled the grief, then the constant activity to avoid accepting his loss, my loss, and every moment of my inability to accept it.

Then I was filled with peace and an overwhelming sense of calm. These past few months had been routine, nothing more. I had tried so hard to move on from it, to act as if I were okay with his loss, but I loved him so deeply, and I was not whole without him. I was half of a whole. Even with that understanding, my inner sadness intensified. I drifted from life.

That was when Mac started visiting me. To me, it felt like he was with me, and the reality of my life was the dream, which was the actual nightmare. Mac read the epiphany on my face. 

I sought you then, unwilling to let you endure such suffering alone. I knew you would join me one day, but I felt helpless, unable to be there for you or help you come to terms with my death. I eased your grief; I brought you to a place where you would eventually join me. The depth of my love for you kept me from leaving you in such profound despair. I could not bear to see you go through it all alone. My presence met your needs and comforted you as you became less and less. I understood everything then. I accepted what happened, knowing it was the truth.

“What now, then?” I asked him.

He looked at me, kissed my mouth, then said,

“Now, forever.”

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