Eleanor

Last evening, while Kris and I were watching a riveting episode of "Dawson's Creek", the phone rang. We checked the caller ID (must be realllly important to interrupt good ol' DC!), and didn't recognize the number. Now, we're terrible at answering the phone at the best of times, but more so with someone who we may or may not know (God forbid we have to speak to a stranger!). True to form, we decided to let the answering machine take it.

The message that followed after the machine's beep was the saddest thing I have heard in a long time. It was a little old lady, named Eleanor, who seemed rather confused, looking for her sister (we think?!). She went on to say, in a shaky, emotional, elderly voice that it had been a tough day for her. It would have been her and her husband's 62nd anniversary that day.

62 years.

By the strong emotion in the lady's voice, it sounded like perhaps having lost her husband was a fairly recent thing. That her heart was still raw and wounded from the loss of her soulmate. Assuming that, she and her husband had spent a long lifetime together.

Kris and I will be celebrating our 6th anniversary in a few weeks. Not even a TENTH of that time. And he is everything to me. He knows me better than I even know myself sometimes. He is my companion, my best friend. I can't imagine not having him around to experience life with me. To laugh at the same things as me. To be sad at the same things. To throw me a knowing glance in public as we chuckle at something we both find odd or amusing. Just to be there to ponder life with. To argue with. To talk politics with. To always have someone who'll hug me and tell me I'm beautiful. To be a father to my children. And we've only experienced 1/10 of the closeness this couple must have had.

My heart hurts for that poor woman.

After she explained that it had been a hard day, she got extremely choked up and after a few seconds, she eventually just hung up the phone. My answering machine clicked off, leaving me to wonder about who this heart broken widow is. And feeling like I can only guess at how difficult her journey has been. I can't seem to get her out of my mind.

I've considered calling her. Partly to explain that we weren't the people she must have been trying to get ahold of. But partly to see if maybe we were. Maybe God purposely misguided her shaky, bony little hand to mistakenly dial our number. Perhaps our journeys are supposed to intersect briefly. Even if only for me to tell her I'm sorry and that I will pray for her. And to be taught a lesson that should be remembered when my husband is driving me batty.

Because I still have my husband. And Eleanor is missing hers.