Image via WikipediaImmediately following Roman's memorial, guests joined us for food and low key pleasantries at his brother Don's house. In a small tribute to Roman, I prepared roasted red pepper sandwiches for the guests. Coming up with meals that were meatless, but hearty, and good enough to entice even a meat eating carnivore, became an interest of mine during our marriage. Roman was a vegetarian but I was not yet at that time, so I spent a good deal of effort honing my culinary skills so that we could both share in good meals at home. And it turns out, I was pretty good. Roman loved my cooking. It was one thing I did that always brought out the best in him.
When I was dabbling in pizza making, Roman would often make impromptu calls to my voice mail and leave me messages about what kinds of pizza toppings he wanted to try next. He was particularly enthusiastic when I started exploring bread making and could combine the two, to make French bread pizza. Simple rustic recipes always got his attention, so my roasted red pepper, fresh mozzarella, and homemade pesto sandwiches were a hit every time. They seemed like an appropriate meal choice for a party meant to honor Roman's life. And I am happy to report that they were also a hit with the guests at the memorial too.
Among the people in attendance at the reception that evening were Roman's coworkers. He worked at their company for about a year or so. I had not met any of them previously, except for the human resources manager, Terri. When I called his workplace to break the news of his death, it was Terri with whom I spoke. Later in the day after she and I talked, Terri stopped by Roman's mother's house to bring us food from Boston Market. It was a nice gesture that came courtesy of the owner of the company. While she was there, she also brought me Roman's last paycheck and an additional check for his unused vacation time. Unfortunately, Roman never took any vacation days, so the check was enough to cover his funeral costs. It was heartbreaking. I would rather have gone on vacation than use it to pay for his death expenses, yet I was grateful that I was able to cover it all. Funeral costs are expensive and until I received that check, I was unsure how I would pay for it. Terri, Roman's mom, and I chatted for a bit about our collective sadness, but she did not stay long. When she left, I was again surprised at her friendliness and warmth, as Roman never spoke kindly of her to me. Still, I knew to consider his words with caution, so at that time, I felt good about any future dealings I may have with her.
About ten of Roman's coworkers made it over to the house for the party. They all congregated at a patio table outside while they ate. And once I finished serving my sandwiches and began to socialize with the guests, I noticed palpable vibe from them. They did not interact much with anyone outside of their group after they finished eating, but that part did not seem unusual. It was that none of them would look at me or speak to me. Only Scott, the coworker who spoke at the service, approached me to introduce himself, but even his demeanor was strange. Terri did not approach me even though we had met the prior week. In fact, not only did they seem to avoid me - they acted like they actually disliked me. It was so noticeable in fact, that a friend of mine pulled me aside to ask me what was going on with them, without me mentioning a word about what I was feeling. It struck me as strangely passive aggressive behavior. Here were a group of people behaving coldly toward the widow of their deceased colleague. To the widow they had never met previously - they behaved aloof and cliquish at their coworker's memorial. They overtly shunned me, and truth be told, it stung. I did not understand it.
Finally about an hour into the party, I took a deep breath and I made the effort to approach their table. Somehow, I convinced myself that maybe their coldness was in my head, and thought that perhaps once I broke the ice, things would be more comfortable. Yet, as I introduced myself, I was greeted by half hearted smiles and cold stares, if that; some of them completely avoided eye contact all together. Everyone but Scott, who was generally kind, and warm toward me, acted distant. But even Scott presented a notably awkward discomfort toward me.
Still, I continued my attempt at friendliness as I stood at their table looking down at them as they avoided my gaze. Though, I remember thinking it was interesting to finally put faces to names, since I had heard about most of them at one time or another. Scott being the only person out of the group that Roman generally spoke of with consistently high regard. The others were either not worth mentioning or were abysmal failures according to Roman's disparaging reports.
As I stood, Terri said hello and casually mentioned that she had asked Stu to come by earlier that week to clean out Roman's belongings. Terri knew I was Roman's wife and was his next of kin, so I was vexed over why she asked Stu to take his belongings. Her attitude was notably distant and not nearly as considerate as she was when she brought over the food. And before I knew it, in a flash, Roman's nickname for her, "big fat Terri" sauntered into my head. His name for her was mean, but it was nonetheless, what he called her. She upset me with her actions and her demeanor. I felt let down by her...I had been rooting for her, in spite of what I had heard. Thats the only reason I can imagine his words popped into my head like that. But I did not utter them, I just thought them, then disregarded them as I moved onto next new face at the table.
As I connected faces to the names I had heard from Roman, I thought things like, "Oh okay, yeah, you must be Rachel...the 'useless' and 'stupid' manager who holds too many meetings.." For all but one or two people there, I could recall Roman's harsh descriptions verbatim.
And then it hit me like a slap in the face...I knew why they disliked me.
It was Roman.
Roman must have had an ugly nickname for his wife too. Of course! He never had a kind word for anyone else...why would I expect to be any different? After all, he had cheated on me. Surely, he must have felt justified by making me out to be a complete asshole like he did with everyone else. Never mind that I was his wife and had done nothing to deserve such an outright betrayal. He even affirmed to me the day before he died, that I did not deserve this. But apparently, he never passed the memo onto his workplace bulletin board. I wondered what they knew about his affair...I wondered what exactly he had said about me to make them act that way.
At that moment, their cold gazes made more sense to me. They did not know Roman like I did. They did not know how he operated. They did not know that his put downs were always to be taken with a grain of salt. Roman clearly had few nice things to say about me at the office and these people did not like me accordingly. They too were putting a face to whatever disparaging name he had given to me. And once the thought really settled into my consciousness and the reality made its way into my mind, I began to seethe.
In an instant I was so furious that I fought back tears of rage and humiliation. In an instant, I hated Roman. I hated Roman for putting me through this. I hated him for making these people think I am someone to look down on. I hated him for betraying me. I wanted to leave right then and there. I wanted out. I needed to escape. No longer did I want to play the widow role. I felt like a fraud and it hurt me down to my core.
Yet, I showed restraint and instead of leaving the house in a raging frenzy, or cornering his coworkers and demanding answers about their visible chill, I continued on with the party after a brief sob session onto the sleeve of Roman's brother Don. I labored my way through the rest of the party, but I decided that day, that I was ready to put the widow thing away for a while. I was angry and getting angrier by the minute.
The slow seeping anger brought my hostility about his cheating back on my radar...front and center. And I knew, I had to know the truth. I had to know or else the endless questions would drive me crazy. I knew the truth may well push me over an unforeseen precipice too, but I did not care. It was no longer a choice. I needed to know. And eventually, I indeed found out.
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