While picking up our dinner from a nice restaurant, I overheard a conversation between two women, Jan and Vera (made-up names), probably in their fifties.
I’m not inclined to believe the story Jan was telling.
It went something like this. She had been married and divorced a few times. Jan was currently single. She wanted Vera to know about the love of her life.
Joe (again a made-up name) wasn’t like the typical man she went for. He was a rugged outdoorsman. They found that they enjoyed hiking and fishing together. He maybe didn’t even have a home. If he did, Jan certainly never saw it.
While they weren’t together for long, they had these great conversations about everything in their lives. The topics ranged from the well-being of their kids (Jan’s oldest daughter was 30), the beauty of nature, their other relationships, and what was meaningful in their lives.
They lived off the land, which Jan said was okay for a while and worth doing at least once.
While hiking along the edge of a cliff, Joe stumbled and fell over the edge. Jan grabbed his hand and held on tight. Joe struggled to climb back up. Jan couldn’t hold on.
Joe’s hand slipped out of her grasp.
He fell to his death.
Jan didn’t feel guilt or remorse. She felt sad to have lost someone she had become very close to. She talked to his son, who arranged Joe’s funeral.
And that was about all Jan had to say about Joe. She was mad at Joe for leaving. Then, she moved on to another topic of conversation. Vera continued to listen, making a few comments to encourage Jan to keep talking.
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