Lily had always been the one to direct their days. That was, perhaps, the biggest adjustment that he had to make when she passed. How to fill the time that she had so capably plotted out for him all those years? He loved routine and predictability. With Lily gone, all that lay before him was chaotic potential, a sea of hours and minutes that seemed to scream at him. He’d heard other widowers complain about the silence, but to Mr. Ivankov it was the noise that hurt his heart.
At first, Wendy helped. She and Geoff came to stay at the house for the funeral and a few weeks after. But soon Wendy became increasingly twitchy and uncomfortable. Too many reminders of mom, she’d said. And Mr. Ivankov did not know how to handle a comment like that. Was he supposed to rid the house of her? Lily had always whispered that Wendy was a selfish creature, and he was seeing it now. It was strange—he’d always felt sure of his role as a father with Lily around, but those weeks with his daughter and son-in-law in his house showed him that something was missing. He should not need his wife in order to connect with his own family. Was this another thing Lily was right about? Was he lost without her?
It took him years to settle into that fact. He may be lost without her but his alternative was suicide and that was not an option. No, he would have to muddle through as best he could. And though her voice was always in the back of his mind, he could silence it for a while when he was with his animals. He’d never felt needed—his whole life. He had never been anyone’s best friend. His parents had always put one another first. And his wife was entirely self-sufficient, almost to the point of ignoring him altogether. Wendy flailed, of course, but she had married so young rendering his fatherly presence irrelevant. The animals though were drawn to him.
There was an unspoken bond—as if they had all agreed this is the way it would be now. They would come to him for food, for comfort, for shelter. He would provide, they would accept.
So, now at Manfred’s home after the horrible fire, he was lost again. He had not seen his beloved raccoons in over a week. The house, or what remained, still gave off heat and a bit of smoke. He was fairly sure they had all been frightened away. What would they do now? Sure, they could search the green bins of the street as they used to, but who would care for them? They had become accustomed to him and he to them. Why did he keep losing things? And not just things, souls he loved?
His mind was still a haze from all the changes. Having lived a life that had looked the same for decades, he could not escape the feeling of overwhelm in his new situation. He was powerless and at the mercy of relative strangers. And yet, there was freedom.
He did not have his newspapers, nor his junk but it was a relief. Since this wasn’t his space, he didn’t feel compelled to fill it. And he also noticed that Lily’s voice was not as loud here. He slept in sometimes, drank three cups of coffee if he wanted. He didn’t have to lighten his tread because Manfred slept like the dead. Now, if he could somehow add Sarah to the mix, this could be a much happier home. He found himself not wanting to leave, only to make his existence here more comfortable.
And he did believe that Manfred liked having him here too. The boy had taken to buying his favourite brand of coffee and setting aside Tuesdays as his laundry day. When he had first moved in, Manfred would spend nights alone in his room, but now he would march downstairs to read his Douglas Coupland novels in the wingback across from him. Mr. Ivankov couldn’t help it. He was honoured.
So, no. Lily had not been right. He was not lost without her. In fact, for the first time, he was finding his own way.
*excerpt from novel-in-progress The Lonely People
Lost Without Her