I Cried For a Mile 

By John R. Greenwood 

 

It’s June 15, 2026. Today would have been our 52nd wedding anniversary. We came up a couple of months short. It’s 8am and a perfect spring morning, just like it was 52 years ago. 

I’ll visit the cemetery later; at the moment, I need to clear my head. The best way I know to do that is to lace up my ASICS and go for a walk. 

I’m most comfortable walking the one-mile pathway that runs the perimeter of the Wilton Town Park. It’s quiet and a stone’s throw from my back door. I could walk to the park, but the traffic at 8am on a weekday is chaotic at best. Too many cell phone addicts late for work make it more like Russian Roulette. 

When I pulled into the parking lot, the first thing I noticed was the four 53’ trailers filled with amusement rides for Wilton’s upcoming Parkfest. Normally, that would bring a smile to my face, but I wasn’t in a “Parkfestive” mood today. 

I popped my earbuds in and pulled up the music library on my phone. At some point, and I’m not sure how or when, Patricia’s music migrated to my phone. This morning, I decided to simply shuffle all of our songs and start walking. From the first steps, I began to feel someone's presence. The only living thing in sight was a flitting mockingbird. For anyone else, that wouldn’t be story material, but for me, it’s worth sharing. Ever since my mother passed away, any sighting or sound of a mockingbird is followed by a sense that everything will be okay and that I need to pay attention. Something good always shows up in the hours or days ahead, so I have to keep my senses tuned so I don’t miss it. Not twenty yards later, a song I’ve never heard begins to play. It’s Natalie Merchant singing “Maggie and Milly and Molly and May.” Natalie’s voice and the lyrics catch me off guard. I am immediately overcome with emotion, and my eyes fill with tears. I start sobbing uncontrollably. The words, the melody, the sweetness of it all fill me with sorrow and a sense of loss. At the same time, I have the sensation that my wife is there, watching over me and assuring me that those I love are always with me. I replay the song, and I continue bawling like a child. I have to stop and sit on a bench to gather myself. I put my head in my hands, and the music keeps flowing along with the tears. 

The handkerchief in my left rear pocket, a sure sign that I receive a Social Security deposit every month, is about to earn its keep. I wipe my eyes, blow my nose, and restart my walk. Next song, again one of Pat’s, Loreena McKennitt’s soulful sound oozes out and fills me with something unexplainable. It’s like I’m being escorted around the walking path by angels. More sobbing, I can’t control it. The days and weeks of the past two months have caught up to me, and the floodgates have been opened. I keep walking, wiping, sniffling, gulping for air. Every time I catch my breath, another song hits me like a freight train. I’m almost back to my truck and still trying to pull myself together. There are people around, but none of them see the old man blubbering like a frightened toddler. Finally, I’m back in the driver’s seat, and I begin to focus on what has just happened. All those years together, taking care of each other, caught up to me. The sick kids, the past due bills, the broken cars, the laughs, the projects, the good and the bad, all ganged up on me when that one song played. Now what? 

Familiarity is what I need. I go through the drive-thru and order her go-to order. Large hot hazelnut, just cream. A turkey sausage, egg, and cheese on an English muffin, and 6 nickel-sized hash browns . Even at 89lbs, the poor thing still chose the turkey sausage. I took it home and sat in the backyard. That’s what I’ll do today: I’ll visit our regular spots from the last few years. Later, I’d stop at the Awesome Dogs food wagon on Excelsior Ave. and have Pat’s favorites. A plain hot dog, chips, and a Diet Pepsi. Oh, don’t forget to grab a homemade brownie for later. 

On to the cemetery to water and check the flowers. Mr. Zito and I always seem to visit our wives at the same time. He waters any dry flowers in the nearby rows. We arrive simultaneously again today. It’ll be one year in August for him, month three for me. 

I head back home. I feel better. My sons touch base to wish me a happy anniversary. It’s hard for them. They don’t know what to say. Being there is enough. They will bitch about work and the kids, then make me laugh. They’re good fathers, good providers, and comedians too. Their mother did a good job raising all three of us. We didn’t see it at the time, but we all know she kept us in check, kept us alive, and wasn’t afraid to be the bad guy to make that happen. 

I cried for a mile today, and I’ll probably cry a few more in the weeks and months ahead. More than tears of sorrow, they were tears of gratitude and love. 

*Postscript

When I finally landed at the end of the day, I grabbed my phone and began to look deeper into Natalie Merchant’s rendition of “Maggie and Milly and Molly and May.” I was surprised to learn that the lyrics were from an E. E. Cummings poem of the same name. I was not surprised at the effect the combination of Natalie’s voice and the touching lyrics had on me. It was the last line that will linger in my head forever.

     “For whatever we lose (like a you or a me) 

it’s always ourselves 

that we find in the sea”  

 -e.e. cummings