The Past Speaks

October 18, 1991

Another year, another pilgrimage to the empty, cold silence of the cemetery. Another October that Tony made the solitary journey to Marie's grave. He'd long ago stopped dragging Samantha to the cemetery with him; the anniversary of Marie's death had become a day he couldn't share with anyone anymore, it was a long held pain, a pain not as deep this year as it had been in years past, but still; he felt this was a trip he felt compelled to make alone. A selfish choice, perhaps, but he justified it by declaring to himself that he had put Sam through enough cemetery visits when she was a child. He had to then, it was the only way he knew how to cope. Every Sunday after Mass they'd travel on their pilgrimage; hand in hand they'd walk to Marie's grave. They took turns placing a white rose on her grave, one week Tony, the next Sam; sometimes they'd place it together. Then they'd stand there with their arms around each other, not saying a word. Every week.

Sometimes Mrs. Rossini would go with them, sometimes not. If Mrs. Rossini didn't accompany them, they were sure to see Carmelina at the cemetery. No matter the weather, week after week, without fail, she was there. Long widowed, Carmelina had been making her own pilgrimage for so many decades that most members of the parish couldn't remember a time when she didn't visit the cemetery. She was considered to be the ambassador of the Church, a fixture in the community; never more than five feet tall and always dressed in head to toe black, complete with veiled hat. She was a holdover from another era; attending Mass every day, Holy Day of Obligation or not. Every wedding, christening and funeral was also blessed by her presence. Tony always admired her devotion and compassion. Every week, as they were leaving the cemetery Carmelina gave a peppermint to Samantha. Tony always saw her eyes well up, but whether it was for Sam's loss or her own long buried infant daughter he would never dream of asking.

Carmelina was a memory now, also; long reunited with her husband and infant daughter. Sam was a young woman; dynamic, enthusiastic, Tony felt she should be out enjoying life, not spending time here in the past. Angela always offered to come with him, but he declined her company as well and she understood without him having to give any further explanation. She supported him in any way she could on this day. Tony knew that when he got home, Angela would be ready with the car keys and that she would take the whole family out to dinner, just as she had every year since he and Samantha had moved to Connecticut. They never spoke of this ritual, words weren't needed; Tony was grateful for Angela's clandestine support and she only had to look in his eyes to see his gratitude.

The wind was bitter this year, fall was definitely making its presence known. He procrastinated a bit as he walked to the grave, watching the leaves fall off the trees. He hated autumn; everything dying, decaying, shriveling; the pristine white gardenias he carried for Marie didn't belong amongst the spotted browns, oranges and yellows surrounding him. Sighing, he took another step toward the headstone, the leaves crunched under his feet, once again pointing out the dichotomy of death with their harsh crackle. This was more difficult this year, and he couldn't help but feel that it was because he was betraying Marie. His mind told him it wasn't a true betrayal. Marie had been dead for thirteen years now. Thirteen years. He wondered where the time went. How could it possibly be that it had been so long, yet it seemed like only yesterday since Marie had died?

He pondered this as he looked at the dates of Marie's short life etched into the stone. Normally he would place the flowers by her name, but this year he was reluctant to part with them. It was as if by setting them down he was conceding that Marie was a part of his past he would no longer revisit. Rationally he knew that Marie had been relegated to his past for some time and that there should be no trauma attached to placing a bunch of Marie's favorite flowers on her grave; it was just that this year felt different. There'd been a change and he had to acknowledge that his heart had moved on. This still surprised him sometimes. When Marie died he thought for certain he would spend the rest of his life alone, Marie had held his heart in a way he thought no one else could and he was grateful for the time they spent together and confident that he would live on those memories for the rest of his life.

The scent of the gardenias brought him back to reality. Once again he noted that the flowers that so suited Marie were so out of place in the harshness of the grey October skies. They were ethereal, she was ethereal. He grasped a memory of Marie leaning over a gardenia to drink in its scent on a long ago visit to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, she'd closed her eyes in the joy of the moment, then smiled at him as she looked up from the flower and noticed the way he was looking at her. He was awed by her, overcome that she had chosen him. He closed his eyes and clutched the flowers more tightly; she'd been so young, so vibrant, with so much to live for, he could never reconcile the joy of the woman she was with the bleakness of the rows of headstones that now surrounded her.

He tried to keep other memories from consuming him, but knew that this was part of the ritual and he would have to relive it all as part of the process. There he was watching her life being emaciated by the very body that had housed her spirit and vitality for such a very short time. The terror he felt at the time resurfaced as he remembered how adrift he was. Accepting her condition had been difficult enough, caring for her as the disease progressed proved to be almost too much to bear at times. The loss of control, his ineffectiveness against a more powerful force angered him, but also left him helpless. Complete denial was the only way he could cope with thoughts of life without Marie; any time such a thought pushed its way into his mind, he pushed it right back out again, it was the only weapon he had to fight the situation.

Toward the end, when she was confined to bed, he'd always tried to put up a brave front for her, tried to make her laugh through the pain. He never knew if he eased her burden at all, she'd grown so weak, sometimes all she could do was look at him; couldn't lift her hand to touch his, couldn't smile. He thought he saw gratitude in her eyes, but he could never be sure. When she lapsed into unconsciousness, he held her hand, caressed her skeletal fingers with his thumb and sang the "Ave Maria" to her repeatedly, hoping this would ease her soul in death as it had so often in life.

He reflected bitterly that they had had 'til death did them part'; it was just too short a 'til'. When he took that vow, he had no idea how short their happily ever after would be.

Those dark, suffocating days when he wasn't sure how he was going to hold himself together, let alone care for a little girl who had lost her mother, threatened to consume him again. He'd questioned his ability to raise her alone, how could he possibly be there for her when he was just barely holding himself together? The opposite of his worries happened, Marie's death birthed his over-protectiveness with Sam. Tony's guilt manifested in a vow he didn't even know he'd made; to be there for Sam whenever she did; or didn't, need him.

His father had offered to move in, but Tony declined as he felt that he had already lived through that situation once and didn't want to repeat it; besides his father was physically close enough to them that visits were constant, it wasn't as if his father was an ocean away. Mrs. Rossini had offered to take care of Samantha, give him a chance to grieve privately. He'd considered the idea in a moment of desperation, but ultimately decided he couldn't lose Sam, even if only temporarily. Instinctively he knew they needed each other now more than ever; and a flickering glimpse of pride wanted to prove to his father-in-law that even if he had failed as a husband to take good care of his daughter, he would not fail as a father to take care of his granddaughter. Tony was by no means a failure as a husband, there was nothing he could have done to eradicate the ravage of the cancer, but that didn't mean he didn't blame himself.

For so long he'd lived in a daze, wondering if their lives would ever be normal again. He found out the proverbial 'knife through the heart' pain wasn't just a cliché, it was very real; and it was a pain he hoped never to experience again. Sometimes his own heart was so heavy, he wasn't sure he could be strong enough to help his little girl with her own grief. Looking back on it all he remembered the times when Samantha had trouble falling asleep, or woke up crying. He'd held her tightly and rocked her until she calmed, needing to know she was nearby just as much as she needed to know he was nearby. At some of those moments he felt Marie's presence enveloping both of them, sending them her love from beyond the grave. It was a feeling he'd never told anyone about; not Sam, not Angela; it was calm, comforting and he was afraid that if he ever told anyone about it they would scoff at him and he would lose a memory that was among his most precious.

Angela. He smiled a small smile, she was so aptly named. In those hellish months after Marie's death when he was just trying to get through another day he couldn't possibly foresee a future in which an angel would grace both their lives. Not only had she given them the opportunity to build new lives, her very presence completed the healing of the wounds they both tried so hard ignore. Angela loved Sam as her own; staunchly, unconditionally, and without end. Tony loved to watch them together, he loved seeing Sam's eyes sparkle in feminine collusion with both Angela and Mona. He thanked God for both of them, he didn't want to think of where he and Sam would be without them.

Before Angela, he hadn't given much thought to another woman in his life, certainly there were always options available, but none that he pursued with any real passion. He gave a derisive huff as he remembered that after Marie's death he'd been surprised at the number of women constantly dropping by with a home cooked dinner, doting on Samantha, lending a sympathetic ear and implied offers of comfort to him. He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised, and been flattered by all the attention instead, but as a grieving widower with a grieving daughter he felt more overwhelmed than flattered. He started to feel like the lamb being led to the slaughter.

Samantha deserved better than a rotating cast of women in her life, she needed stability. It wasn't easy for him to give up being waited on hand and foot, but he didn't want to be weak and fall into the trap of marrying again just for the sake of having a woman around the house. To that end he thanked the women for all their help, but made it clear that he and Samantha needed time to themselves. Then he asked Mrs. Rossini to help him to further develop his skills in the kitchen. Cooking for his daughter gave Tony back some of his power, he could control this one aspect of their lives and he found that not only did he enjoy cooking, it gave him the confidence that they would somehow get through this. In later years he mused that this one small act had an enormous impact on his life.

The wind picked up again, sending more leaves to their fated end on the ground. A slight chill ran through Tony, he couldn't delay the inevitable anymore, so he bent down and finally placed the flowers on Marie's grave.

"One more year, Marie."

Silence answered him, but the wind calmed and he felt a connection he hadn't felt since those years long ago when he felt Marie's comforting presence. He felt the serenity, the warmth, but mostly the unconditional love; it surrounded him and took away his pain.

"Anthony," a tender voice called from behind him. Marie, it was definitely Marie, she was the only person who ever called him Anthony. He didn't dare turn around for fear that he'd just been hearing things and she wasn't really there, and the greater fear that she was indeed there.

"Anthony," he heard again, this time a little closer. He closed his eyes, and fell to one knee, bowing his head in his hand.

"It's time to stop torturing yourself. You weren't meant to be alone, ever. Take the gifts of life that are yours to enjoy. There is so much more love waiting for you. There could be dreams come true for you that you never even knew you had."

He couldn't answer, he couldn't even comprehend that this was happening.

"I'm so proud of you and all you've accomplished. You're a wonderful father, I always knew you would be. Samantha has become everything we dreamed for her all those years ago and that is because of you and all that you've done for her."

Tony's heart was too full to speak, he couldn't even manage to say that he'd had some help there, but he felt Marie knew that without him having to say anything.

"I know you have visited every year; I've been waiting for this day, the time you would come to say goodbye. Anthony, we parted a long time ago. It's time for both of us to move on. Let me go, and let yourself love again with that precious heart of yours that is a gift to any woman lucky enough to capture it," she kissed him on the cheek; he felt the warmth and did his best to dismiss it as a sunbeam hitting him.

"Anthony; thank you for what we had, and for remembering me. Goodbye."

The warmth disappeared, leaving Tony to confront the cool October temperature. He took a couple of very deep breaths wondering if he had imagined what just happened. He was unsteady as he rose from the ground, he continued to stare at the gravestone for a long time as he tried to sort out his troubled mind. Could Marie have visited him? How? Why now? At least the answer to that question was obvious. His head was spinning with a strange combination of sadness and relief; sadness that this part of his life was over, but relief that it had ended with so much hope for the future. After a few more calming breaths he turned around; he knew she wouldn't be there, if indeed she had ever been, but he needed to see where she was. After a few more moments he touched his cheek, then touched his fingertips to his lips, he looked up to the sky and waved as he whispered, "goodbye."

In years past he would take a moment or two to visit his father's grave, and Carmelina's, but he didn't dare this year; he was too overwhelmed and was a little worried he'd get a lecture from his father as well, he needed to be among the living again.

Tony showed up on Mrs. Rossini's doorstep, another part of the yearly ritual, he knew she'd have stuffed artichokes waiting for him. She opened the door at his knock and ushered him to the table which was laden with much more than stuffed artichokes. She pushed him down into a chair, telling him to eat. He hesitated, causing her to wonder what was wrong. Well, wonder what was wrong outside of the usual angst of the day. She glared at him, silently asking for an explanation. Tony didn't know where to begin. There was no way he was going to mention what did or didn't happen at the cemetery and he couldn't come up with anything else to explain his mood. So he did the only thing he could think of to do, he stalled.

"The stuffed artichokes look delicious, Mrs. Rossini," he said as he reached for one. She wasn't falling for that, she grabbed his hand and pulled it away from the food. He looked up, trying his best, 'I'm completely innocent' look on her. She wasn't falling for that either. She let go of his hand and sat down next to him. He sighed, then was quiet for a long time as he tried to unscramble his thoughts and figure out a way to convey them to her.

"It was more difficult this year." Simple, true; but in no way a statement that was going to get Mrs. Rossini to drop the subject.

"Why?" she pressured.

He shrugged, he really didn't want to discuss this with her, but she knew where too many of the demons lurked and he knew he wasn't getting out of here without confronting them. It was a fine line to walk, how to discuss the places Marie and Angela held in his heart without dropping the secret he and Angela had been keeping for the past month or so. Then he said something that surprised even him, "I didn't miss her as much this year."

Mrs. Rossini said nothing in response.

"I should miss her more than I do, it isn't fair to her."

"Tony, you can't go your whole life with your heart in a grave, it's not healthy. You loved Marie, you mourned her; stop beating yourself up for being alive. You did everything you could for Marie. Tragedies happen in life; you pick up the pieces and move on. You can't let them define you for the rest of your life, you know that."

"You make it sound so clinical."

"I'm trying to knock some sense into you."

"I thought Marie and I would be together forever...when she died...," he didn't really know how to continue, any further discussion could reveal his feelings for Angela.

"You thought you would never love anyone like that again."

Tony looked at Mrs. Rossini, surprised that she could so precisely hone in on his dilemma. She wasn't letting him off the hook, "do you think your feelings for Angela are a secret?"

Tony desperately hoped she was talking in a general sense, there was no way she could know they had started dating, could she?

Evasion was always worth a try, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Worth a try perhaps, but useless against such a formidable opponent, "don't pull that with me, Anthony Morton Micelli," he winced at the Full Name Use. "You. Angela. Go home, tell her you love her," he started to protest, but Mrs. Rossini gave him a look that would freeze even the Pope in his tracks, which gave Tony the out he was looking for.

"Even if I did love Angela, and I am not saying that I do..." Mrs. Rossini met that remark with an eye roll that could have been seen on Mars, Tony continued, "we're separated by religion, she's not Catholic."

She wasn't buying this either, smacking him on the side of his head she said, "stunod! God put us on this earth to love and be loved; not to be driven apart by religion, but united by it. Don't be angry with yourself for falling in love again. It's a gift. Loving Angela doesn't mean you loved Marie any less. You're a very lucky man, Tony, to have captured two such beautiful hearts from two very different, but both very strong women."

Tony looked as though he was going to contradict this, but Mrs. Rossini didn't give him a chance, she steamrolled on, "enjoy what you have Anthony", here she lost Tony's attention for a moment as he was shocked by being called Anthony by two people in one day, but she drew his attention back to her words, "you know how quickly it can be taken away. You and Angela have waited long enough. Don't let her down now, Tony, she's been very patient with you. Don't throw away a chance at present happiness by clinging to the past."

It was not lost on Tony that he was being given essentially the same message twice in a short span of time. Only this time it was spoken by an embodied soul who had the power to cut him off from stuffed artichokes if she ever got to the point of losing patience with him, and she was very close to that point. He got the message; it was time to go home to Connecticut. The past was in the past and it was time to close that chapter of his life. He didn't need any more slaps on the head to bring the point home; he now felt free to enjoy his relationship with Angela without guilt. He looked at Mrs. Rossini with what he hoped was a thoughtful expression on his face, it wasn't easy pretending that he and Angela were still just friends. Then the Catholic guilt started to kick in, he had been lying to a woman who had done nothing but treat him as a son for years, she deserved better, but he and Angela weren't ready to share their relationship yet. Tony pushed away from the table, trying to convey himself as a man with a lot to think about. He kissed Mrs. Rossini goodbye and started to the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" stopped his exit. "I didn't make all this food for me."

"Sorry, Mrs. Rossini, guess my mind wandered."

"It's been wandering for some time; if you aren't going to eat here, at least let me pack it up for you."

"I'll pack it up, it's the least I can do."

Knowing that it was useless to argue with Tony on this; there was no keeping that man out of the kitchen anymore, she instead took the time to observe his behavior closely. After he left, Mrs. Rossini's first action was the pick up the phone and impart to Samantha everything that had happened this afternoon in as much detail as she could. Samantha dutifully noted all of it, sharing the information with Mona and Jonathan when they convened a meeting of their secret society before dinner. Jonathan didn't see much progress in the report, but Mona read through the lines. She smiled wickedly and knew that even though tonight would not be appropriate, soon; hopefully very soon, they'd pull the rug out from underneath Tony and Angela and the game they were playing with the rest of the family.