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And the fact that he shared a horrible event in his life made me sad for him. “I’m so sorry, Javi,” I said, stepping forward and giving him a hug. “That must have been awful for you.”
He let out a long sigh and held me tight. “It was the worst. We’d been together since high school.” His voice gave away his emotion as it hitched.
I focused on his pain, imagining how incredibly terrible it would be to lose someone you’d shared decades of your life with. Before I knew it, my eyes were getting watery.
I gazed up at him and said, “How devastating. I bet you’re still suffering, aren’t you?” Really feeling horrible for the man.
His fingers moved my hair away from the side of my face. “So much. You’d think it would ease up after a year—but it still hurts just as much.”
As I stared up into his sorrowful eyes, my heart truly bled for him.
In my mind, I pictured him as a teenager, holding hands with his young, sweet girlfriend.
They’d have a happy life, building a family based on the love they shared.
Until one day, she was taken from him.
I felt warm and comforted in his arms—I only hoped he felt the same from me.
“I’m sorry,” he said, wiping his eyes, “this was supposed to be a way for me to leave the world behind for a while, you know? And instead, I’m crying.” His voice raised, showing his turmoil.
“It’s okay, Javi. We can do whatever you feel comfortable with. There’s no pressure. Would you like me to—lead the way?” I asked, offering to take some of the control for him.
His face relaxed and he said, “Yes, please. That would be great.” A more sincere smile I’d never seen.
“Good. And Javi?”
“Yes?”
“I am very sorry about your wife,” I said in nearly a whisper. “I bet you miss her a lot.”
He looked at me with wet eyes and nodded his head. “Yeah, every day.”
I squeezed his hands and said, “How about if we sit down for a minute?” I asked, not waiting for an answer.
Instead, I pulled him gently in the direction of the couch. He sat down first, then I followed, sitting tight next to him. I moved his arm around my shoulders and snuggled in.
I started a light conversation—nothing too deep.
Just something to ease the strangeness between us.
There was something lovable about Johns like Javi.
He was so open and had such a sad story.
And he shared it with me for at least an hour.
His wife had a terrible, long illness. She suffered greatly—which meant so did Javi.
By the end, we were both crying in each other’s arms.
He knew his wife would want him to start to live again—and coming to see me was part of his plan to get back out into the world.
After we dried our tears, his arm tightened around me, and his head began to dip toward mine.
I stopped him by placing my finger on his lips. “No kissing, Javi. Remember?” I said in a small, gentle tone.
His eyes closed and he apologized profusely.
