When I arrived in Raleigh four years ago, fresh off my disastrous “living on the road” experience and my wife’s agonizing death 6 months earlier, one of the first people I met was Sarah*. Sarah was an older lifeguard at my pool. She was very friendly. I always chat with the guards when I’m drying off after my laps standing by their chair so I introduced myself to her and said hello.
Imagine my surprise when shortly after we met she told me her story. She was my age. She was a widow, who had lost her husband the previous year. Unlike me, she did not have a nest egg of savings so she became a lifeguard (at 50) to support herself. Over the course of our conversations, I learned about her family, her life and her. At the same time, I shared parts of my story.
Over the next 4 years, Sarah was someone I looked forward to seeing. During the pandemic, she would greet me in her mask rolling her eyes as she took my temperature and asked me the latest “do you have covid symptoms” questions while I rattled off “No. No. And no, ” followed by my phone number for her “covid tracking sheet”. Sometimes she was my only connection to a live human being all week – especially during covid.
We talked about the weather. We griped about our swimming injuries. We talked about college and roommates and pets. We talked about movies and travel. We talked about grieving our spouses. We talked about families and friends.
I’d see her nearly every day – she worked a lot and I swam a lot.
I wanted to talk to her about dating. I was not attracted to her – we had much too different personalities. But she’s the only person I could call a friend who had also lost a spouse unexpectedly early. That’s the one subject I never broached with her because I didn’t know how to do it without possibly making her think I was interested in dating her.
Other than that, no topics were off bound. I looked forward to talking to her.
She noticed when I was limping. I noticed when she seemed agitated or depressed. She noticed my new suit and I complemented her when she changed her hair color.
She has a masters degree and year of professional experience in her field. As much as I appreciated that she showed up on time and opened the pool for us to swim without fail, I often thought it was sad that she was stuck in a low paying job, renting a small apartment with a roommate and struggling financially.
She was smart, experienced and well educated but grief and life had hit her hard.
Due to swim lessons, team practices and maintenance closures, I hadn’t gone to Sarah’s pool or the entire summer. I was looking forward to seeing her again when things got back to normal this week.
It was great to reconnect with the other regulars, both staff and swimmers, when I returned. There were some new lifeguards, but that is always to be expected at the end of summer when the high school and college kids return to school.
After not seeing Sarah for a few days, I asked one of the old-timers about her. She left a month ago!
He told me she took a job in California that was in her professional field. She doubled her pay, was provided with faculty housing and, I suspect, received a full package of benefits appropriate for her new role.
I was sad to hear she left because I never got to say goodbye. It didn’t occur to me that she’d have left over the summer because she hadn’t mentioned even considering another job, other than part-time work she did on weekends to supplement her income.
But, on the other hand, I am thrilled beyond belief for her.
She is moving on and moving back into the land of the living.
I did this when I settled down in Raleigh and began my new life as a widower. I committed to it further when I got Wiggles.
Now, my friend of the past 4 years appears to be doing the same.
I hope she finds everything she is looking for in California. And if not, I hope this is the springboard that launches her wherever she needs to go.
I will miss her.
*Not her real name.