Cecilia: Part I

It had been seven years since her husband had passed. “Widow” was a word she attempted desperately to escape, but instead bore the proverbial Scarlet “W” on her breast, like a war hero bears a purple heart. Her sign not of weakness, but of strength, for she had seen the worst. Sal had been sick for as long as she could remember. And she dutifully took care of him. She took care of him everyday for five years. Everyday was worst than the last, but not as bad as the next. And everyday began itself with the same routine. The medication, the feeding, the washing, the changing, the medication, the moving. But Cecilia did not complain, ask for sympathy or regret a day of the past. This was the life she had chosen, and this was the life God blessed her. She loved Sal since the day the met, and would have it no other way than to be the one caring for him. He was her other half, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health.

Now that his suffering had past, it was time for Cecilia to begin her mourning. Each morning now was filled with the sorrow that she was alone, opposed to the hope that today was the day Sal would look up at her with that big toothy grin and proclaim, “Thanks, babe. Think I’m all better now. How’a bout we go for a walk.” Now she spent her time attending to the one person who had been neglected all those years. The person that always ate last, never had an opinion and never spent more than was necessary. Now she cared for herself. She began each day with a walk to the cemetery to say “hello” to Sal and let him know that she was okay and that she loved him. Then to the market, the library, sometimes the cinema, but mostly just home.

Her children were grown, with families of their own to attend to. Cecilia heard from them weekly. She was quite proud of them, but never felt as close to them after they moved away. One son was a respectable doctor living in Boston, with his wife and two kids. The other, a chef living in California, single, but with a thirst for life unparalleled by anyone she had met before. He would call from Eqypt, Tahiti, Alaska, always unexpectedly, but always with such a thrill in his voice. She always envied her youngest, and the naiveté that being the youngest entails. How one could be so frivolous, and yet content at the same time, was beyond her. Cecilia was the oldest of four and took it upon herself to always be the adult, always the caretaker. The responsible one that the others could go to for guidance, wisdom, refuge and solace.

Now she was in the position of the youngest son, whom she had always admired, but was too afraid to admit. Now she was in that position and finding herself scared to death. Now was her chance to go and partake in the frivolities of life. Her opportunity to treat herself for all the sacrifices she had made over the last decade. The traveling, the shopping, the indulgences that she used to cast her eyes down upon and whisper, “What a waste.” This would be her new vendetta. “Curing” that which ailed her. The years of diligence that had immuned her to not only habitual sadness, but to the ability to experience the simple pleasures found within day to day life. A hot cup of coffee with the morning paper, a buttery bag of popcorn with the latest romance, a stroll through her favorite park on a warm evening. These were all “unnecessary luxuries,” or at least she had convinced herself. She was on a mission to change that which she despised most. Her current being.

First, her outside appearance. That which was most obviously neglected over the years. The years of stress had taken it’s toll on her face. That which was once so full of life and promise of a long life, now was marred with the deep wrinkles from late nights spent crying and softly whimpering her prayers. Her face, which Sal used to say “could make a blind man see,“ was now just a face. A place where her eyes, nose and mouth lay. She blended into the crowd, and was not given a second glance. She was now just another old lady, who someone would assume to have a few kids, a few more grandkids, and maybe a husband.

With Sal’s passing she was left a considerable amount of inheritance and life insurance. He was smart, thrifty and a ruthless investor with his money over the years, and Cecilia reaped the benefits. Save what portion he bestowed upon his offspring. She enlisted her close friend, Susanne, to take part in the transformation. “Oh, how lovely.” Susanne gushed. “We’ll begin with hair and makeup and then a new wardrobe, and we mustn’t forget about a new purse…” Susanne was obviously taking more joy in this than Cecilia. Being given the opportunity to recreate your entire image, with money as no object, is something most women dream about, and few will ever see. Susanne was obviously living vicariously through Cecilia, which didn‘t bother her, just as long as she turned out the way Susanne promised. “You’ll be a new person. You won’t even remember what it felt like to be that old drab Cecilia. It’ll change your mood, and your outlook, and your perspective…” Susanne trailed off. “Trust me. A little rouge can do wonders for the soul.”