The Widower and the Addict

Part one

My name is Gareth Tuckman and this is my story.

Three years ago...
The room was a dull olive green, there were no windows and only one door. I didn't want to be here, I just wanted to be at home, in my bed thinking about her. And how I lost her to the crash. The room was filled with strangers, people I had never met before, they all sat in chairs arranged in a circle. I'd only seen these sorts of things in movies and TV shows so I thought I knew what to expect. I didn't. There was a large amount of chatter in the room before one man stood up and began to welcome us.
"Hello everyone. My name is James and welcome to 'The Loss and Survivor's Group,'" he said warmly.
A man like this was probably used to blank stares and angry retorts but he seemed a genuine person and I had to wonder what on earth had happened to a man like him, to be in a group like this? I didn't ask, it would've been rude, besides I was too eaten up by my own grief to even care then.
"This is a group specifically designed for those of us who have either lost someone to a tragedy or survived one ourselves." He continued on, "would anyone like to kick us off with their story?" He asked.
No one replied. No one even spoke. It was just dead silence, an then someone did speak. A boy, a very young boy. He didn't look anymore than eighteen at the time.
"You want us to share?" He asked with sarcasm in his voice, " you want us to share our personal stuff with you just because you ask us too? That's some major B.S man." The boy crossed his arms over his chest.
He wore a dark hoodie with light jeans and a pair of sneakers, all looked like they had holes in them. Most likely a run away, I thought to myself.
"I understand your hostility. This is your first time here, things will get better." James replied calmly.
"No they won't man, things will only get worse." He slightly choked on the words, then coughed to cover it up. "Look, I'm just here because it's on the list of things I had to do for my parol."
He flicked on the hood to cover his head and to hide his face. His hair was a dirty blonde and his eyes were brown, he was well muscled- maybe he was an athlete- and tall.
"I understand. Maybe when you get comfortable here you'll share your story with us." James just smiled and asked if anyone else wanted to share.
I thought back to what my sister said earlier this week:
It's been six months Gareth. She's gone and she's not coming back. She said as sympathetically as she could. If you're not going to talk to me or mom, you need to go to a support group or something because you never leave your house anymore, not since the funeral. She just looked down at her inner-twined hands. I miss her too you know, you're not the only one grieving her death. But you can't stop looking after yourself just because she's gone. Ok? Promise me you'll go to a meeting. Promise me?
"I would like to share." I stated slightly raising my hand into the air.
God, I felt like I was back in school but I hadn't cried in over an hour so something was working. Right?
Good was all James said before urging me to go on.
"Um, ok? Where do I start?" I asked him.
"Wherever you'd like." He replied.
"Okay. Hi. My name is Gareth but most people call me 'Tuck' or 'Tuckman,' and I am a widower." I paused wiping a tear from my check, "sorry. That was the first time I've said that out loud."
"It's ok Gareth. We're here to listen, not judge."
"Well maybe you aren't?" Said the boy.
He was still hiding underneath the hood of his jacket.
"What's your name?" I said.
I was only ten years older than him but it felt like a lifetimes difference to me.
"My name?" He replied back.
"Yeah. Your name. You do have one don't you?" I continued.
This boy made me angry. Anger. That's a new emotion, my sister would be proud. But why did this kid make me so angry?
"Miles."
One word. Simple. How teenager of him, I thought.
"Well Miles, as I was saying, I'm a widower. I lost my wife six months ago to a car accident, she ah, was driving home when a drunk driver I think, hit her side on. She's was on her way home, it was our anniversary. I had just seen her that morning."
I was choking up more than I would've liked too, especially in front of strangers. But I continued.
"They say she died instantly though, so, she didn't feel a thing. The last six months I've sort of just been in this shell, I can't escape my grief and I hate it. I hate that I have to feel this way," I was crying now and there was no stopping the tears, " we were meant to spend the rest of our lives together and some idiot took that away from us, away from me. And for that I will always hate that person. The thing is though, I don't even know who did it. All I know is that it was some minor and they went to a juvenile detention centre, I don't even know how long they got for killing my wife."
I wiped my eyes with the corners of my sleeves. I couldn't see but I knew my eyes were red, I'd cried enough lately to know. James nodded and slowly grinned at me.
"Well done Gareth, I think we've made excellent progress here today, don't you?"
At that the word 'yes' was mumbled around the room and I closed my eyes. Miles looked at me wide eyed, he did for a long time until his eyes began to soften, like everyone else who heard my story, there was empathy in his gaze and pity as well. After a while of hearing others speak the group was disbanded and everyone grabbed a to- go cup of bad coffee and left.
I thought, that was it, I needn't go to another one of those things again. I'd kept my promise to my sister, so I was done. But, I found myself drawn back there, again and again. I went through the motions, I listened, I spoke, I listened some more, all the while Miles remained quiet. When no one was looking, I was. I saw his pain, it mirrored my own, I saw in him something familiar and I had to know why.