At Thanksgiving, I waited until everyone was seated before I looked at Gerald and said, “So, Gerald, who is Barbara?” The room went completely quiet, and for the first time in six years he didn’t smile or pretend he’d made another mistake. He put his fork down and looked at my son before answering. He said Barbara was his first wife, and she had died twenty-three years ago. I asked why he had been calling me her name all this time, and he said, “Because your son married the woman Barbara would have been if she’d lived long enough.” Then he reached into his jacket and placed an old photograph on the table.
Barbara had been a teacher, and Gerald said she had spent years helping children whose parents couldn’t afford tutoring. My daughter-in-law had apparently reminded him of her from the first time they met, especially the way she talked to people who needed something without making them feel ashamed for needing it. He told me he started calling me Barbara at the rehearsal dinner because something about my face reminded him of her. I corrected him that night, and he realized immediately what he’d done, but instead of explaining, he kept doing it. I asked why he hadn’t simply told me the truth when I stopped correcting him. He said, “Because by then you were the only person at those family dinners who knew I was talking to her.” I looked at my daughter-in-law, and she started crying.
Then Gerald told me the part nobody else knew. Barbara had died before their daughter was born, and Gerald had spent twenty-three years raising their daughter while carrying the guilt of believing he hadn’t done enough for her. He said my daughter-in-law had somehow made him feel like Barbara had left something behind in the world. That’s why he kept using the name, even after I asked him to stop. I told him I wasn’t angry anymore, but I wished he’d trusted me enough to explain. He nodded and said, “I was afraid if I said her name out loud, everyone would think I was replacing you with her.” My son finally spoke and asked why nobody had ever told him about Barbara, and Gerald looked at him and said, “Because I didn’t want you growing up thinking your mother was a ghost I was still waiting for.” The room stayed silent, and then my daughter-in-law reached across the table and took Gerald’s hand.
