One day a philosophically-minded gentleman walked along a path in a park near his house. Along the way he came upon a woman crying on a bench. "What is the matter?" he asked.
"It is my husband" she replied. "Yesterday he fell from a ladder, and this morning he died. I am a widower now."
At this the man remembered his reading, and with a knowing look replied "Why, lady, surely you must know that crying will not bring him back."
"Of course I know that" she sobbed, her face in her hands. "I cry because I cannot help it."
The man frowned. "But of course you can help it," he replied. "All people have that capacity, if they so choose. You must simply concentrate, and remember that all grief and inequamity is self-induced. Pull yourself together now, and be reasonable."
"Reasonable!?" shouted the lady in reply. "What is 'reasonable' in the face of such tragedy? You say I must concentrate, yet of my husband's accident I can think of little else. I see it over and over again, in my mind like a horror-film without end. Can you imagine? My whole being, forced to relive a most awful moment without pause or respite? Do you suppose I 'choose' this fate?"
The man choked, "Well, I, I don't suppose you would. But you shouldn't you know, because clearly it leaves you unhappy. You must choose instead to be happy."
The woman made to reply, but the man quickly added, "But that is ultimately up you. For the present, I must attend to other matters."
He quickly made an exit down the path. The woman remained on the bench as before, now both sad about her husband and furious with the man. After a time, another man came down the path, spotting the lady crying on the bench.
"Excuse me miss, but what is the matter?" he asked.
"It is my husband" she replied. "Yesterday he fell from a ladder, and this morning he died. I am a widower now."
"Oh," replied the man, "I am sorry to hear that. What sort of man was he?"
The lady sniffled. "A kindly man," she managed, "though not without flaw, though who is? I am so shaken, for I cannot stop reliving the moment when he fell."
"Yes," said the man, "I can only imagine." Silence followed, except for the sounds of the surrounding park.
He began again. "This is a lovely park, is it not? Do you come here frequently?"
"No," she replied without much emotion, "this is my first visit."
"I see," said the man. "Do birds interest you?"
"No, birds are no interest of mine," she replied.
"How about trees?" asked the man.
"No, trees are no interest of mine," she replied.
"I see," said the man. Again, silence hung between them.
Finally, the man asked, "What of rivers, ma'am? Are they an interest of yours?"
"Perhaps," she replied. "I grew up on a river, and sometimes went fishing with my family. It was always such a wonderful time, even when we didn't catch anything."
To this the man replied, "You are in luck then. The stream in this park has just been stocked with fish. If you like, you can join the other fishermen by the river as they test their luck and skill."
The woman was inclined to say no, but changed her mind. "I will go for a little while."
So the man and the woman walked to the stream, where they found many men and women up to their knees in water, casting their lines and talking amongst themselves. After a time, one of the lady fishermen looked over, and noticing the widow watching her intently said, "Hey there, would you like to give it a try?"
"Yes," said the woman, wading into the gently-flowing water in her street clothes "though perhaps only for a minute. It has been a long time since I last fished, and expect to catch little."
"No problem" responded the fisher woman, "the spot's crawlin' with 'em. You're bound to catch a few in short order."
The lady did catch a fish, and had several others get away. The fisher lady and the other fishermen alternatively offered advice and laughed good-natured as the woman used her rusty fishing skills to reel in a catch. By dusk even she, the window, was laughing and making arrangements to meet up the next day.
The man from earlier offered to walk the widow to the edge of the park. They walked and talked amiably for a while, until suddenly the widow went quiet and distant-seeming.
"Are you alright?" asked the man.
"Yes," she replied. "I again remembered my husband's fall, and as before I cannot remove it from my mind. It is so terrible a thought to carry with me."
"I bet," said the man, "and it may stay with you for some time." He went silent for a moment as they walked, then said, "Perhaps feeling grief is like feeling sick; it takes time to work its way out of us. And as much as we might wish, we can't in either case will ourselves immediately well. It takes time, its own time perhaps."
"Hmm" replied the woman thoughtfully. "I must say I feel happier after fishing all afternoon, even though my thoughts still tend toward my husband's accident. The few hours of relative peace felt like a deep, restorative sleep. And while I still grieve for his lost, the thought of my husband is not nearly as painful now than as before. I thank you for taking my mind off things, even if only for a little while."
"You're welcome," replied the man. "Someday perhaps you will be at peace with this horrible accident. Until that time, a little distraction may be a helpful trick for getting by."
They reached the edge of the park, and there bid each other a good night.
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