Mrs. Faherty

"Well you all married the same woman!" Pat said accross the circular table.

Paul, Mike and Tom all looked at each other. We ladies laughed.

Mary and Becky exchanged smiles. "I think she means the same kind of woman," Becky interjected, always wanting to contribute to clarity.

"Yes," Pat said. "You all married women who were quiet, somewhat religious and kind."

The men exploded in laughter. I couldn't help chuckling into my napkin as well - "that was true most of the time..." I thought affectionately.

"My dear," Mike said, "Where have you been keeping that woman?" More laughes.

"Yes," Tom said, "especially since we all married her!"

Becky leaned over and whispered into my ear "Don't be decieved," she said. "They may make fun, but the Faherty men love their women."

I smiled. Tom and Becky Faherty, my parents-in-law. Paul and Mary Faherty, my uncle and aunt by marriage - Tom's brother and his wife. Pat and Mike Faherty - my pa-in-law's cousin and her wife. And then there was me - the newest Faherty, married to Tom and Becky's only son Stephan.

I was at that dinner alone. My "Faherty man" was at work, but I was dining with these old fogies and listening to their wonderful stories, memories and humor - always humor. I loved it. But what I loved most was seeing how right my mother in law was - these men adored their wives. There are alot of things I make very clear that I want no part of. The Faherty women's 'eye' is one of them - that menacing, threatening look from under your eyebrows through slitted eyes. Very scary. The Faherty women's 'finger' is another - that's the one they raise in the air that will magically bring the waitress from anywhere in the restaraunt or open doors that aren't supposed to be opened. I don't have it or want it. But this - having married a Faherty man from a line of men who loved their wives - that's a heritage I'll partake of.

My husband and I were at home earlier this week when we got a call. Mary was in the hospital. It wasn't looking good.

We made plans to leave. We just had to wait for my brother and sister-in-law to fly in from Misourri. More calls. "No change." "Her sister's here now." Then "She's awake." We might make it. Later that night, we got the call - "she's dead."

The next day the six of us rode in a caravan to West Virginia, where we met up with Mary's husband Paul. What a joy it was to be with him! I hope we blessed him half as much as he blessed me. The viewing was sad. The funeral was sadder. Paul made to leave immediately after the service.

"I'm sad I didn't know her better," I said as I hugged him goodbye. "But I'm glad you're still here."

"Well, you've lost the better of us," he said. I smiled. He'd been saying that all day. He truly believed it. "Eat something," he said, poking my stomach. I smiled again, a little bigger. He'd been saying that all day too.

He left. Me and my parents-in-law and siblings-in-law terried a while and went to visit my father-in-law's parent's grave. Tom astutely pointed out that they'd be burrying Mary at that time, and she and Paul had spaces right next to his parents. We decided to go anyway.

We payed our respects to Stephan's grandparents and as we were leaving we got to see them laying Mary's headstone. It was long - twice as long as it needed to be. Mary's headstone only took up half of the marble slab. Paul's would go next to her's.

We left at that point, but I turned one last glance back at Mary's headstone. It had her name, her date of birth (her death date wasn't screwed on yet) and a simple two word inscription.

"Beloved wife," I read.

Don't be decieved, my mother in law had said. The Faherty men love their women.

Yes they do. My eyes welled with tears as I realized I hadn't yet know the love that Mary had, the love of a Faherty man for 40 years. But by God's grace, I would. I'd married a Faherty man - and he made it plain every day how much he loves me. He'd had some good examples, I guess.

I walked back to the car, resolved to make it a point to know these guys and their wives better - and to be worthy of the title that these other women had carried before me - that of Mrs. Faherty.