I work in an Italian restaurant.  Not exactly an exciting job, mind you, but it pays the bills.  I wouldn't begin a story like this unless it had some relevance, so just bear with me.  On Monday nights, I'm the kitchen supervisor in one of the 2 (sometimes 3) different branches I work at.  This particular restaurant has a server window that looks out into the dining room. Furthermore, on every Monday and Tuesday, we have a pasta special, which brings all manner of patrons in.  We have some that come in only on those two days, being the frugal shoppers that they are.  In particular, we had one elderly couple that arrived at 5 minutes to open, every single Monday, like clockwork.  They always sat at the same table, and ate with dour looks on their faces.  They didn't look like the happy-go-lucky elderly folks you often see on Centrum Silver commercials.  Nevertheless, those were faces I was accustomed of seeing through my window.  There are others, not quite so memorable, who come with some regularity, but those have always stood out for some reason.  This pattern continued for months without the slightest alteration.  I came to expect them and their order at 5 on the nose.  Two spaghetti with meatballs, coming right up.
And then something odd.  A Monday not too long ago, the elderly gentleman arrived alone, at the precise time, 5 minutes before 5.  He sat at his table and ordered his usual spaghetti with meatballs.  My water wasn't yet at boiling, but I wanted to get the order up, so I took a chance.  I ended up with a mushy ball of dough.  So I threw another hank of pasta in the water, at 5 after 5.  Already, he'd been waiting 5 minutes since opening.  At ten after the pasta was finally done.  The waiter took it out to the elderly gentleman, and I saw them exchange a few words, after which the waiter turned away from him and headed for the kitchen.  'Oh great,' I thought, 'he bitched.'
The waiter came back with an incredulous chuckle.
"The funniest thing happened," he said, "You know how that guy always comes in with his wife, every Monday?  I thought about going up and saying something about it, but then I thought, what if she died or something?.  But then I thought, what are the odds of that?  So I went up and I said, 'dining alone today?' and he said 'My wife passed away last week.'  Can you believe that?"
I stared at him in shock for a second, then looked out into the dining room.  The elderly man seemed to be looking straight at me, expressionless.  I looked back at the waiter.
"That's not funny, that's actually kinda sad," I said, still a bit dazed.
He agreed that it was indeed sad, and we both stood quiet for a moment.  I looked back out at the elderly man, who had gone back to eating his spaghetti slowly.  All sorts of thoughts crowded my mind.  The elderly man didn't look like he had much of an appetite, so his only reason for being at the restaurant at that time and day would have to be routine.  That's what he would have done had his wife still been around.  And she didn't look ill the last time they were in.  It must have been quite sudden.  How long had they been married, I wondered?  How must he feel?  I felt suddenly very depressed myself.  It all took me by surprise.  I wondered if I would react as he did, visiting the same old places, going through the same routines.  I felt so bad, I wanted to offer to pay for his meal.  But then a less noble thought crowded in.  'If I do that this week, he'll be back next week expecting a free meal.'  Where did that thought come from?  At that point I decided I didn't want to think about any of that any longer.  I went back to cooking and chatting about movies and other mundane things with the rest of the kitchen staff.  I didn't even notice when the elderly gentleman left.  The night went on, as did the week.  Every now and again, my thoughts would flit briefly to that man, and how he must be coping with his loss, until other thoughts crowded it out of my mind.  Then came the following Monday.  At about 6 o'clock, I noticed that the elderly gentleman hadn't been at the door at 5 to 5, as was his custom.  He hadn't arrived at all.  I called the waiter over.
"What happened to our old man," I asked?
"What old man?"
"Our old man," I said, a bit irked, "you know, our regular?  The one who's here before we open every single Monday?  The one who's wife died?"
"Oh that old man.  I don't know, he didn't come in."
"I see that," I said.  "I'm kinda worried about him.  I can't help but think he's sitting at home moping, or worse, killed himself."
I hadn't actually considered that, but after saying it, it became a very real possibility.
"Did he ever pay with a check, and if so, can we access it at all by now," I asked?
"No, they always paid cash."
I didn't even know the man's name to check the obituaries for.  Suddenly I felt like the biggest heel.  I wished I could go back to the previous week and give him that spaghetti on the house.  Such a small gesture, but a gesture nonetheless.  If for no other reason than to thank him for his constant patronage.  Now I can't get these thoughts out of my head, analyzing from every possible angle what he might be doing right now.  What it must be like to lose someone you've shared most of your life with.  What it's like to find yourself suddenly very, very alone.  I wonder if he has any other family, and if they are any help to him at this moment in his life.  I wish I could offer my condolences, I wish life wasn't so fleeting at times.  It's things like this that make you think about the quality of your life, I guess.  It's amazing what you can get from an elderly couple you've never met.