We have no need for a large home filled with ornate décor, surrounded by manicured perfection.
We breathe easily in our modest comfy home. When he returns from work, we sip a cup of Turkish coffee with perhaps a little something sweet. Catching up on each other’s day and other items of interest nearly always ends with something like, “How did this much time get away? I blame you. 😉”
We are each other’s solace. He is a soft, satiated quiet over me in this often-deafening world.
Mom and Dad used to live two doors down from us. Some mornings Dad would walk over, sit down for a cup of coffee and a few laughs.
Eventually, coffee became an excuse for a talk. For questions.
One day his question was, “Will you keep this in a safe place for me?” He opened a tiny matchbox-sized box, pulled out a piece of paper that was folded, and folded, and folded, and he read it to me. It was a poem. The first he’d ever written. He was a young boy, and it was to his dad who had unexpectedly passed. I watched him fold and fold and fold and carefully put it back in the box while I pondered why suddenly, after close to 7 decades, did he need me to keep it safe for him?
One day his question was from his doctor: “Do you have a plan in place for if she becomes violent?”
One day his question was, “Do you think I need to worry about her beginning to wander?”
One day his question was, “What will I do the day we wake up and she doesn’t know me?”
Just one more chance to hear your drum set swing,
And feel the pride well up inside my core.
And I believe I’d give most anything
To watch as you conduct a band once more.
To hear you call Mom Sweet Pea one more time,
And see the love for her in aging eyes
That cleaved to days of youth, well past their prime,
Embracing the enchantment love implies.
From time to time, I feel as though you’re near.
I sometimes hear your words play through my mind.
Oh how I’d love to linger for a year
While you are here, and death is left behind.
Though we may try to hold what fades away,
Our yesterdays were never meant to stay.
He’s not Prince Charming – nor I, Snow White.
He’s loved me, not as spell-bound knight
in dreamy woodland’s moon-spilled light,
nor magic-carpet star-strewn flight.
A quiet man who’s loved me through
the ugliness real life can brew.
No fairy tale – More trials in queue,
This noble man fulfills “I do.”
Happy 25th, Keith. Though ours is not a fairy tale love, it’s far deeper than enchanted storybook romance. I love you and thank God many times per day for you.
