I wondered why they didn't live together and what brought him to the small one bedroom adjacent to the dining room. Moments later she arrived, skitting across the floor, hands clutched to her deluxe walker, her son, his step-son, a few steps behind. After introductions, she promptly sat next to her husband, a tiny person herself. Oversized glasses, round expressive eyes, quick to grin and chuckle, a happy spirit. Before we repeated our names, our familial ties to this venerable gathering, the two were kissing, looking like precious valentines, teen-aged sweethearts."Wait until they sit on the couch out in the living room," their son informed us."They can't get enough of each other, holding hands under a blanket." An elongated roll of the eyes. Forty-five years married, she approaching ninety-six , him eighty-nine and both sporting walkers. I stole a glance at my husband. There is hope for us!
We were mere babies when we married forty-one years ago, first held hands on the zoo train at Halloween, no walkers in the house and as of this breath our story is not yet over. I was eager to know their tale, hungry to hear words pronouncing enduring love through wrinkles, arthritis, bad knees and hips, mistakes and failures. Loss of that invincible self who controls everything yet nothing at all. As we made our departure, walking to the front door, just like son said, there they sat on the sofa huddled together with a red-and-blue plaid cover folded over their laps. A security blanket. I knew I had stumbled upon a gift, breathing in sweet fragrance of adoration, a love so strong that age and distance cannot quench. And hands that cling tightly, lovingly, refusing to surrender to circumstances, they must have loved wild brave.
"Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage."
~Lao Tzu~