For all of you couples out there who have dealt with "stuff" and have worked through it, for all of you waiting for the love of your life, and for those who have loved and lost. A little story for you today.
She was thinking of brown rice flour and dried cranberries when her car hit the ice patch.
The recipe she had planned to make that evening was sitting on the kitchen counter waiting for her to return from work.
He left the recipe right where she'd left it that morning, day after day. He couldn't bear to put it away.
As the hours turned into days and those days into weeks, the cookbook waited on the counter.
He was terrified of putting it away, as if to say that he'd given up hope that she'd open her eyes again.
In her mind, she was in an eternal spin. Brown rice flour and dried cranberries over and over. Every once in a while the spinning stopped and there was the most perfect silence. Glaring light shone on her face like fast approaching headlights.
On day 68, the spinning stopped. She couldn't remember the words that had been her entire world. Ingredients to a recipe that she had to pick up on the way home she felt but the words were gone. Darn it! She'd forgotten her sticky note again, it was stuck to her cook book sitting on the kitchen counter.
Then, she smelled his presence and felt the steady tracing of his finger on the top of her right hand. He was holding it just like he had for the last 68 days. The headlights stopped and suddenly she knew.
On her hand, he had been tracing a heart.
Happy Valentine's Day Sweetie, you were worth waiting for 55 years.
She was thinking of brown rice flour and dried cranberries when her car hit the ice patch.
They had met at the advanced age of 55, ancient to some, but still young enough
to fall in love. What followed was a lot of life crammed into those few years in-between.
Years of discovering the world together and seeing it through each others eyes,
of making meals together and talking, oh, the talking.
The recipe she had planned to make that evening was sitting on the kitchen counter waiting for her to return from work.
He left the recipe right where she'd left it that morning, day after day. He couldn't bear to put it away.
As the hours turned into days and those days into weeks, the cookbook waited on the counter.
He was terrified of putting it away, as if to say that he'd given up hope that she'd open her eyes again.
In her mind, she was in an eternal spin. Brown rice flour and dried cranberries over and over. Every once in a while the spinning stopped and there was the most perfect silence. Glaring light shone on her face like fast approaching headlights.
On day 68, the spinning stopped. She couldn't remember the words that had been her entire world. Ingredients to a recipe that she had to pick up on the way home she felt but the words were gone. Darn it! She'd forgotten her sticky note again, it was stuck to her cook book sitting on the kitchen counter.
Then, she smelled his presence and felt the steady tracing of his finger on the top of her right hand. He was holding it just like he had for the last 68 days. The headlights stopped and suddenly she knew.
On her hand, he had been tracing a heart.
Happy Valentine's Day Sweetie, you were worth waiting for 55 years.
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