
"I'm sorry, I assumed because of the age difference he might actually be your..." (Oh dammit, sometimes I say stupid shit, right. out. loud!)
She laughed at me and gave herself a little hug while making imaginary kisses at me. A gesture for assuming she was so young.
She said, "I'm actually older than him. He's only 68, but I'M 69." He was up at the salad bar, so he didn't hear our conversation. A few months ago, she explained, he went in for a routine shoulder surgery, but something went wrong with the anesthesia. "He went in a high powered executive, my future, my dreams, the greatest, most romantic man, I've ever known went in for surgery, but didn't come back the same. He only has two to five years the doctors told me." I turned and looked at him slowly maneuvering the salad bar. I sat down with her and got in real close like two girlfriends talking and smiled. "He's romantic...?" She beamed like a beacon of light and I could see the memories flowing out of her mind onto the table like warm gooey taffy on a spinner.... "The most romantic man you could've imagined. Years and years of being romanced (still hugging herself)... For all those years he gave to me, I figured I would never give up on him now" and she hadn't. She sat with him so patiently, never fussed, never hurried him, nor did she try doing everything for him. Such a loving and respectful woman, who wouldn't dream of taking away what independence her husband had left. Dear god I loved those (now) brief moments with them. That's the meaning of true love.
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