55. Date Night — Part Two
Questions and Answers
A little more sweet than bitter.
Dear Tim,
Our night got off to a rocky start, but Date Night was everything it was destined to be — time spent in our hallmark way — laughing. Sure, there were moments of sorrow and a few shed tears, but the laughter from that night — and from our life together — fills the corners of my mind and lifts my heart when I need it most.
As for your ability to remember the details about our special night — don’t worry — I’ve got you covered. I recorded the evening so you can listen and laugh whenever you’d like. Happy Birthday.
I love you, Sheryll
When I planned Date Night, I did so whilst lashed to my leather prison, so, straight off, I knew the dancing part of our evening wouldn’t take place. That was disappointing because dancing — a little swirl here — a little twirl there — was a regular in our household mostly because we always had music on at 183 Wildwood. If by chance I wasn’t with Seger on Main Street, or having a one-night stand in Shaky Town with Jackson, or swooning to the crooning of Martin, or tripping down Penny Lane with The Beatles, or getting all redneck with Lynyrd or Marshall, or, or, or — then my songbird, Mr. Wonderful, was filling the air with a musical ditty from his vast array of tunes. Tim is one of those people who can hear a song a single time and know all the words. Not me. I’ve screwed up lyrics for years, decades, even. A prelude to making up words when I write, I guess.
Anyway, for the past 35 years, Tim has been singing — morning, noon and night. He used to go all The Band and Van Morrison and sing me to sleep with Tura Lura Lural when we were first married. A very sweet memory. BTW, Mr. Wonderful actually has a very nice singing voice and recently said he might join a choir — imagine that.
The point of this background ramble is to establish that music was the backdrop to our lives and as such, I’d often find myself in Tim’s arms taking a little dance across the floor.
When we were young, our spontaneous dances were fun and flirty, always ending with a smooch or two and a wink or two of what our nights would hold. As the years went on and the ‘Dizzy-Dame’ — as he started calling me post head surgery — couldn’t really swirl and twirl anymore, our dances were about holding one another as we swayed to whatever song filled the air.
Our date nights, however, always ended with a dance to whatever song happened to be playing on the soundtrack of our lives at that particular moment. But, on June 20th, every year, bar none, for the past 35 years, we’ve held one another and danced to our wedding song.
Let It Be Me
I bless the day I found you, I want to stay around you.
And so I beg you, let it be me.
Don’t take this heaven from one, if you must cling to someone.
Now and forever, let it be me.
Each time we meet love, I find complete love –
without your sweet love, what would life be?
So never leave me lonely, tell me you’ll love me only –
and that you’ll always, let it be me.
No matter the number of times I’ve heard it, or have sung it in my head, those words filled me with the surety that Tim and I were meant to be with one another. I feel every one of those words — I believe every one of those words — as though they were written and sung for us — only us.
I knew going into our most recent special night that there wouldn’t be dancing. Truth be told, I considered risking it. I thought I might be able to get upright and into his arms for a little sway or two. I had actual conversations with myself, “You get up a few times a day to pee. And you do the whole sponge bath routine, and wash your hair in the kitchen sink a couple times a week, sooooo would it really hurt to have a little dance?”
And then I’d imagine the worst. My spine collapsing and my body ending in a heap at Tim’s feet as Don and Phil Everly serenaded us. After my last debate, I shrugged a very sore shoulder (I’m quite sure the cancer nibbling rodent is doing a fair amount of damage there, now) — then made my decision.
You could do it. You should not do it.
It could be the Dance of Death.
So, I conceded our final date night would be without dancing, but we could still do dinner and a movie, right?
Wrong.
If you read my previous blog, you know I learned rather late in the game that my date and I would be dining on different foods, in different rooms, with uninvited guests — the daughters to whom I gave life — the ones I hoped would live that life elsewhere for the next few hours. Anyway, not having ‘our’ cuisine pissed me off, and was expressed in typical Sheryll O’Brien fashion with a few well-placed, “What the effs?” In my defense, though I don’t think I need one — dinner, dancing, a movie, and whispered ‘sweet nothings’ was our version of a perfect evening together.
Perfect was no longer in the lexicon for Date Night.
And the realization was bittersweet.
Before the evening began, I knew we wouldn’t be dancing, or smooching, or winking and wooing, and as for watching a movie — I’ve banned everything except the Hallmark channel on my living room television and, therefore, have watched said channel 24/7 since December 1st which means I’ve seen every Hallmark movie 24 x 7 already. So, I put the kibosh on watching a movie.
Now, what’s a girl to do? Think. Think. Think.
I have lots of time to think, think, think, whilst lashed to the leather, and believe you me, my mind tends to go wherever the eff it wants to go. So, as soon as I received my newest McTigue CDs in the mail and I stopped Tim from playing them until Date Night, I knew I needed to come up with something new — something fun.
And. I. Did.
“We’re going to play the Newlywed Game,” I mumbled to myself, pleased with my ingenuity. For those who might not know — or remember — the Newlywed Game was a wildly popular television show that ran from the mid-1960s to the mid-1970s. It was hosted by the handsome, and always smiling, Bob Eubanks. Each week, four newlywed couples would show the world how much — or how little — they knew about one another.
The rules of the game were very simple: husbands and wives would take turns answering questions while their spouses were backstage. When one half of the couple had answered four questions, the other half of the couple returned, answered the same questions, and hoped for a match. Each correct answer garnered a point. The vying couples hoped beyond hope that they’d get the most points and get that week’s bragging rights and a bottle of dish detergent or whatever.
I thought it might be fun to play the Newlywed Game with the old dodger — the man I’ve been married to f.o.r.e.v.e.r. and who I hoped might get an answer or two correct. I went to Amazon, had the same old debate with myself about how I shouldn’t be a slave to Jeff Bezos and fuel his narcissistic need for dominance in worldwide purchase and delivery systems — then did a bit of rationalization that I AM THE PERFECT CONSUMER for his business model — order it and you can have it in twelve seconds because let’s face it, I’m on a time limit and every second counts.
I scrolled the pages of Amazon, learned I could purchase an ‘original version’ of the boxed game for $99.00, or a video version for some lesser amount, but since I didn’t want to play a video game and I didn’t want to indulge Mr. Bezos on that scale of finance, I decided I should drag my ass to the 21st century and find something new, and fresh, and fun to play.
And I did. I bought a boxed card game called A Couple of Hearts.
This is what the card game promised.
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This is what I wanted from the game.
Ask a few questions. Get a few answers. Have lots of laughs.
“This could work,” I mumbled to myself. I’m always mumbling to myself these days. Oh. Well.
Remember my letter to Tim — the one at the beginning of this blog — well, the tape I made him will ensure that every question asked during the playing of this game — and every answer given — is the real deal.
Helloooooooooooo Tim!
Every question asked — every answer given — is on tape.
Not sure if that’s making you smile or sweat! A bit of both, I suppose.
You should note: I shuffled the cards sufficiently before we began playing and we pulled them in the order in which they settled. It was astounding to both of us — and remarked upon by both of us — that the cosmos had a hand in who got what question to answer. You’ll see.
Time to play: A Couple of Hearts
The boxed set of questions is divided into two sections: sexy and romantic questions; all other types of questions. I figured there was no need to torture ourselves, so I grabbed a handful of cards from the boring pile, put the rest away, then waited for the Unsuspecting One to park his ass on his recliner. After singing and laughing our way through Take Me Out To the Ballgame, we did a bit of chit-chatting during a few more songs.
“Do you think you’ll do some traveling?”
“I’d like to.”
“I hope you go to Ireland.”
“I think I will. Someday.”
“Thinking won’t make it happen, Tim.”
“You really want me to go.”
“I really do.” (Pause.) “Are you going to retire?”
“Nope. I want to keep busy.”
“Don’t work until the bitter end. Okay?
“Okay.”
Pause ……. a good, long pause.
“Sixty-five, can you believe it?”
“Nope.”
“Time goes by so damned fast. Especially the middle years.” (Pause.) “Even now, I still think of myself as being in my forties.”
“The only time I think about my age is when I look in the mirror.” (He ran his hand through his white, cropped beard).
“My Gorton’s fisherman.” (I sang the tune).
We shared some laughing.
“Seriously, before I got sick, I had to push in and think about retirement — that we’re at the age of retirement because in my head I wasn’t there yet. And with my writing, I could have done that for years, so—”
“— so retirement always felt way off in the future.”
A pause to listen to another song.
“After this song, I want you to stop the Bose because we’re going to play a game.”
“Okay …….” (The word was said with a bit of concern). “What game?” (The words were said with a note of trepidation).
I laughed. Sometimes I cackle when I laugh. I cackled.
“I think I’ll shuffle these cards and let you wonder a bit more.”
He laughed. Sometimes he moans when he laughs. He moaned.
“What a beautiful day it was.” (He tried to take the edge off his concern about the game by filling the time with idle chit-chat).
“Cold, though.” (I played along).
“Yeah. It’s always nice after a snowstorm, clean and crisp. Couldn’t have been a nicer day.”
I shuffled the cards — over and over — drawing his attention to me.
“So what’s the game?”
“I wanted to get the Newlywed Game, do you remember that?”
“Yeah. Questions like, what’s your favorite color?”
We laughed.
“Well, it was a bit more sophisticated than that.”
“Not much.”
I laughed. “But the game on Amazon was a video version and I didn’t want that and I didn’t want to spend a hundred bucks on a boxed anniversary edition of the board game, so I got this. It’s a box of questions, called A Couple of Hearts. We’ll each take turns pulling a card and asking the question. So when I ask you a question, do me a favor — Just. Answer. It. — don’t go all Tim O on me and dissect the question.
Groan.
“Do you want to go first? It’s your birthday so you should go first.”
“Okay.”
“Okay, here’s your question: What surprising thing did you find out about me during our relationship?”
Pause …… a really long pause ……
“During our relationship? Because I knew you in high school, so does that count? Or is it just when we started dating?”
“Oh God.”
He laughed.
I. Did. Not.
“This is what you meant about me asking a bunch of questions.”
“Uh huh.”
“But it isn’t clear.”
“Pretty clear. Let me read it to you again: What surprising thing did you find out about me during our relationship? Good god, almighty.”
“Okay. Got it.
“Doubt it.”
Pause ……. Pause ……. Pause …….
“Oh good god. You know I’m dying, right? And I’m sort of on a time limit, right?
“You had to know I’d ask questions.”
“Yes, but this is a game, not a test. There aren’t any right or wrong answers.”
“Bullshit. There are wrong answers. Tons of wrong answers.”
We laughed — a lot.
“Fair enough. Just answer the question, would ya?”
“How strong you are. That’s what I learned. How strong you are.”
“Jeez, and I thought you were gonna say, patient?”
He laughed then pulled a card. “What fictional character do I remind you of? He started laughing and shaking his head.
“Why are you laughing?
“Just going over the list of things you call me.”
“Like what?”
“Mr. Magoo.”
We laughed.
“I’ll try to stay away from cartoon characters, okay, Goofy.”
He laughed.
I laughed.
“Ooo. Ooo. I know, Forrest Gump.”
“Should have seen that coming.”
“And, yet.”
We laughed.
I absolutely love Tim’s laugh. (I enjoyed it a little bit, then read the next card.) “Nope. Nope. I’m putting that card back.”
“What do you mean? You can’t put it back.”
“It’s too easy.”
“What’s the question?”
“Who is the strongest person you know and why?”
“Well you, of course.”
“See. Wait, go ahead and answer, but you can’t say me.”
“Okay. Is the person living or dead?”
“Oh good god! It doesn’t matter.”
“But I have to know them, right?”
“Perhaps I should read the question again. Mr. Gump, who is the strongest person you know and why?”
“Me. I’m the strongest person I know, and you can figure out why.”
“Already have.” (I said laughing hard). “Go ahead and read the next card.”
“Complete this sentence: When I look into your eyes, I feel.”
“Protected, safe, loved.”
A bit of silence. A long bit of silence and a few tears from me. I pulled it together and asked the next question. “What is your favorite photo of me?”
“The one from our honeymoon. That one.” (He pointed a finger toward a framed picture that’d been on his bureau for decades and is now on our fireplace). “I’m taking it to the funeral home.”
Some more silence. A long bit of silence and a few held tears from him.
(I brought him back around.) “Read the next question.”
“What makes us special as a couple?”
“That all of the big things, all of the big decisions in life, we were in perfect sync on. All of the plans we had for us as a couple, and for our kids, they were agreed upon, almost immediately. And it didn’t matter how simple our life was. We had everything we wanted — a family.”
“I agree.”
“I know.”
We sighed the kind of sigh that said – A Job Well Done!
(I pulled a card.) “What’s one thing you would never do for me?”
“Never do for you?”
“Never do for me.”
“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”
“Would you lie for me? Like if I committed a crime. Would you tell a lie for me?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Really? So how far would you go?”
“Pretty far.”
“Ooo, okay. So, I committed a crime. I didn’t mean to, but no one is going to believe me, and I already started covering things up so it makes me look guilty. Do you lie to the cops for me?”
“Yeah. If they asked if you were home with me, I’d say, yes.”
“Well, if the crime took place tonight, you wouldn’t be lying because I can’t leave the house.”
“Well, technically, you could leave the house.”
“Ooo. You dastardly devil.”
“Actually, tonight would be the perfect night for you to commit a crime.”
“Ooo. Mr. Wonderful has a dark side.”
“Better be careful answering your questions, Mrs. Wonderful.”
We spent some time laughing — really laughing.
“I’m writing a blog on this, you know. Wait until Kathy tells her detective husband that you’d lie for me.”
“Maybe you should leave this question and answer out of the blog.”
“Fat chance.”
“You probably won’t remember this part, anyway.”
“The memory-bank is working pretty good now that I’m on steroids, so I’ll remember this conversation. And for the record, I won’t be lying for you.”
“Shit.”
Both of us laughed like idiots.
“So, let’s recap. Detective Gaffney knocks on the door and says your wife was seen on Main Street at the scene of a murder? It was a DWR.”
“DWR?”
“Driving while reclining.” (He shook his head and mumbled something. I continued.) “So, I’m involved in a DWR, you say what when the detective asks you about it?”
“I’d point to your recliner and say, I don’t think so, Tom.”
“Wow, you really would lie for me.”
“Yeah.”
“There has to be something you wouldn’t do for me?”
“Nope.”
“So, I’m on my deathbed and I ask for an extra dose of morphine, you’re not gonna give it to me?”
“Maybe I’ll give you a little extra, but I’m not gonna do anything blatant, like pump you up or cover your face with a pillow.”
“Good to know.”
We started laughing our asses off.
“God. I hope you’re not taping this.”
“Yeah. It’d be kinda tough explaining this to Detective Gaffney.”
Tim could barely breathe, he was laughing so hard. And when he finally stopped, he turned serious. “I couldn’t ever hurt you. And if I could take all the pain you’ve been feeling, I would, in a heartbeat.”
I started crying. When Tim listens to this tape, I’m sure this part of our evening will resonate with him.
(He pulled a card.) “If you could go back in time, what moment in our relationship would you like to relive?”
“The last five minutes.”
Laughing ……. for a long time.
“That’s an easy question. And you’d probably want to relive it, too.”
We answered in unison — Institute Park.
“That’s the night I fell in love with you.”
“That’s the night I fell in love with you.”
“I wish we could go sit on that bench and talk for hours like we did that night.”
I pulled a sigh and shed a few tears.
See, our final Date Night was bittersweet.
(I pulled a card.) “What was the best advice I ever gave you?”
“To take the job at Donnelley.”
“Yeup. I agree.”
(He pulled a card.) “What was the craziest thing I’ve ever done for you?”
“The craziest thing? That’s hard. You don’t do crazy. Although the whole lying for me would certainly count as crazy.” (His facial expression suggested he thought he’d done crazy. I was having a hard time remembering crazy from Tim.) “Have you done crazy things for me?” He smiled. I love his smile.
“I’m thinking of a few and they all have crazy elements.”
“Get out! A few? Crazy things? ……. What are you thinking of?” (He mentioned a few things — they will not be part of this blog. Thank you very much. He ended up tossing out a blog-worthy crazy thing.)
“Throwing you a fiftieth birthday party after you threatened bodily injury if I did it.”
“Yeah. That was pretty crazy and risky.”
“And it could have ended really badly.”
“It was wonderful and thoughtful.” (I sat with the memories for a few minutes then pulled a card.) “What’s your funniest memory of me?”
“Oh, God, there’ve been so many.”
“Yeah, I’ve been like Lucy, so this could be a long list, Mr. Ricardo.”
“Yeah, you’re always doing crap.”
“You love it.”
“I do.” (He pulled a card.) “When was I there for you when you needed me?”
“So, this is the card that’s equivalent to my asking you when I’m funny because you’re always there for me. But, let’s see. When were you really there for me? Got it! When I was having an MRI for my head tumor, and I was in that godforsaken, effing machine and you talked to me and touched my hand and gave me that tactile connection. I would not have been able to stay in that machine without you. (Pause …….) You’ve been there for me with all the medical crap I’ve been through.”
“Like staying with you 24/7 at rehab.”
“Yeah. Rehab. Remember the day you were in the shower and my physical therapist came to take me for my session and I yelled out to you — I’m going to the gym.”
My husband started laughing — and nearly passed out from the experience.
Then. And. Now.
“Five words you never thought you’d hear me say — I’m going to the gym.” I enjoyed watching his fit of laughter. Tears were streaming down his face, and he was incapable of talking. I piled on. “And then that whole bullshit about me having to go down to the kitchen and cook an egg before they’d let me leave rehab — meanwhile Marjorie’s coming and going from the place as she sees fit, and she didn’t know how to boil effing water let alone cook an egg.”
“And you rat-finked her to the occupational therapist.”
“Damn straight. Lot of good it did. The whitecoats did nothing. They just let her come and go — while the woman who’d had a lobotomy had to cook an egg and make a bed before I could leave. What the eff?” (Laugh. Pause. Laugh. Pause.) “Who the hell’s turn is it?” (Laugh. Pause.) “Whose turn is it? Stop laughing.”
“It’s my turn.” (He continues laughing.) “Ask a question.”
“What talent do I have that still impresses you?”
“Your writing. That was easy.” (He pulled a card.) “Are you happy and content right now?”
“Well, yes. Right now. But an hour ago, I wanted to smack you.” (Pause.) “You know, this whole vegan crap would be a problem for us, long term.”
“I wouldn’t be vegan if you had long term. Pick a card.”
“We’re stranded on an island. What five items would you like to have with us?”
“Your recliner.”
“Are you serious right now? We’re on an island, you know, with sand, and surf, and sun, and you’ve decided I may as well be dying there, too? Before you answer, these are the ground rules. I’m healthy and I do not need a recliner.”
“Okay. So five items. We should be practical. We’ll need food and water.”
“We have food and water on the island.”
“Oh, we do?”
“Sure, it’s an island. There’s probably a coconut or two and maybe a bird we can kill and we can fish. Ooops, I forgot you’re a vegan.” (I growl.) “Okay, we’re on the island that Harrison Ford and Anne Heche were on in—”
“Six Days, Seven Nights.”
“Yeah, so we’re on that island and we have food and water, so what 5 items do you want us to have?”
“We’ll need a fire.”
“We have matches. So what 5 items?” (Pause ……. Pause ……. Pause …….)
“I’d probably look for a way to get off the island.”
“What? Why? Why do we want to get off the island?”
“I didn’t say we — I said I’d look for a way off the island.”
Laughter.
“Okay. Let’s try this. We’re on the island and we’re staying there.”
“Okay, so we don’t need clothes.”
I start laughing.
“And we don’t need sunscreen.”
My laughing increases.
“But we’ll need towels.”
My laughter turns to tears — and there’s a whole lot of ugly laughing/crying going on because he’s now the last person on earth I want to be stuck with. “Dude. How about a record player so we can have music. Or how about books so we can read.”
“Let’s go back to the record player. The island we’re stuck on has electricity?”
“No, we have a battery pack.”
(His laughter starts.) “You know, the normal ‘getting stuck on an island answer’ would be food, water, fire.”
“And a bottle of gin. We should have a bottle of gin on the island.”
“You don’t even drink.”
“I’ll start.”
“So the island is a Sandals resort. Nice.”
“Forget it. I’m leaving the island.”
“Good, you’re off the island.”
“How long have you been waiting to say that?”
The game stops for fits of laughter.
“Whose turn is it?
“Yours.” (He pulls a card.) “You’re writing a book about me. What would the title be?
“An interesting question, don’t ya think?”
“I’ll say.”
“So, I’m writing a book about you and I get to title it.” (Pause …….) “Poor Tim.”
Lots of laughter.
(I pulled a card.) “What is the first movie quote you can think of?”
“Tomorrow’s another day.”
“Okay, Scarlett.”
(He laughs.) “Complete this sentence: I feel _______ because of you.”
“All of the things I said about your eyes.”
“You said something about my eyes?”
“Active listening wasn’t on the schedule tonight, I see.” (Laughter.) “I said I felt safe and protected and something else when I looked into your eyes, but whatevs. So let’s see ……. I feel blessed because of you. At the end of the day, I’m blessed.”
“Snap out of it.”
Laughter from him.
Tears from me.
“Are you okay?”
(Sniffles.) “I’m fine.” (Pause ……. Pause……. I pulled a card.) “What five words would you use to describe our marriage?”
“Comfortable. I don’t need five words.”
“What about fun?”
“Okay, comfortable and fun.”
“And simple. Our marriage has been really simple. There haven’t been big dramas — there haven’t been any dramas at all. Not personal dramas between us. The only dramas we ever had were medical ones. You’re right, we don’t need five words.”
“Comfortable.”
A heavy silence filled the space.
(I pulled a card.) “Oh my god.”
“Is this another 5 things question?”
“No but this is so ironic. Ready?”
“I doubt it.”
“If I lost my memory, what would you do to make me remember our love?”
“Take you to the beach.”
“Ohhhhh …….” (a few tears — and then …….) “I need some clarification, are you taking me to a beach beach, or to the island we got stuck on — you know, the one you want to get off of?”
“We’re going to Wells — always Wells.” (He smiled wide, his long dimples running the length of his face and his eyes twinkling. He threw in a wink for good measure then pulled a card.) “What do you remember about our first kiss?”
“I don’t remember for sure where our first kiss was, but I think it was after the movie, Jagged Edge, when you walked me to the third floor of Houghton Street. You leaned me against the door and kissed me. Not sure if it was our first kiss, but it’s the one I remember.”
“Pretty sure that’s where it was.”
“And I remembered that I wanted you to do it again. So, there you have it.”
Tim got up, walked a few steps, and leaned his hands onto the arms of my recliner.
Then. He. Kissed. Me.
He went back to his seat and just stared at me. There were several minutes of silence. And when I couldn’t stand it anymore, I pulled a card. “Which three words do you think describe you best?”
“Neat. Flexible. Relaxed.”
“I’d say you nailed that question.” (I pulled another card.) “What’s been your happiest moment so far and why?”
“Everything happy came from us getting married.” (He realized I pulled two cards in a row.) “You need to answer that question. What was your happiest moment?”
“Having kids and marrying you are the expected answers, but I’m going to try to think of something different.” (Pause …….) “Something happy for me — oh, the day you brought me home after spending time in rehab. I remember coming here, and the girls were away at the Cape with Mom and Marjorie, and Donnie and Denise, and the two of us walked into the house hand in hand. That made me happy. It was quiet, and I was home.”
“And you felt safe.”
“I did.”
“It was so nice to be home after being gone for five weeks.”
There was a lot of silence. I’m not sure what Tim was thinking about, but I was thinking about him being alone, here.
Soon.
I pulled myself together. “What was the worst date we’ve ever had?” (I cracked up and preempted him with an answer.) “The one we’re living right now.”
He cracked up. “Our worst date? I don’t know.”
“Ooo. Ooo. I know what our worst date was.”
“What?”
“Jefferson Starship at the DCU when the dude puked all over you.”
(Growl.) “That was awful.”
“Your car smelled awful.”
“For months.” He waved the last card — it was for me. “What was the best present I’ve ever given you?”
“My diamond heart pendant was the best gift you ever gave me, but the nicest present we gave each other was buying our first Christmas tree and decorating it in lights and tiny red velvet bows.”
“That’s all we could afford, back then. That was nice.”
“Or the nicest present could have been when you did the bedroom over while I was on a business trip.”
“Yeah.”
“Or when you had Suzanne published so I could see my name on the spine of a book.”
“That’s what I was thinking of.”
“You did tons of nice things for me.” (Pause.) “Did I ever do anything nice for you?”
“You gave me our last Date Night.”
We sat quietly for a few minutes — just sort of got lost to our own thoughts. He kissed my head on the way to the kitchen, and when he was finished tidying, I was already nodding off. He escorted me to the bathroom and when I came out he was leaning against a wall, his stance very reminiscent of the way he was standing when I saw him at our 10th year class reunion.
I laughed — then I cried.
He got me to my recliner and opened his arms. I stepped forward, leaned my hips against my walker and let him embrace me. “Thank you for Date Night.” He kissed my head, waited for me to sit, tucked me in, kissed my head again and put his hand to my cheek. “Call if you need me.”
“I will.”
I needed him for quite some time.
While I waited for my Tramadol and Xanax to kick in, I listened to the recording I made.
I laughed. I cried. And thanked God we had Date Night.