Now the gold polish has nearly worn off. My two youngest daughters bent on knees on the floor, bathed my feet and made them sparkly for the fall wedding.
Our fingers entwined, my husband and I walked onto the dance floor. Our dearest friends sharing the space with us, we danced. Just the two of us. With everyone else. He held me close; our bodies swayed sometimes together and sometimes not. My husband did not complain. The pain consumed him. Yet, he wanted to dance. "I know you like to dance," he replied, after I scolded. Dancing was too much for him.
He never really recovered. The pain of unknown cause, a constant companion. Our last dance.
Silly, but I can't bear to remove the polish and I dread when the last of it rubs off. It is just another little reminder of the man I love and how he constantly, selflessly thought of me and loved me and still loves me so. Love really is eternal.
1 comment:
Cherish these memories. Jerry sounds wonderful. As do you.
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