Happy Anniversary

My wife is so beautiful that even her shadow is fair to look upon. She blesses my eyes and makes my dreams bright. And, I miss her more than anything in the world. This Saint Patrick’s Day is our twenty-third anniversary.

When I’m at home, we like to take breakfast together. We can sit with one another over coffee and have the most wonderful conversations without even speaking. We know each other so well that words are not needed. But we do speak, sometimes. Sometimes we even talk about being together, about our past and about how it will be to get old together. There’s never been any doubt that we would grow old together, and somehow, it makes the prospect of getting old much easier to take. It’s good to have such a wonderful friend.

Someone sent me an e-mail about an old man who, visiting his doctor one particular morning seemed in such a rush to leave. The doctor asked the man why he was in such a hurry. The old man said that he had a date to have breakfast with his wife, who was in a nursing home with Alzheimer’s. He said that he had not missed having breakfast with her in over five years, but that now, she doesn’t even recognize him. The doctor asked, “Well, if she doesn’t recognize you, why do you go everyday? Then the man looked at the young doctor and said, “Because I recognize her”. That’s how I love my wife.

There's another story of an old couple. Every Sunday for more than 50 years the sweet lady would bake for her husband a fresh loaf of bread to take with his tea. Every Sunday she would cut the two end pieces first, lovingly cover them with butter, place them on a saucer with his tea and serve him in his big chair. On one Sunday the old man complained, "For fifty years you've been making bread. Why must you always give me the ends of the loaf?" The sweet lady gracefully answered, "Because that's my favorite part." And that's how my beloved loves me.

Happy Anniversary, Sharon. And here’s a little poem somebody named Shakespeare wrote just for you.

When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see,
For all the day they view things unrespected;
But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee,
And darkly bright are bright in dark directed.
Then thou, whose shadow shadows doth make bright,
How would thy shadow's form form happy show
To the clear day with thy much clearer light,
When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so!
How would, I say, mine eyes be blessed made
By looking on thee in the living day,
When in dead night thy fair imperfect shade
Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stay!
All days are nights to see till I see thee,
And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.

awe