The Day Dream
Today I had a wonderful day dream about you.
I was washing dishes in the kitchen when you came home, and that's when I knew it was a dream.
You hugged me, then threw off your coat, offering -- nay, demanding -- to assist me. I protested, or at least I wanted to, but I cannot resist your singing, and sing you did. Or maybe you were humming... whatever it was it sounded marvelous, and I didn't want to look up for fear the tune would end and you would be gone. I sang with you, or hummed -- oh, whatever! -- it was just us.
I knew that you would come to see me today because I dreamed of you last night. I was holding my first son, the one I named for my father, as you said I could. I knew you would come. You stayed with me most of today, even as Andy and I browsed the aisles of the sporting goods store, enveloped in our favorite hobby. Your hand was incredibly soothing, all the while resting on my shoulder. You were patient as I tried on a shirt. I thought that you must have been terribly bored by the whole ordeal, but when I came out to show you, you just turned your mouth up into a broad smile and said I looked smashing.
My favorite moment of them all would still have to be the dishes. You know how I like washing dishes, and I know that I won't ever have a more peculiar weakness. I wondered as we stood there, shoulder to shoulder, if you knew how much it killed me, just being so close. Then I looked down at your hands and I knew that I didn't have to wonder. The scars were the faded pinkish cream color, not unlike those on my knees and the one across my ribcage. I realized then that you had died a thousand times for me before you came to see me today. Overwhelmed by love and gratitude, I dropped my sponge and took your soapy hands into mine. I hugged you, because words weren't enough, and you knew what I wanted to say before I thought it. I love you.
Thoughts of you still linger, long past the hour the guys went home to their respective places, long past the teeth-brushing ritual and whatever else it is we women do before bed -- even until now. I will think of you tonight, next to me as I fall asleep, the mixed aroma of sawdust and myrrh tickling my nostrils as I fade into sweet oblivion.
I was washing dishes in the kitchen when you came home, and that's when I knew it was a dream.
You hugged me, then threw off your coat, offering -- nay, demanding -- to assist me. I protested, or at least I wanted to, but I cannot resist your singing, and sing you did. Or maybe you were humming... whatever it was it sounded marvelous, and I didn't want to look up for fear the tune would end and you would be gone. I sang with you, or hummed -- oh, whatever! -- it was just us.
I knew that you would come to see me today because I dreamed of you last night. I was holding my first son, the one I named for my father, as you said I could. I knew you would come. You stayed with me most of today, even as Andy and I browsed the aisles of the sporting goods store, enveloped in our favorite hobby. Your hand was incredibly soothing, all the while resting on my shoulder. You were patient as I tried on a shirt. I thought that you must have been terribly bored by the whole ordeal, but when I came out to show you, you just turned your mouth up into a broad smile and said I looked smashing.
My favorite moment of them all would still have to be the dishes. You know how I like washing dishes, and I know that I won't ever have a more peculiar weakness. I wondered as we stood there, shoulder to shoulder, if you knew how much it killed me, just being so close. Then I looked down at your hands and I knew that I didn't have to wonder. The scars were the faded pinkish cream color, not unlike those on my knees and the one across my ribcage. I realized then that you had died a thousand times for me before you came to see me today. Overwhelmed by love and gratitude, I dropped my sponge and took your soapy hands into mine. I hugged you, because words weren't enough, and you knew what I wanted to say before I thought it. I love you.
Thoughts of you still linger, long past the hour the guys went home to their respective places, long past the teeth-brushing ritual and whatever else it is we women do before bed -- even until now. I will think of you tonight, next to me as I fall asleep, the mixed aroma of sawdust and myrrh tickling my nostrils as I fade into sweet oblivion.
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