A few weeks ago my daughter and her boyfriend took me out for lunch. It was a place I'd heard of for years but never been to, the Tavern Grille in old town Cottonwood. I'm including the link because I enjoyed it a lot. It's a nice place, with friendly staff, and really good food.
Paula (my daughter) had taken me grocery shopping in town, and we met John (her boyfriend) afterwards at the restaurant. Once we were inside John sat at our table facing the entrance, which I normally prefer myself but I didn't let it bother me. Paula sat on my right, next to the wall. Which meant that I had an unobstructed view of everything nearby. Including the couple who soon sat at the table across from us.
They appeared to be older than me, maybe in their eighties. Perfectly ordinary, quietly talking while focused on their food and each other. Both of them seemed to have what I can only describe as an aura of peaceful contentment. They smiled occasionally, touched hands and shoulders briefly, and mostly just enjoyed their food and each other's company.
I focused on my chicken taco salad and conversation with two young people who I love and enjoy spending time with. (the chicken taco salad was very good btw). Even so, I snuck glances at the older couple sitting nearby. They just seemed so happy. So pleased to be there with each other, eating lunch on a Monday afternoon in early February.
We never spoke and I have no idea who they were or what their relationship to each other was. For all I know they might have been brother and sister, cousins, old friends. The matching plain gold rings made me think they were married.
My imagination took over.
In my made-up version of their story, it was their 52nd wedding anniversary; their kids and grandkids had thrown a big party for them two years earlier, and this year was just for them. They'd been through so much together over the years, emotional upheavals and health crises, financial struggles, the loss of loved ones and friends that is inevitable if you live long enough.
Through it all they'd managed to not only stay together, but to remain each other's friend. Each other's beloved.
It was kind of like seeing a picture of a beautiful place you've always wanted to travel to, but never could for whatever reason.
I had to stop fantasizing. I was close to weeping, and didn't want to spoil my own nice time with people I love. I didn't want to have to either lie to them about why my eyes were leaking, or worse yet, tell them the truth.
The truth being, I've never had love like that. Peaceful, friendly, rooted in mutual respect and liking. The kind that can endure a lifetime through good and bad, through stress and boredom, pain and joy. I'd thought that I'd found it, a couple of times. I was wrong. I've never had that and likely never will. I no longer want to try to find it, try to build it. My peace was too hard won. I'll not risk losing it again.
February 28 would have been my 29th wedding anniversary. My still legally married husband is going back to prison; I am thankful and relieved. When/if I can save up the money to get a divorce, I'll know where to send the papers. In the meantime, the harassment I've been getting for almost a year is over.
Here's another truth, though- while I've never had love like that, it makes me happy to know that other people have. The only example of that kind of love that I've seen up close in real life was between my paternal grandparents. It comforts me to know that it really does exist. It gives me hope for my children, that they might also be so fortunate.
I still don't fully understand what I was feeling that day. It was something like grief, but also the profoundly moving experience of witnessing something very precious. But how do you grieve the loss of what you never had in the first place? How can a story made up in my own head bring me comfort? I don't know. Maybe I never will.
Not everybody will find "the one". Not every love endures.
But it has been known to happen.
Thank you for reading. This is an open thread.
