I have a confession.

I love old people. I actually prefer them to people my own age…. in fact for years most of my friends were over 60, with most closer to 80. My ex finally started to tease me at a certain point.

E- Jen… you need to find some friends your own age, They are all going to start kicking the bucket at some point.

True story… at a certain point they all started to die, and the saddest part was when one of them left a spouse behind.

My favorite couple lived behind us when my son was a baby. They spoke a different language to each other that didn’t require words. He knew she was mad by the force with which she set things down. She knew he wanted to be alone with her by the look on his face. They were my first example of real love.

He never stopped opening her door, he never let her walk on anything that she could possibly slip on. He ordered her food in every restaurant… and he stood whenever she got up from the table. Good old fashioned make-you-wish-you-were-65 sort of manners… because men like that just don’t exist anymore…

Or so I thought… <grin>

He loved her with the kind of all encompassing adoration we all dream about- and she loved him twice as fiercely.

She never let him cut his own meat. She never let him wait for a thing- ever. If there wasn’t someone dedicated to providing for him, she got up and did it herself. She let him know, with every waking breath, that he was her everything, and that she would go to the ends of the earth every day, even after so many thousand spent together, to make him happy and keep him satisfied.

I threw a huge fit once, threw my husbands clothes out into the yard and locked him out. I was furious. He wasn’t doing anything worth being furious about- I was simply frustrated by the fact that we were trying to raise a baby at 19 & 21 and his friends were a bigger pull for the night than his lovely wife & baby… not that I was in any way, shape or form, lovely at that moment.

Millie knocked on my door first and I opened it with the white hot rage of a woman waiting to confront the man at the center of my rage. It was all I could do to ignore the trail of clothes that led past her, down the steps and into my flower garden. I was fucking mad, and not in a head space to hear anything much. She was carrying two cans of Sprite and a fifth of vodka… and smiling.

She asked if she could come in, and walked right to the kitchen & poured us both a drink.

M- Honey, are you getting ready for a yard sale?

J- Perhaps.

She raised her eyebrows, cocked her head to the side and laughed.

M- I used to be a spitfire like you. There was a time I did nearly the same thing, and that’s why I’m here. Come on- I’ll help you clean it up.

I must have looked like she slapped me because she laughed and told me to drink my “beverage”. I complied.

J- I’m just so frustrated. I want it to be so different. I want it to just be…. perfect. He doesn’t love me enough.

M- It’s never perfect. I could throw Virgil’s clothes out there with the rest, but that wouldn’t get me anywhere but doing more laundry. Being a wife teaches you how to be the best woman you can be. Teach him to love you.

J- I’m too busy nursing and throwing shit out into the yard. What am I doing wrong?

M- Sweet girl, if you please a man? You can have anything you ever wanted.

Best advice I’ve ever gotten- and it didn’t work out ultimately- because I ignored her advice.

Millie died unexpectedly the summer before my son turned 2.

Virgil came to my door with a heartsick look on his face, wringing his hands.

V- She’s gone.

Watching tears run down the cheeks of the proudest man I’ve ever known was the most heart wrenching thing I’ve ever seen.

J- She can’t be gone… she was too HERE when she was.

V- My coffee is bad. My clothes stink. I’ve stacked her clothes on her side of the bed so that it still smells like her and all I’m left with is empty shirts and pants when I reach for her. I can’t live without her.

And he didn’t.

He died a few months later, from his broken heart, I’m sure. I couldn’t even be sad when I found out.

His life was defined by love, and the unspoken bond of a lifetime spent treasuring that which mattered most. His time was over, his work was done… and his example will forever define what I want in my life.

The last time I saw him I took him a cup of coffee, cheap gas station nastiness because I knew that’s what her coffee reminded me most of. He took a drink and looked down, shaking his head.

V- My Millie loved you and I do too. You are going to be an amazing wife someday.

Best compliment I’ve ever had… hands down…. and he died a few weeks later.

Some people may take offense to such a statement… but it’s only recently that I’ve really understood what he meant. I was too young. Not ready to understand what being a wife meant. Not ready to give up on my childhood Disney-fueled fantasies telling me what it was supposed to be like.

Knowing now that real unabashed love was all I ever wanted… and finally armed with the tools to be the best woman I can be.

At the same time, finally armed with the knowledge of what it’s really like when you really get it right because I’m sort of lost & wandering around true love at the moment.

 

He called me Sugar-snack… which sounds better than anything I’ve ever heard before. Better than the best I-love-yous… better than the sweetest words.

Offhand and in passing, without any great thought… he stunned me to silence, yet again… with one silly sugar-sweet nickname…. because he makes me understand how treasured Millie felt.

Sugarsnack.

Go ahead- hate on me a little… lol… I’m so fucking lucky it’s annoying.