Never too Late for Love

This morning I could hear only one thing, the whirring of the cicadas signaling summer's departure. The evidence is all around; the appearance of those inseparable pals golden rod and ragweed; grasshoppers and crickets flitting about; and the sight of my lovely petunias grown leggy and tired. The nights and mornings are cooler providing much desired relief from the heat and the days have grown shorter, to my personal dismay. Autumn will soon be here offering its own gifts and treasures; its own rhythm.

This autumn will be a time for rediscovery; as if we're coming together for the first time - going back to the start. But it's familiar and somehow ancient, too, as though we have been together forever and will be together forever. Our marriage offers its own song and we continue to dance to its rhythm, those things that come between us and that bring us together. What attracts me most to my husband, his strength and determination, at times pushes me away. My vulnerability, the lack of confidence that has been my constant companion, needs it and appreciates it, yet sometimes it makes me bristle. But he is gentle, too, and caring.  When he cuddles our grandson and offers his broad shoulder for Isaac to lay his weary head, I remember how he was with our own children; how he loved them the way a man does with strength and sweetness, too. And how he still loves them and how he loves me, still. He has few words to express what lies in his heart. What resides there is more precious than gold and cannot be spoken adequately.  He does every now and again, but not often. Because he already said it and meant it, he expects me to know it. And I do, but I need to hear it more than he is willing to say it. And he needs to know, too, that he is loved beyond measure. I, too, am guilty of not speaking it often enough, but sometimes all it takes is a look, a touch of my hand on his, or a quiet walk together after a day proven long and difficult and then he knows. Then we both know.
 
As our children drift away from us, and our time spent parenting is waning - no more ferrying kids here or there, no more picking up after them - we draw together again with much less to distract us from one another; to cleave to one another as we promised from the start and we walk ahead confident in knowing we will carry one another along. It's never too late for love.

(c) 2010 Darby Fitzpatrick