Mount Pleasant, Rising Park, Lancaster, Ohio
As soon as I stepped into the house, I recognized it. It had been some time, but the faces and voices were familiar, the patter slow and relaxed.
The thin, frail man struggled to take his seat at the table. His wife held him by the arm with every drop of her attention focused on his well-being, whispering instructions and reassuring comments. When he settled, he looked me dead in the eye. And without a word, he said, “And you’re attending my intimate struggles?”
“I’m watching the love. Look how much she loves you.”
Again without a word, he said, “Yes, I know, isn’t it wonderful,” and his lips turned up to match the sparkle in his eyes. His gracious acceptance of the situation seemed effortless as if it was foreseen in a dream when he was a child, fated in a way that left no desire for anything more.