I don’t blog as much anymore, so most of what I do write ends up posted on the Hope for Widows website because long ago, I promised them I’d write two a month. For the past few days, I’ve been a bit depressed and unsure why. I should have guessed – another day was approaching that used to be fun for us. We never had huge parties, but since we were first married, Rick always made some special snacks and we either watched the Superbowl alone together, as when we lived in Maryland, or invited over his son George and/or my friend Wally.
So sitting in my office on Sunday morning, it seemed strangely silent. I decided to write and here’s what I realized…
Superbowl Sunday Morning
I want this to be a normal Superbowl Sunday again
I want you to hear you puttering around in the kitchen
The chop, chop, chop of onions being minced
The clang of the pans as you remove one from the pile in the disorganized cupboard
Stirring and
food processor whirring and
sausage sizzling in a pan
You busy doing what you love the most
I want to listen once again to those sounds of you,
the living, breathing man I loved,
as I write here in my office
My quiet, quiet office in this quiet, quiet house
I want you to yell across the house to me when you can’t find the
tomato sauce or
the little can of mushrooms
And hear you plunking down the basement stairs to look in the larder for a spare
