September 16, 2016 - "Two shall now become one"

          There is a loving choreography that develops as the sands of time advances on couples; a slow dance where they are in unison. They actually become the “two shall now become one” as mentioned in their wedding vows many decades earlier.

          I didn’t get to travel home to visit my parents very often over the years due to our demanding jobs and our travel distance from home.  But, once my parents retired I visited alone more often and those occasions usually surrounded the milestones of their marriage for their 45^th, 50^th, or the 60^th wedding anniversaries.

          One year I had two visits. My first trip home was to visit and then take a Windjammer cruise off the coast of Maine.  The second trip home was as the result of a private request from my Dad who told me that Mom had announced she was giving their 60^th anniversary party that fall. 

My trips home that year brought to light this beautiful choreography that only couples married for decades develop in their day-to-day living.  You have to be present in the quiet moments of their aging lives to catch a glimpse of it.

Behind the scenes my tiny Mom has always been the majordomo of the household. Dad looks like he is always in control, but he acquiesces to most all of her wishes.  Dad stated, “She’s got it into her head to throw a 60^th anniversary party and I don’t think she can do it alone; can you come and help her out?”   With a request like that – how could I not?  It would be delightful working alongside my Mom, the party-planner extraordinaire.

I usually wake at 6:00 a.m. whether I am on vacation or working. I don’t always get out of bed unless I have a schedule to meet.  I was at Mom and Dad’s in New England and was sleeping in the same room I slept in as a child.   The window was cracked open for fresh air and I lay there listening to the birds waking up and announcing a beautiful day.

I could hear my Dad get up and shuffle up the hall out into the living room then on to the kitchen.   I heard the water running as he made coffee and a few moments later the back screen door flapped shut as he went out to the driveway to get the morning paper. A short time later, I caught a whiff of toast and knew by then the coffee was ready.

I got up quietly and walked barefoot through the cool house.  When Dad saw me he silently nodded.  I got my coffee and sat down at the breakfast table. He announced, “Mother’s in bed, she’ll stay there a while; she sleeps in longer now.”

He was busy buttering his toast ever so slightly and then dabbing a half teaspoon of sugar free jam on each piece in accordance with his “doctor’s orders.”  Then I watched his large hands spoon out two small bowls of fruit cocktail with a light tremor.  He placed one at his place and one at Mom’s.  He looked at me questioning.  “No Dad, I’ll have coffee first, then make myself something.”

         

          It was quiet; I could hear the kitchen clock on the wall behind me.  He went to the refrigerator and took out a ½ gallon of orange juice and filled a juice glass and set it out at Mom’s place.  I noticed none for him; I questioned him with my eyes. He answered, “I have to be sure I pour it, doctor says she has to have her orange juice.”   I thought, how frail Mom was, she’d not be able to easily pour it by herself as a ½ gallon was much too heavy for her now after her heart surgery.

          Dad ate his breakfast in silence then turned his attention to the newspaper.  When the local school bus lumbered past he shot a quick glance at the clock.  I thought, checking to see if they on schedule.  Once done with his paper, he folded it back neatly and set it to the left of Mom’s placemat and he busied himself with washing out his breakfast dishes and put them in the dishwasher.

          He poured coffee in a small cup and set it at Mom’s place and then poured himself another cup of coffee.  He tore open a packet of Sweet and Low and sprinkled in only a half packet and then added just a touch of skim milk.  He took his spoon and stirred it vigorously.  The spoon hitting the inside of the coffee cup . . . ding, ding, ding, ding.  It rang like a bell. He continued to stir it vigorously and louder, like an irritating alarm clock that wouldn’t quit until you got up to stop it.   He had gotten my attention and I looked at him curiously.

          He smiled softly and said, “This gets her up.”

          Moments later I heard Mom coming up the hall and she appeared in the kitchen.  Mom busied herself with making her usual small bowl of shredded wheat and then sat down and opened her pill box and set out her assortment in a neat row on the placemat checking them twice.  Dad lingered with his coffee until she drank her orange juice with a grimace.

          He left for his morning stroll around the yard to see what would need his attention that day.

          Mom ate breakfast, slipped on her reading glasses and started on her paper.  As always, her first thing was the comics.

          “Are you going to make yourself something to eat?”  She looked over the paper at me. 

          “I am not hungry yet.”  I answered.  I was still amused by Dad’s coffee cup stirring, ding, ding, ding . . . makeshift alarm clock.

During my visits, I watched this same morning stage play duplicated for the next few days without a change.  It was a routine carved deep into their lies, whether their daughter was visiting or not.

          This type of choreography is slowly built over decades of togetherness.

One starts the laundry, the other puts it into the dryer, then once dry, one delivers it to the couch and the other folds it all and puts it away.

One pulls the full trash bag from the waste basket and ties it and carries it off, the other puts a new trash bag in to line the basket.

One empties a container of milk and puts it in the recycle bin; the other notices the empty and adds “milk” to the running shopping list posted by the back door.

One points out a coupon, the other cuts it out and puts it with the others waiting to be used.

          Most of these “one does” then “the other does” are done automatically in silence or with just a look or a nod.  It is the silent loving movements of life-long couples rowing their boat quietly and efficiency as they journey through life’s physical changes and ups and downs.

          When I got home, I poured my first cup of coffee purposely in a china cup to test Dad’s alarm clock coffee.  Swirling the liquid with the spoon I found just the right rhythm of the spoon against the inside of the cup, ding, ding, ding, ding. . . It rang loud, strong, true, and clear.  My husband’s head shot up from the morning paper.  I explained Dad’s alarm clock coffee cup and he got a chuckle out of it.

         

          I noticed for the first time that my husband and I had our own choreography – our own slow dance of being together for years. We had our own way of assisting each other in the everyday things.

It had been there, probably all along, growing through the years.  I simply had not noticed it before.  It was more pronounced now that my husband was retired and I was trying to slow down my career.

Even when I was at the grocery store I noticed an elderly couple out shopping.  The frail wife with the eye glasses looked carefully at different labels on the 1/2 gallons of milk.   She put her hand on the one she wanted and her husband being stronger lifted it into the grocery cart.  She crossed off the list and mentioned the next item to him.   [Déjà vu: Much like I witnessed my parents do the week before.]

       

          When I have a day off, I too like to snuggle in.  However, the next Saturday as I am still snuggling in I suddenly hear the incessant ding, ding, ding, ding . . .  coming from the kitchen – the coffee cup alarm clock.

          I never should have told him.