Letting Go

I gently grasped Sylvia’s tiny hand and watched as her eyelids flickered open. Those beautiful blues always make my heart flutter. I smiled and said, “Do you remember the first day we met?”

She gave a half nod. She closed her eyes again and dropped her head back onto the pillow. She exhaled deeply, reflecting. Sylvia was so tired these days.

I continued the story of our first meeting, which we liked to recount on important occasions. “We met at the liquor department of Fry’s grocery store. I had a date with a hot redhead, and you had a date with Butthead, I mean Bateman. Ryan Bateman.”

Sylvia’s mouth crinkled into a wry smile. She never liked the butthead comment, but she usually laughed anyway.

“We both reached for the last bottle of Merlot. How could the store possibly run out of Merlot on a Friday night? You said I could have it, but when I glanced into your ocean baby blues, I knew I would give you anything I could. I let go of the bottle and found a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon as a replacement.”

As I thought back, I squeezed her hand and said, “I knew my date with the redhead wasn’t going to work out, because I was already hooked on you.” I paused to look at my beautiful wife.

“The second time we met was the same store a week later. You asked me how my date went. I said, ‘It didn’t.’ I asked you, ‘How was yours?’

You said, ‘About the same.’ I suggested that we should have shared the bottle of Merlot. You held up a fresh bottle and asked, ‘Do you believe in second chances?’

Of course, I asked, ‘Your place or mine?’”

I chuckled. We were both college students at the time. “I lived in a dorm. You lived with your parents. You said you wouldn’t go to a stranger’s house on a first date. I respected you for that. I said, ‘Let’s have lunch in the park by the pond tomorrow at noon. I’ll bring the food. You bring the wine.’ I was holding my breath, wanting you to say ‘Yes.’ When you did, my heart was beating out of my chest.”

I sighed, briefly closing my eyes, remembering how she looked when we met by the pond. She was wearing a white sundress with her blond hair around her shoulders. I told her, “Sylvia, you look every bit as stunning as you did on that first date.” She shook her head. She rarely acknowledged her beauty.

“I was so nervous. When I admitted I had to buy a picnic basket since I didn’t have one, you said, ‘I know,’ and pulled the tag off it. I was so embarrassed, but your melodic laughter was music to my ears. We spent the whole afternoon together, talking, laughing, sipping glasses of Merlot, and singing. It was the perfect first date. I knew right then that I wanted to marry you.”

She grinned genuinely, her crow’s feet displaying the frequency with which smiles lit up her eyes.

My head lowered in shame. “I’m sorry I couldn’t give you children. I know you had a difficult time letting go of that idea.” It was her turn to pat my hand. I smiled and looked at her fondly. “We did have fun trying though, didn’t we?”

I sat down on the bed and nudged my body against her. “Instead, you immersed yourself in your volunteer work with the daycare. You have impacted more children than we could have ever had. I’m proud of you for that.”

I caressed Sylvia’s wrinkled skin with my right hand and stroked her silver hair with my left.

I hardly choked out my next words. “I’m not sure if I’m ready to let go of you, but I don’t want you to be in pain anymore, my love. We have had a wonderful life together. Please rest. I know that we will meet again. We were destined to find each other. I love you, Sylvia.” I lean over and kissed her gently on the forehead.

She gave my hand one last weak squeeze, and then she went limp. Machines started beeping. The heart monitor that just moments ago had shown a weak but steady heartrate flatlined. The on-call nurse ran in. I continued to hold Sylvia’s hand as tears streamed down my face. I stayed for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, I let go.