A Token of His Love

 

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When the night is long
and sleep eludes me
I think of you
until the solace
of slumber
transforms thought
into dream.

I drift within illusion
until I know you’re
by my side,
and I wake
to drink you in.

Your warmth enlivens me,
your taste lingers sweet
upon my lips,
awakening my senses,
stirring my soul,
leaving me longing
for more,
and always,
always, I rise
to pour myself
another cup . . .

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My husband loves me. I know this because he brings me coffee every morning. Over the years, I have come to equate this sweet gesture with love. It may simply be nothing more than a desire to keep me from going into caffeine withdrawals, which he would then have to deal with he comes home after a hard days work, but I prefer to think of it as a sign of his undying love and affection for me.

There was this one day though . . .

I awoke to an empty nightstand. No hot cup of coffee awaiting me. I didn’t remember him waking me to say goodbye, have a good day, or getting my morning kiss. I kind of started to panic.

I figured he’d passed away in the kitchen.

I know, morbid, but I was really tired and hadn’t had any coffee yet, so I wasn’t thinking clearly. I knew I had to get up and go check his pulse and stuff before the kids got out of bed, but I was in mourning and having a hard time extracting myself from the cocoon of covers I was snuggled up in. I was thinking about who to call first and what I would wear to the funeral. It was a really awful way to begin a new day.

I pulled myself together as much as I could and tiptoed down the hallway to peek into the kitchen, his body wasn’t there. He must have breathed his last breathΒ in the garage, or maybe even in the driveway. I checked. He was nowhere to be found. Obviously, he must have been kidnapped as he was pulling the motorcycle out of the garage.

I went back into the empty kitchen and put on a pot of coffee while I tried to remember the number for 911, but then my phone dinged. It was a text. I wondered if the police texted people these days, maybe they found him already and were letting me know.

I readied myself for whatever news awaited me and swiped the screen. The message was from him, or maybe his kidnappers, there was no way to know until I read it.

‘Just got to work – late. Was in a rush this morning. I love you. Make you some coffee when I get home.’

You know what? I was pissed. Then I was relieved. Then I was pissed. How could he put me through all that turmoil? I was prepared to go identify his body! After a couple cups of coffee I realized how silly I was being and I was actually pretty jazzed about getting a bonus cup of coffee when he got home.

That was the last time we stayed up late binging on Netflix.

13 thoughts on “A Token of His Love

    • And I do so hate change 😜 I *may* have overreacted just a smidge, he was a little mortified when I admitted to him recently how many times I’d thought of what to wear to one of his funerals. I think he’s a wee bit frightened of me now πŸ’€πŸ˜‡

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    • I’m glad you laughed, I laughed remembering and writing it 😜 If I didn’t laugh at some of my ‘me-ness’, I would surely lose whatever remains of my sanity! I am just happy it could make someone else laugh too . . . and thank you!

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  1. Oh, you had me laughing. You sound so like me. My husband has coffee with me every morning. It was a tradition in his own home. His mother made coffee for his father every single morning. I did not drink my coffee until my husband came along. Now I absolutely love it and feel like I am missing something without it. Funny thing is – our daughter makes us coffee in the mornings. We curl up on the couch together and talk until we are done and then we take on our day.

    I absolutely love your poetry. It is more than beautiful. Thank you so much for sharing.

    Liked by 1 person

    • My husband introduced me to coffee as well, now he says he created a monster! It’s sweet your daughter makes the two of you coffee, I love that πŸ’• Thank you for the comment and the sweet compliment 😊

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      • So funny to think she is our “barista,” but she knew the key to her father’s heart was coffee. I tried to use the machine, but failed πŸ™‚ I grew up drinking drip coffee.

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    • We laugh about it πŸ˜‚ I have had more than one hysterical anxiety attack about something happening o him, almost always kind of giggle worthy after-the-fact, I’ve silently planned his funeral several times. Having an anxiety disorder sucks, but when I can look back and find even a small bit of humor or a lesson learned in them, it helps. In my case, medication works nicely as well πŸ‘€ Silliness aside though, it really is the sweetest thing. I never asked him to do it, he just always has ❀️

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  2. In the ancient times before texting, I hope if I had been in such a habit I would have had the presence of mind to leave a note on the nightstand about being in a rush and running late. It is strange, though the muzzy headed imaginings that can come before coffee.

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