Romance is a funny thing. The other day it really hit me that not everyone sees the complexity behind the action as what makes romance. A friend insinuated that my J isn’t very romantic, and well, I’m biased but I beg to differ. When she pressed about how often he brought me flowers or took me out for romantic dinners, I just stared and wondered “what the hell does this woman think romance is? Does she just not get it?”
My definition of tear-jerking romance? J makes me coffee. Every morning. And if we have no coffee, 9 times out of 10 he goes out and fetches some from anywhere that has good coffee. He wakes me up by saying “Coffee’s ready!” and then, voila! There it is, brewed fresh and smelling of heaven. Sometimes he even preps it in my favorite cup as I’m stumbling out of bed. Most people would think “yes, that J sure is nice, but really – coffee? Romantic? Hardly.”
The romance is aside from the fact that I’m the worst type of human in the morning – I can admit that I drool and grunt for at least the first 1/2 hour of my waking day. I’m secure in my non-morning-selfness to tell you all that, if you see me just as I’m waking, just… evade. It’s better for all of us.
As I was saying, J’s made coffee every morning, and done so pretty much from day one of our relationship. I just thought he was just very kind to the “morning-challenged”, until several Septembers ago when J’s grandfather was very sick. Dying sick. Morphine induced eye-spots type of sick. He wasn’t in too much pain for most of his time in the hospital, and was then moved to a hospice to be “made comfortable” before he passed away on Thanksgiving. J’s Grampa was a really fantastic man with a laugh and a smile for everyone and it’s mostly sad on my part that I didn’t know him longer, but the world was a better place for him having been in it. The most touching part of that time visiting him and the family as his health faltered other than sharing the essence of him, was just one line that brought my husband’s heart and soul into perfect focus for me. Before moving to the hospice, Grampa was talking to his daughter, grabbed her hand and gave her a winning smile (a very common facial motion for this man), and said with joy “Cecilia’s been waiting a long time for a good cup of coffee”.
Cecilia was his wife, and she’d died 7 years previously. During every day of their momentous marriage, J’s grampa had made his wife coffee, and he was looking forward to finally getting her freshly brewed morning coffee. He thought she’d been patient enough with him, and it was time to get her that cup.
His grandson had been carrying on that tradition, and does so to this day. Now THAT is romance.