365 Days of Writing: Day 4

Dancing

George

I don't know why life has to zoom on by like a runaway train.
You blink, and suddenly you're seventy-five years old at your fiftieth wedding anniversary, dancing cheek to cheek with an angel.

She's still as beautiful now as she was when I married her, my Sarah.  She'll complain from time to time, about her wrinkles and gray hair.  She'll joke quietly about the effects gravity had on her breasts.  A tear will even roll down her cheek as she goes through old pictures of how life was before.

"Look how beautiful I was."

She always says it like she can't believe it.  As if she aged into a completely different person.

"You're still beautiful my love." 

Her response is always the same.  She'll snort and wave my comment away.  She's done that since I met her, even when she was, "young and beautiful."  She never believed me.  Couldn't take a compliment for what it was.

Her blue eyes reminded me of the sky on a clear, sunny day.  So, when I went off to war, I never felt far away from her.  I'd keep my eyes to the sky and imagine she was there.  She's the only thing that got me through.  The only thing that pushed me forward. 

Her eyes still sparkle, and I can still get lost in them, even now. 

How did I get so lucky?

Sure we've had some hard times.  All marriages do I suppose, but we always made it through.  She stood by me even when I didn't deserve her.

How would I ever repay her for that?


Sarah

I always felt safe in his arms.  I drew strength from him, more than he realized.  He's like a great big bear, my George.

I can't believe we've been married for fifty years.  I can't believe that we made it.  I can't believe that he stood by me. I know how hard I am to live with. 

I made his life difficult.  I nagged him and fought with him about silly things that don't matter now.   I suffocated him because I never wanted to be without him.

When he was overseas, I couldn't function.  I felt lost without him. I prayed every moment of the day that he'd come back to me.  I cried constantly.  I never told him, though.  I always tried to make it seem that everything back home was ok.  I didn't want him to worry, not with everything that he had to face. 

We had a lot of ups and down the first few years after he came home.  I wish that I had more patience.  I wish that he would have opened up to me about everything instead of shutting me out.  But I guess, some things can't be understood unless you've experienced them for yourself.
It took me a long time to accept that I couldn't always help. 

I pushed him too hard, out of love, nothing else.  Thankfully, he understood and put up with it.

How would I ever repay him for that?