�So sorry,� the gentleman replied quietly. I looked down at his hand. No ring. Curious, I asked �your wife?�
�No,� his pale eyes twinkled, �a good friend.�
I saw them sitting closely together, their chairs touching. Both were bent over with age, yet well groomed. He adjusted her wrap around her shoulders, then fed her a bite of salad. She seemed incoherent of her surroundings, yet his gentleness, his attention, spoke of a love that had lived a full life. He made sure to offer her sips of water between each bite. They are a sweet old couple, but it�s their closeness that caught my interest. The way he led her to their table, pulled his chair up to hers, fed her, cared for her. Each move was so gentle, so heart inspired. She wasn�t a burden to him, but his friend.
He cared for her as if she was the most precious thing he had ever come across. He didn�t begrudge her for her illness; his friendship remained true. He loved her, no matter that she couldn�t communicate it back. But maybe she could. Maybe there was a small light in her eyes that he alone could see. He could tell what she needed even though to me she seemed unaware of his efforts. Friendship: knowing what the other needs without prompting, support when others have given up on you, treating you as a treasure, not a burden. The giving of yourself for another. The giving with joy, with love, with feeling. To be such a friend; to feel that kind of love; what a truly blessed woman. What a truly fulfilled man.
Published in The Simple Pleasures of Friendship, 2004