The language of hot beverages
Saturday I have plans to have coffee with a woman who recruited me to potentially create an acoustic trio with another guy. I have always wanted to be in a band, but it hasn’t worked out thus far, so I’m kind of excited about the possibility.
Whenever I have good news, especially of the musical kind, of course I have to share it with my sweetheart, who was also my guitar guru, and I was journaling last night to A about it. I know he’d be excited for me, and maybe he is, in fact. When I was giving E the scoop yesterday when we left for lunch, a hummingbird that usually perches on the electric lines high above the wash that runs past the parking lot was instead in the tree right next to the car, and I commented to E that he was listening in on the good news, too.
I told A that while we had a date for "coffee," of course it would be hot cocoa for me because I don’t do coffee. And then suddenly I had a moment, a memory that I’d forgotten I’d forgotten.
A had a cup of coffee every night before he went to bed. One cup, no more, and it never kept him awake. He was usually asleep within a minute of his head hitting the pillow, the lucky bastard. We would be talking and I’d ask him if he’d made coffee, because he’d forget sometimes and then be caffeine-short the next day. More often, he’d made it but forgot to pour it. I didn’t mind reminding him; I enjoyed the intimacy of knowing his routines and being a part of them.
He knew I didn’t drink coffee, though, and he always made sure that he had hot cocoa mix in the apartment for me. And he would even make it for me, using two packets of cocoa per cup for extra chocolate goodness. That was his own plan; I had never been so extravagant to use two in any cup of cocoa I’d ever made.
And as I relished the memory (albeit with a touch of melancholy), I pondered how often we fail to fully recognize love. I had totally forgotten about the cocoa until that moment; it certainly hadn’t fixed itself in my memory as a demonstration of love on his part, but now I can see clearly that that’s exactly what it was.
More than once in this journey, I have been able to see seemingly mundane memories with entirely different eyes, and understand that he loved me more than I (and my insecurities) had ever been willing to allow myself to believe. And when you’ve lost your beloved, that is a gift beyond measure. When everything else has turned to ash in the fire of grief, if you open your eyes, eventually you can see that love remains.
I watched this video today, and there was a lot of good stuff in it, but one bit that really stuck with me was a piece of advice the speaker offered to women who love men. A mentor of his, a woman, had told him, having taking many years to figure it out herself. He said, "Ignore everything men say and only pay attention to what they do." As soon as I heard it, I recognized it as a bit of brilliant advice and true wisdom, one I can apply backwards and going forward as well.
It always saddened me, when he was here and especially after he’d gone, that he didn’t spontaneously tell me he loved me more. But if I ignore everything he said (or didn’t say) and pay attention to what he did, I can see that he DID "tell" me, every day. Hot cocoa speaks volumes.