My wife and I went to our lawyer’s office to sign amendments to our will.
We also went to sign agreements to be each other’s agent in case of incapacitation.
As Cheri picked up the pen, it became evident she was not going to be able to sign the second document.
She put her hands up to her face and began to cry. “I did not know we were going to do this today,“ she said.
There were four of us sitting around a table. Our lawyer, his secretary/notary, Cheri and myself.
Other than Cheri’s voice, the moment had dropped to a complete silence.
My wife has always been open with her feelings about death. She does not want to die.
No one around the table attempted to intervene and give comforting words. The secretary handed Cheri a box of tissues.
My wife then said, “We have been together fifty five years. I don’t want him to ever die. I love him.”
I was caught off guard by her words. To be loved by another human being like that was a moment I had never experienced before. For the first time in my life I thought there is nothing more important than to be loved and to be alive.
My wife takes the present seriously. She hopes for a glorious afterlife. But, she does not give it the weight of life in the here and now. Especially when it comes to feelings of love, she is deceptively powerful.
Finally, she slowly picks up the pen and signs her name as perfectly as if it were a piece of beautiful calligraphy. I then take the pen and sign my name. I tried to do it as perfectly as she did, but my hand slips and the finished product looks every bit what it is -the signature of a man who is growing older.