03199_000_007As the circle of giving was established, the desire to give more became a habit in their marriage.
It had been an eventful six months since they celebrated their fiftieth wedding anniversary. Now he was gone. She tried to blink away the tears, but couldn’t hold back the brimming.
Her son asked tenderly, “What’s wrong, Mom?”
She answered, faltering, “How will I go to bed at night?”
“What do you mean?”
“He sang to me every night, ‘Have I Told You Lately That I Love You?’”
For years of marriage they had given each other a daily spoonful of love. It wasn’t always a song, but the message came daily: “I love you.”
Usually the expressions came easily, spontaneously. Sometimes they took effort and planning and hard work.
But for both of them, the giving was always more important than the receiving. And as the circle of giving was established, the desire to give more became a habit.
The spoonsful of love were sometimes a surprise:
—Flowers, a potted plant, even a dandelion for his lady, given with a kiss and a word—the right word
—Candy left by a phantom elf (One time he searched everywhere for her favorite peanut brittle; he finally found it six stores later.)
—Gifts, cards, notes, poems; letters of love, of appreciation, of happy memories shared
Sometimes the dose of love was any excuse for being together and expressing love:
—Walks to Church and rides in the car … to anywhere … together
—Shared goals, eternal goals
—Kind words, compliments
Sometimes the spoonful of love was a moment to remember the past:
—Falling in love, remember?
—The sound of that voice, that laughter, that smile
—His broad shoulders, his smile to one side—just so, his eyes that transparent blue
—Her hair so shiny soft, her smile that warmed his heart, her hand that fit so well in his
Sometimes it was a moment to share the present:
—Talking about feelings
—Discussing the good, warm, delicious reasons for loving each other
—Consideration, thoughtfulness, selflessness
When the babies came, their home was blessed with an even greater abundance of love—and an occasional spoonful of sorrow. They laughed with them. They cried with them. They worried for them and gave instruction. They blessed and gave good example.
They tried, over and over again, sharing all. And the daily spoonsful of love saved many a day.
There were learning times, times to overlook mistakes, times to say I’m sorry.
There were hard times, lean times, times to learn appreciation.
There were saddened days, darkened days.
A spoonful of love at a crucial time would soften hearts, ease the pain, brighten lives.
Several months after he died, she finally found the courage to go through his things, looking for the tape recorder. When she found it, she noticed there was a tape in it. She turned it on. She heard his voice.
For their fiftieth anniversary reception, the children had asked him for a little comment to include in the anniversary book they were compiling. He had apparently started this tape then and had forgotten about it. Now, months later, here was his voice, describing his love and his devotion for her.
There would be enough spoonsful of love in this tape to last while she was here alone. How typical of him to find a way to keep on giving even when he had gone!
Now, each night, she still can hear his sweet “I love you.” And she is content.