I saw his hand on a loaf of bread
Will you indulge me this tender memory?
My husband was slicing a loaf of bread the other day. I watched him – his fingers so long and elegant, like a pianist’s. He held the bread, talking casually with me and our son, unaware of the feeling that was welling inside me.
Those are the hands that are holding mine in this life, I thought. Those large, strong hands are helping me out of cars and up from the floor and into the world. Those beautiful, powerful hands. I felt for a moment like I had never seen anything more attractive.
Then the other day we were at the play place at South Town Mall with the little boys. Aiden, our 2-year-old, kept trying to escape and run out into the mall. Aaron was standing in the large opening, gliding back and forth to block his exit. I saw Aaron in that moment the way another woman might, not the take-for-granted way I usually do. He looked so tall, so lean with his long legs loose in an old pair of jeans. If I had been someone else, not his wife, I might have had the thought, “Who is that handsome dad?” Then I caught myself. I AM the wife. That handsome dad is MY husband. I mouthed the words to him slowly so he could read my lips, “You – are – so – fine.”
I have had occasion in recent weeks to appreciate Aaron in a way I had forgotten to for some time. What a blessing. I vow not to forget so easily again.