“Maybe ‘face to face’doesn’t have to mean literally ‘face to face’. Maybe it could mean...,” the glimmer of a revelation in my mind dimmed a little as I tried to put my thoughts into words.
“Kindred spirit to kindred spirit,” my daughter finished. We were driving home from the grocery store and talking about methods of communicating.
“Yes!” I happily agreed. “I am so blessed to have you for a daughter, you always seem to be able to finish my sentences.”
“We think alike,” she smiled.
I thought about pleasant conversations I’d had with her, then sighed in frustration as I thought about my husband. “You know when I was young, I envisioned myself spending hours smiling across a table, holding hands and having long, meaningful conversations with the man of my dreams.”
We both laughed.
“When I talk to your dad I’m usually talking to the back of his head while he’s watching a Nascar race or football. I don’t even think he hears me most of the time.”
“That’s not really true, Mom, he asks you to repeat things.”
“Yes, yes - I’ve heard him say ‘I’m sorry’ more times than I can count.”
“You say something, he doesn’t hear you, he says - ” she waits for me to finish for her.
“I’m sorry?” I fill in.
“He says ‘I’m sorry’. He’s sorry to make you repeat yourself. He wants to know what you say.”
“Yes, he does, doesn’t he?” I can’t suppress a small smile.
We’re quiet for a short time and then she asks, “Remember when you two were remodeling the kitchen?”
“Yes,” I answer. “I asked him to put a drawer or storage area under the dishwasher like I saw in a home improvement brochure.”
“You wouldn’t have to bend down so far to load and unload - it would be easier on your back.”
“Exactly. And he said it would be an awful lot of figuring - a lot of extra work. I consoled myself by remembering that many women don’t even have dishwashers.”
“Then, a couple of weeks later...” she prodded.
“I came home from work and he was working over near the now-raised-above-counter-level dishwasher and asking me what I wanted to keep in my new kitchen drawer.”
We smile and are quiet again. Then softly she asks, “Mom, do you think that he used to envision the woman of his dreams spending hours jumping up and down cheering for his favorite team with him?”
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