The bathroom light cuts into the dark room across our bed and right into my eyes. I turn beneath the covers and curl into a ball, face averted from the light. The water in the bathroom sink runs. The toilet flushes. The light in the closet flicks on and I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping for a few more minutes of sleep.
My husband soon nudges me with his hand and he kisses me, then walks into the other room. I hear the clink of a spoon against a mug, the opening and closing of the refrigerator, then Fox News comes on the television. I roll out of bed and look at the time.
This is the way it’s been for the past nearly ten years. I rise in the morning to have coffee with my husband. I watch the seasons outside my picture window from the light blue-gray in the east of late summer to the blackness of winter’s late rising. The quiet moments we share over coffee before he leaves for work are precious to me. Moments like those have been precious to me since 9/11 when the airplanes rammed into the towers. There were people who didn’t have coffee with their spouses that morning who perhaps didn’t kiss their spouses goodbye. So when I married I wanted to make sure my husband knew he was loved every morning. The words are every bit as important as the action.
Sometimes, we talk and other times we stare across the tops of our mugs in a sleepy, catatonic state, waiting for the caffeine to jump start our senses. Then, we hug and kiss, the dog jumps on us, whines and barks, and after the screen door is closed, my hand presses against the screen where his hand rests before he goes to work. A reluctant goodbye, a shared touch. When I turn back towards the living room, it is empty, but not forlorn.
I live in a house of love and laughter.
Describe your perfect morning with your spouse.