There’s an elderly couple who I see in the park when I walk my dog.
They walk together hand-in-hand for hours. The man has binoculars and a small notepad. He is a birdwatcher. He is chipper. He’s always smiling and walks with a bounce in his step.
His wife appears to be older than him, or at least in worse health. She shuffles when she walks. Her back is bent. Her head faces the ground and her face droops. Up close she’s got a sweet smile despite her obvious mobility issues. (stroke?)
But they walk. Nearly every day of the year regardless of the weather. They hold hands. They watch the birds. They sit on the bench. They talk quietly.
He helps her into the car and guides her past bumps in the path never seeming to get frustrated or tired.
She accompanies him – whether it is 95 degrees or 25 degrees outside.
I have never seen them apart.
That was the future I imagined for Ellen and me. We’d grow old together and spend our twilight years holding hands, walking in the park and caring for each other.
I never thought she’d die and leave me when I was 50.
When I see the birdwatchers, it makes me wistful for a future we never got to have.