I watched an old couple hobble slowly through the café where I worked today. There wasn’t anything particularly notable about them. They were just an old couple, like so many old couples I see when I’m out and about.

But then he gave her his hand. Neither of them needed it. They hobbled. They were slow. But they were balanced. Her hand in his was not a substitute for a cane, a crutch or a walker.

He gave her his hand in love. They must have been in their very late seventies.

Jason and I still hold hands. Though it feels like we’ve known each other forever, like there never was a life before our life together, the fact is we have only been married one year and eleven months, give or take a few days. It’s normal that we would still hold hands on our way into the auto shop to get tires rotated. It’s natural that we would make out in the salsa-and-marinara aisle at the grocery store. It’s expected that we stop what we’re doing to dance in the kitchen. We’re newlyweds.

But in all this newly wedded bliss, I have often wondered, with some fear and sadness, what might happen when years and kids, sickness and circumstances take their toll on our bodies, our minds, our souls. Will we still hold hands, I have asked.

And this precious, wrinkled pair gave me the answer I think I have always known. An answer that spoke far louder than doubts and naysayers.

And he will still get the door for me, too, I thought, smiling as the old man opened the passenger door for his white-haired bride.

Tags: love, marriage, romance  |  Posted under just a word...  |    3 Comments