I look at this man. He is seated next to his wife, among his children, his family and closest friends. His wife is talking with some women. I'm not sure what about, although I'm sitting right next to her. I'm too busy looking at this man. He is quiet and very frail. He's chewing very slowly and looking at his wife. He's withdrawn... dreamy.
Fifty years. Fifty years of love. Of happiness. Fifty years with this wonderful woman. A woman like no other. The mother of my beloved children. Fifty years... to have and to hold, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish... Through the good times and the bad, we stuck by each other. With respect and understanding, our love grew. In this love, we raised our children. I adore this woman and my admiration for her increases each and every day.
These are the words his eyes spoke. Slowly his eyes meet mine. I feel shy, like I've been 'caught'. Everyone is enjoying their food, laughing and drinking and I seem almost mesmerised by him. I smile timidly and look down at my food. I continue eating. Whilst eating, I continue to take note of this man. Slowly and weakly, with the aid of his daughter, he lifts up his hand and places the next spoonful in his mouth. Each spoonful is such an effort.
This man's son get's up from the table and increases the volume of the music that is playing. It's a song that his father loves. A song by an artist of his father's generation, an artist his father grew up listening and passionately dancing to.
This man's wife gets up from the table and begins to dance. She is not a good dancer, never has been, but she is so happy, that doesn't matter. She is shaking her hips and waving her hands. Soon, everyone is up from the table, dancing and revelling in the warm, family atmosphere. I remain at the table as does the man.
Shortly, his daughter comes and sits next to him. She lovingly holds his hand, so as to console him. He cannot get up so easily, let alone dance like he could fifty years ago. She looks at him but he does not meet his eyes with hers. He cannot. He is just looking at his wife. A tear forms in his eyes.
"Your mum is an amazing person."
His two sons approach him, and one on each of his sides, they lift him. He tries to move his feet but he can only manage to slightly sway his hands. Nevertheless, he tries. He wants to dance so desperately, just like he used to be able to.
Where's the man no one could get off the dance-floor. The man who partied until the early hours of the morning.
He feels useless. My vision blurs slightly. I try to avoid eye-contact with anyone. His daughter seems to notice though. She looks at me, tears streaming down her face.
"My dad is such an amazing person."
Useless? Far from it.
.
Love.
It's just so special.
