IHOP and Sundays

Dear Dazzy,

Three months is like the blink of an eye to the universe, but to me it feels like eons have passed since you wrapped your protective arms around me in bed on a Sunday morning, called me your princess and said "Let's go to IHOP!"

Some people go to church every Sunday. We went to IHOP.
It is much the same kind of experience! Spirituality for us meant connecting through communication-and Big Breakfast Specials or Vive Le French Toasts, LOL, with lots of coffee.

We would go through three pots, yammering away about how much fun we had had Sat-Day night, our house projects, upcoming shows the kids were in, all sorts of the flotsam and jetsam flowing in the stream that was our life together. It was always like a date, and we even had our special booth that we would always request-up front, right before the windows began.
It was quieter there, and we could really listen to what the other person was saying.
We liked that.

That had to be one of the cornerstones of our marriage-listening. We took the time to listen to one another, even if we thought the other was being less than reasonable, LOL.

We talked heaps and heaps but it was never just to fill the time-it was always heartfelt and true.

How I miss those convos, babe. Although I sometimes have them with you now, it's just not the same without hearing you make a joke, cut me down to size, or just out and out laugh.

Sunday morning breaky at the IHOP made us make time to slow down and let us enjoy a meal and each other's company. It was but one small ritual that we carried on as hubby and wifey.

I haven't been there since you died. I am not sure if I will ever be able to go there again.
It's not like the food is the best in town, or the coffee rocks, or the prices can't be beat.
How could I ever walk into the place and not think of the times when all the little kids would stare at you( it was the accent I'm sure)? How about when you had to repeat yourself a few times for the waitress to understand you when you asked for more "serviettes" and I had to translate that to "napkins"? The best part was just having you hold my hand across the table while we waited for food and ALWAYS pouring my coffee. Always.

So this past Sunday morning, when I got an e-mail from Michael about your tribute page going up on his website , it felt like all the air was sucked out of the room and I had to fight for breath.

It's Sunday morning, I thought. I shouldn't be here on the computer by myself-

I should be at IHOP with Daz; we should be cursing the Republicans, going over our Home Depot list, and planning our retirement home decor. We should be slicing through eggs and french toast with no-sugar syrup and he should be pouring me a coffee.
We should be deciding when to go to Oz to see the family and telling each other how lucky we were to be leading the kind of lives we worked so hard for...

The rest of my Sunday was spent very low key. I know it's OK to have those kind of days this early on; so I just went with it and didn't do very much beyond walking the dogs and reading the paper.

And I go on.
For your memory, for the memory of us, for the memory of what love can truly be within the parameters of marriage. For the simplest of things, like pouring me a coffee and saying "I Love You" at the IHOP on a Sunday morning.

I love you heaps, Dazzy. Always.
Kisses, Wifey