The other morning we went to a favorite spot, Our Daily Bread, for coffee and pastries. While I waited for Peter to finish drooling over the cases of beautiful cakes and cookies, I watched a man about my husband’s age wandering alone near the cashier’s line. He kept his eyes on a woman at a table across from ours, and finally he made his way towards her.
After we finished Peter said, “I could eat another one, couldn’t you?” I ignored him, as I always do, and he laughed, as he always does.
We exited near the table where the man I’d noticed earlier sat quietly. The woman, obviously his wife, stood behind him, arms extended over his shoulders, slicing a croissant into manageable bites. She never stopped chatting with her friend, and he never seemed to notice he was being helped. She was doing for him what she’d probably done for their children when they were toddlers.
I thought, how lucky we are that Peter is still able to help himself, most of the time, so far.