I Never Wanted to be Away From Her

“Is that it?” Brandon asked Timothy, his seventy-five-year-old dad.

“Yes,” Timothy said with a sigh of rememberance. The two men stopped and looked at a wooden bench with a metal frame, resting on a blanket of leaves. “That is where your mom sat as I proposed to her on her birthday. I come here every few weeks, but I make it a point to come here on her birthday.”

Father and son walked to the bench, to be, in a sense, close to the deceased wife and mother. “Did I ever tell you how we met?”

“Probably, but I wouldn’t mind hearing it again,” Brandon said as the wind blew and the trees shed some leaves.

“Your mom and I went to high school together and began courting in 1941. Then, on December 7, 1941, the Japanese invited America to join the war. When I went to see her that Sunday afternoon, she knew what I had come to say. She cried as I told her that I loved her, and that we’d be together when I got back. Before I reported for training the next day, her father gave me permission to write her while I was gone. I fought in the South Pacific from 1942-1945. That was the longest three years of my life. The only thing that got me through was her letters.

“It was 1945. I had only been back from Iwo Jima a few weeks. On your mother’s birthday, I knocked on her door with flowers in one hand, and a picnic basket in the other. As I stood on her porch with what she always called ‘my goofy grin,’ she asked what I was doing.

“I’ve come to take you on a birthday picnic.”

“Okay. I need to go ask dad.”

“Don’t worry about it. I talked to him already.”

“Okay,” she said with a smile. “Let me get my sweater and purse.”

“As I stood there waiting for her, I did a mental checklist: blanket, mom’s fried chicken, potato salad, iced tea, brownies, engagement ring.”

“Okay, I’m ready,” her voice brought me back to the present. “Where are we going?”

“Oh, just a little place I found the other day. It’s not far.”

“What did she say when she saw the spot, Dad?” Brandon asked.

“She loved it. There was a soft blanket of leaves on the ground, and the trees formed a canopy over us. Actually, it didn’t look much different than it does now. I spread the blanket on the ground and helped her sit down.”

“So, what’s for lunch?” she asked, peeking in the basket.

“My mom’s fried chicken, potato salad, iced tea, and brownies for dessert,” I said as I pulled each container out and placed it on the blanket.

“The afternoon was perfect. We talked and laughed. I told her about the goofy thing my brother did the day before, and how my baby sister laughed so hard that milk came out of her nose.”

“How about we sit on the bench?” I asked when we finished.

“Okay.”

“As I held her hand to assist her, I saw a redness wash over her beautiful ivory skin.

“Do you mind if I put my arm around your shoulder?”

“No,” she said as she slid a little closer.

“We didn’t talk for the longest time. We didn’t need to.”

“Margaret?”

“Yes, Timothy?”

“I wanted you to know that I really missed you while I was gone. I hated being so far away from you for so long.”

“I missed you, too.”

“Before I left, I promised you something. Do you remember what that was?”

“You said we’d be together.”

“That’s right. And now, I want to make it official,” I said as I got off the bench and knelt before her on one knee. I pulled out a black ring box.

“Margaret?"

“Yes?” she said with anticipation in her eyes.

“I don’t want to be away from you ever again. I love you. Will you marry me?”

With tears rolling down her cheeks, she answered, “Yes. I love you, too.”

“Oh, by the way,” I said as I put the ring on her finger. “Happy Birthday.”

“We were married thirteen months later. Every year on her birthday, we’d pack a picnic lunch and come to this spot. When I told her that I never wanted to be apart from her again, I meant it. The longest we were ever not together was one week during hunting season every year. The fifty-five years flew by. She was always and will always be my beautiful bride. I didn’t tell you this, but when the doctor told us she had six months to live, we brought the pastor here and we renewed our vows. We didn’t want a big fuss. It was for us.”

“Thanks for telling me this, Dad.”

“Well," Timothy said, looking at the long shadows cast by the setting sun, “I guess we better be heading back. It’s getting late.”

“Yeah,” Brandon agreed. As he stood up and looked at the surrounding trees, he could have sworn that he saw his mother’s figure standing behind a nearby tree. Goodbye, Mom. I love you.