The one small thing my wife does that gets me every time

Or, love is water

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It was the fourth week of quarantine when my wife began to cry.

One of her dad’s favorite things to do is to go hiking with his buddies every Tuesday morning. For the ten years I’ve known him, the only thing that’s ever stopped him is either being hospitalized or lockdown. Bad weather doesn’t stop Lluis. He loves the mountains. It’s his place. The moment he steps onto the trail he blends into it. But even more than the mountains, he loves getting a day out with his friends. They’ve had this weekly tradition for close to two decades.

It broke my wife’s heart when he told her his closest friend in the group had just passed away. He was 72 years old. Perfectly healthy. No underlying conditions. He followed all the rules. COVID killed him anyway. It was the fifth family friend to pass away in as many days.

Dinner was quiet. Even with two young kids. I think they could feel it. They’re funny like that. It wasn’t a good night to make a stink.

Later that night, after putting them to bed, I went upstairs expecting to escape into a movie for a bit with my wife. But she was already passed out on the couch. She never does that. The two hours after our kids fall asleep each night is her time to breathe. Sacred.

I woke her up. She smiled. She does that. She told me she was sleepy. I told her I know. “Stay up for a bit,” she said. “It’s early.” After giving me a hug, she then stumbled down the steps and disappeared out of sight.

I sat there for a while. I tried to write some. I guess it went well. Time got away from me. It was late when I went to bed. At least for me. After eleven for sure. It could have been closer to midnight.

I got into bed next to her. I tried to be quiet. She rubbed my arm. She does that. Even if she doesn’t remember doing that. I laid there for a while. Thinking. What a shitty day. Growing old is sad. What the hell is happening? I hope her dad is okay. He’s a good man. Loyal. I’ve never heard him once complain. Proud eyes. But soft.

I rolled over on my side after her hand fell off my arm. But I couldn’t fall asleep. I had a nagging thought that I’d forgotten something. The lights upstairs were off for sure. I double-checked. Water? Damn. Was it worth it? Could I last the night without it? Did I really want to get out of bed to get it?” After having a lengthy internal debate, my logical side finally won. I reached over to my nightstand to pick up my empty glass to make the 10-step walk to the bathroom, but as soon as I did, I realized my glass was already full.

I looked back over toward my wife.
It was dark.
I could only make out her silhouette.

Two young kids inside a small apartment. Work. The day she had. Dealing with me. Barely touching her dinner. Falling asleep on the couch. Stumbling down the steps with her eyes barely open. Yet still, even in her state, before getting into bed she thought to herself — “Michael’s going to be thirsty later.”

We’ve never talked about it, but it’s now an unsaid rule. If one of us goes to bed before the other, we fill up the other person’s glass first.

Seeing it next to my bed gets me every time.

I smile.

Love is water.

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Thank you for reading.
My best to you and yours.
—Michael