Monday morning he made my coffee... he gently turned the tv up loud enough for me to hear in the bedroom... I awoke to the smell of Frank's 'German coffee.' We had our 'good mornings'... we enjoyed our breakfasts and a bit of after-breakfast relaxation... then he said 'I'd better hit it' as he went downstairs to work on his latest 'honey-do' project.
Monday evening he donated his bone tissue for the benefit of others. For a few precious days I am surrounded with the living gifts he and I created together... his perfect and beautiful six daughters.
This is the second morning I've awakened alone... by choice; my stubborn insistence on the need to become a 'grownup' makes me deny the comfort of having somebody else stay in the house with me, offered by the girls and their families. The past two days I woke up before 6:30 - well Thursday I had to - it was the day of his funeral.
This morning, I turned on my computer (as Frank always did for me)... made my small pot of coffee - two cups - just enough for me - and gazed out the window.
As the little deer ambled into my backyard, it gazed toward the house... in it's simple beauty I realized why my love so enjoyed the early morning hour.