GOOD MOURNING

I remember sitting down for breakfast a few years back.

We were eating honey nut cheerios and drinking coffee. He was reading the newspaper when she asked him what the headlines read. “It says you’re the most beautiful woman in the world” was his reply.

She scolded him saying “Oh really?” knowing full well that wasn’t the headline. I could hear the newspaper quiver in his hands as he moved them to reveal his face. He looked over and winked at me taking pride in his clever answer while she just shook her head. I sat there and smiled to myself. I had gotten used to these moments when I was with the two of them. Their habitual sarcastic remarks to one another occurred daily along with quick kisses on the forehead and holding hands.  

That was real love.

Deep love.

Big love. 

The kind that doesn’t falter in the midst of life’s challenges. The kind that doesn’t dissipate over time. They truly were meant to be.

Here I am, years later from the last time I saw them together and I am fleeting to Bogart these memories. I am fearful of replaying them and I am rationing the feelings of embrace, of sights and smells knowing that the time to make new memories has gone.

The film has run empty and the precious copies I have left will deteriorate over time. One of the most praised and celebrated actresses has taken the stage for the last time, unbeknownst to the rest of us, and made her farewell bow. She has exited the stage amongst the protests of her fans. She is done, her work is finished. Though some may argue otherwise, we silently accept the truth. It was perfect. From start to finish. Every scene was picturesque, even the most painful parts. Not a single dialogue was unnecessary. Her story is complete.

There are no more mornings left for her as there are for us and so, we say “Good morning.”

“Good mourning.”

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cng