I hit his arm lightly.
“Robert, in fifty-two years, that is the most terrifying thing you have ever said to me!”
Everyone burst out laughing.
And then I started crying.
Not because I was afraid anymore.
But because, through the open front door, I could see a large family photograph hanging on the living room wall.
Underneath it, our children had placed a small sign:
“From now on, we’re not missing another holiday together.”
That evening, all of us sat around the same dinner table for the first time in years.
The grandchildren were laughing. Our children were telling stories. Robert sat beside me, holding my hand beneath the table.
Nobody was checking flight schedules.
Nobody was worrying about a long drive home.
Nobody was calculating how many months would pass before our next visit.
We were simply together.
Later that night, when everyone had gone home, Robert and I stood on the front porch and looked at the quiet street.
