I’m listening to a John Hiatt album and “Angel Eyes” comes on.
At least, I don’t think I do.
But my thoughts flick back to a concert Kim and I went to a couple of years ago in Akron.
It was one of those married-people date nights.
A night where you remember those early days of hanging out together while you were falling in love.
A night where you sneak a look at each other and it takes your breath away.
You don’t notice the extra lines in each other’s faces – the extra weight – the extra years.
It’s the “Angel Eyes” that Hiatt talks about that allows you to look at this person you love and see everything in them.
And then you do notice the extra lines, weight, and years and it makes you smile all the more. You remember what those changes represent in the twenty-some years you’ve been together.
It’s been twenty-six years today since I went on a date with anyone other than Kim.
I know this because I’d been trying to push our relationship into an exclusive relationship. I wasn’t interested in seeing other people. She’d stopped seeing other people but she didn’t want to make it official.
So I told her I really didn’t want to date other people but if she couldn’t commit, I was going to go out the following week.
She said she thought that was a good idea.
And so on July 25, 1992 I went to a radio-station sponsored event with another woman.
Not much of a date, but we planned to see each other again.
And then I got back to my apartment and Kim was waiting for me.
And that was the last time I dated anyone else.
And again I’m traveling through time back to concerts I’ve been sent out to introduce.
Kim and I are standing watching some act along the Cuyahoga.
She’s got one hand on my shoulder and the other holds a drink. She dancing – not exactly with me – I’m the guy who never learned to dance – but near me.
After Kim died I worried that I just wasn’t fun enough for her.
She’d embraced life. She’d been so fun. I’m just not.
She’d listen to new music all the time. Her phone sat in a cradle connected to speakers so she could start her day with music.
I’d walk in the kitchen and she’d smile and ask me if I wanted coffee.
In the early years I’d been the one to offer her coffee – but she preferred the way she made it.
You should listen to the song – the lyrics alone don’t do it justice.
The last two lines of the song haunt me now that she’s gone.
It’s the question that all boys like me wonder about someone special like Kim.
This is so wonderful. I hope someday to find a love like yours.