Today's a day full of notable events. It's St. Patrick's Day, of course. It's celebrated here in a fashion not entirely to my liking, but people all over the world are Irish for the day. In the States, it's Selection Sunday, the start of the most compelling sporting event on the globe. I don't care what anyone says about fútbol, March Madness is by far the most compelling competition there is, and even moreso the first weekend. Today the NCAA chooses the sixty-eight teams that will comprise the tournament. But today is notable for another reason that is altogether bittersweet.
Karen came in last Thursday for her grandson's birthday and for our firm's Open House. She was luminous in her beauty and the best ambassador anyone could want for any endeavor. It was a tiresome weekend, with lots of trips and lots of work, but that we shared it allowed us to get beyond the lack of sleep and the cold weather and the less than wholesome food to which we were subjected. She got to spend time with her grandbabies, and that means more to her than just about anything in this world. That made my heart smile.
She got to meet my coworkers, from the ornery and snarky to the charming and pleasant, and she was a perfect queen to each one of them. Karen is the kind of person who can fit into any situation, no matter how diverse and disparate the crowd. To a person they loved her, and with good reason.
But today my girl returns to our home to handle the household without my help. She'll take care of our dogs, pay the bills, go to work then come home exhausted...and still do it all with nary a complaint. Better yet, she'll still be more beautiful than any ten women doing the same things.
I love her with all my heart. I'll miss her even more. But the good news is that I get to return the favor this Wednesday, when I slog home to attend a concert for which she purchased tickets long ago. It's one of her favorite bands, and although we'll have to stand for hours listening to loud music in a confined space surrounded by a few hundred of our closest strangers in various stages of inebriation, I know she'll love every minute of it. And I've come to love the group to which she's introduced me, so I'll enjoy the show as well. More than anything, however, I'll enjoy watching my girl enjoy herself with abandon. Then I'll get to return home with her and sleep in our bed, snuggled up against her, willing away thoughts that with the morning I'll have to return to my monk's existence in another state.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
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