Waiting

It is spring and the buds on the trees call out to her, but she is
not there. Peter sits in the chair by the window looking out onto the
park and tries to see what she saw in the longs days she spent there.
He has to sit in her chair, not just to feel close to her, but because
to sit in his own chair means he must look at the space she has left.
The empty chair is nothing compared to the void her departure has made
in his life, in his heart.
He can't believe she has left him, but knows she didn't do it easily or
willingly. He knows she fought it for as long as she could and he loves
her for that?and for all the other things, the millions of little
things she did for him in their fifty nine years together.
But he is tired now; so very tired. Sleep calls him but he cannot go.
He promised Doris he would not follow too quickly, that he would give
her time to get things ready, to prepare. And in doing so he would give
their children time to prepare too.
As he sits at the window, staring out, something in the room catches
his eye. He looks up, expecting to see her standing there, but it is
only the sunlight dancing around. The sweet sound of violins fills the
room, an accompaniment for the dancing sunbeams. Peter watches for a
second, before closing his eyes. As he rests his head in the spot where
Doris used to rest, he feels the lightest kiss upon his cheek and knows
she is ready for him.