A thin man in his eighty's made his way to the table.
"May I help you?" the waitress asked. "Our specials today are beef tips and asparagus with a creamy wine sauce."
The man said, "I'll just have tortellini soup and a glass of unsweetened iced tea, thank you."
So the waitress left. I watched the man. I observed him open his frayed wallet and carefully pull something out. When the waitress returned with the man's tea, he said, "My wife and I used to come here. We always ordered the tortellini soup. It was her favorite."
The engaging waitress asked, "Where is your wife today?" And with that, the man's quivering hands held up a photograph of his wife.
"Oh, she passed away two months ago. Heart attack. Right out of the blue. We were married sixty years and I thought for sure she would out-live me. But, she didn't."
The waitress said, "I am so sorry for your loss."
"Her name was Rachel. She had the prettiest legs I had ever seen. I went to grief counseling at first, but it made me more depressed. You know, talking about her." And then I noticed the man's eyes tear up.
"Yeah, we always ate the tortellini soup. That's why I come here. . . to remember her . . . to see her smiling face across from me."
I watched the eighty year old man as he tentatively slurped his soup. I wanted to go over and give him a hug and say, "I understand."
But, I didn't because I was only an eavesdropper feeling his pain.
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