Waiting for Ed

 

I never minded sharing my husband, Ed, with his mother, because I knew that she was the only other person in the world who loved him as much as I did.

After spending the day together (which we occasionally did), Mom and I were enjoying the late afternoon sitting and waiting for Ed to come pick me up.

We had said everything there was for us to say; we had done everything there was to do (including having a mouthwatering lunch, so good because Mom was a cook who made ordinary recipes that tasted anything but), and so we were just sitting and waiting expectantly the way you do when you know you’re waiting for something or someone good.

And sure enough, Ed showed up, and Mom and I were just like trees waiting for the rain or children waiting to be hugged. We turned our faces to the sun (or son in his mother’s case).  We were both so happy.  Ed had that effect. People liked him; strangers trusted him, asking for his advice whether in a grocery store or an art gallery.

Ed was here…with us…All was golden again.