In the morning, I rise and go downstairs. It’s a new fancy coffee machine, no measuring, no judgment call needed. Just insert the little cup, press a button. 2 minutes later, fresh coffee. I had to learn to put the right amount of cream inside.
I take it upstairs, and set it on the table next to her. It’s usually too hot right at first.
The smile on her face is all I need.
I would do this every morning if I could. I can’t always be there… but I take comfort in the doing, comfort in performing this short morning ritual, presenting this small morning gift.
Not the coffee. The act of getting the coffee.
You see, one of the ways that I remember how I FEEL love, a way I know I can make the emotions in my heart real in my life, is to do a little something… like make a cup of coffee.
Maybe it’s a meal, maybe it’s putting the toothpaste on the toothbrush at night. Maybe it’s a touch when it’s least expected, a smile when none should exist.
Some might say this is weak. Serving the one you love is not manly; it’s not the natural order of things…
I say, shut the hell up.
Serving coffee to her is the most wonderful thing in the world. It helps me feel love.