by Kristena Mears

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

The pungent aroma of fresh coffee drifted through my dreams and nudged me awake. Willing myself to keep dreaming, I ignored the hot cup I knew my husband had set on the bedside table. I didn’t want to get up. I wasn’t sure why. I just knew I didn’t.

I was having one of those amazing dreams that makes life around you pale in comparison. I love those dreams.

But the bumping and banging around me was attacking my peace, forcing me into reality. It wasn’t as bad as I thought. The sounds and smells of love are so enticing. They were wooing me and even my sleepy eyes began to smile.

I heard him topping off my cup. I smelt the fresh grounds. The mattress dimple as he sat down next to my slumbering form and softly rub my arm, coaxing me awake.

This is my favorite time of day; feeling his love when he didn’t know I was awake enough to understand.

As my consciousness pushed its way through. I pressed my eyes shut. Not yet. I thought. Just a little longer.

But the cold morning air demanded attention. He forgot to turn on the heater this morning. That wasn’t like him.

Fully awake now, the cold room was heavy with loss.

The hot coffee my love had brought me each morning for over fifty years, was missing… and so was he. I pressed back the tears and tried without success to smell the coffee once more.

I don’t like mornings anymore.

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