You never know who is sitting next to you.

We noticed their attire, guessed the occasion of their holiday in Mexico, and even commented that we had seen them in the buffet line at breakfast two days prior. We sat so close that the only thing to compete with overhearing their conversation was the flutist making her rounds guided by the light applause which followed her from one candlelit table to the next.
 
“It never fails,” the lady says to me as she stands up. “He always has to go to the restroom right before dessert.”

I laugh with her and we exchange smiles like business cards. I knew when they returned we would continue talking. Indeed, we did.

I noticed she told him that he needed to cut his steak. I noticed she stared at our hands as Todd and I folded them upon one another bridging the gap between our dinner plates. She looked at our interlaced fingers and remembered. I wanted to know her story and thankfully she wanted to tell me.

“Newly weds?” she guessed.

“Actually, we have been together ten years.”

“Forty years.” She smiled at her husband, “We are celebrating our 40th anniversary. This will be our last trip.”

My smile yielded to the soft sadness which outlined her lips. “Last trip?”

“Yes, my husband has Alzheimer's. Our daughters tried to talk me out of taking this trip – said it would be too hard on me. But I wanted one last celebration for our album.”

“And has it been hard…hard on you?” I asked hesitantly.

“Yes,” she replied as she reached her hand across the table hoping he would return the sentiment and hold his lover’s hand. He didn’t. She quickly withdrew and adjusted the napkin on her lap.

No brilliant words came to mind. In fact, as the veil of her reality was lifted I could only respond, “I am so sorry.” I reached out for her hand and she took it. I wondered briefly when the last time someone held her hand.

They left soon after. I knew I would never see them again – this couple from Michigan. I didn’t even know their names. I looked to Todd not ashamed of the tears which came to my eyes. I reached my hand across the table hoping he would return the sentiment and hold his lover’s hand. He did.

You never know the story which has brought someone to the table next to you or what chapter in their life they are living. Oh, gentle lovers, may we appreciate and respect one another’s story. And if given the opportunity may we be so fortunate to learn from one another.