Soup of the Day

As I glanced over to my right I heard him say to the waiter "My wife died".  His hand was outstretched as if he wanted to connect.  He was dining alone.   If I had to guess I would say he was about 80 years old.  His navy blue hat had gold ticking on the letters that let me know he is a WWII veteran.  The hat was adorned with pins from glory days gone by.  Velcro sneakers completed his outfit most likely picked out by his wife.  

"Yes, we heard.  Your daughter told us the bad news.  We are so sorry for your loss."  the waiter responded.  

"She was a nice lady...my wife."  he said with his sad squinted eyes.

My heart broke for this man I didn't even know.  I could feel the tear roll down my cheek as I tried to shovel more food into my mouth.   I thought about how I dined alone when it happened to me.  I remember looking in the mirror each morning and seeing my lifeless eyes.  It was as if he took the soul of me with him when he left.  I only knew Paul for 10 years and was married for just shy of 2 and here was a man who probably spent the past 60 years with this woman he looked lost without.   Then I thought about Lou and I.  I thought about how one will always outsurvive the other.  One will always be left alone.  I thought about how I never want to go through it again.  I looked over at Lou and I wanted to hug him, kiss him, and never let go.  

The waiter walked back over and asked him what he wanted to eat. 

 "What's the soup today?"  he asked as he pulled a hankerchief out of the pocket of his tan pants. 

 "Chicken soup"

  He paused, wiped his eyes, and said "My wife used to make that for me.  I'll have that..."