Darling Sylvia,

I feel the need to slow down in order to make our moments last. I remember the moment in the fall of 1966 in front of Newberry Hall,  when I wrapped you up in my arms and kissed you for the first time.  Last Saturday, at Pitchtree Café, as we waited to sell the first of Doctor Rob’s Garden Bouquets,  I realized I was feeling the same flush of emotions that I had felt so many years ago.  You were snuggled in my arm pit with the blanket wrapped around your legs.  It felt oh so familiar.  I was amazed and am still amazed at how your body fits perfectly into the curve of mine.  I wanted to slow down and make that moment last.  In this incredibly fast paced world we live in, our moments of closeness pass all too quickly. I desperately need to slow down and savor each one.

Moments ago, I held your hand as you gave birth to Charity and Nate.  It was only a moment ago, when you held me after we got the phone call from Joe that Dad had died in the car accident.  It was only a moment ago, when we stood outside the maternity window at Saint Mary’s and were introduced to Abby, our first grandchild.  It was only a moment ago,  that we soaked our feet in the volcanic hot spring in Tuscany. Moments pass quickly; I want to slow down and notice them.

I want to appreciate those moments, at the grocery store, at church, at Wally’s World or waiting in line to vote when I am aware of your presence beside me.  I want to slow down and  live every moment with you in the now.  Our now is very good.  Our bodies may be wearing out, our time may be limited, but, when we cuddled Saturday, in the chilly October morning air of that parking lot, it felt even better than the very first time. I want to slow down and celebrate more moments with you.

Love you,   Eddie Bert