"Loyd, I don't need to take my cell phone, do I?" I slipped my purse strap onto my shoulder and looked at my phone in its charger.
"No, I have mine." He held it up.
"You won't leave me, right?" I smiled and poked his ribs.
"No way." He gathered me in his arms. "You took all the best of me, so come get the rest of me."
I buried my face in his chest and hugged him back. "Wow, that was good. Did you think of that? Are those words original?"
He held me at arms' length and hung his head. "No. They're words from a Bread song."
"Timely lyrics quoted very well." I took his hand, and we walked out of our room and into the snow. Through the magic of falling flakes, we made our way to a favorite restaurant to celebrate our 35th wedding anniversary.
The next morning, the last day of our weeklong celebration in Tahoe, Loyd played that Bread song. With no warning, just after I got up, the music and lyrics filled the room. Loyd stood up, pulled me close, and started to dance.
I listened to the words as we moved around the room.
"You have taken the heart of me and left just a part of me.
Look, look, look what you've done.
Well, you took all the best of me, so come get the rest of me.
Look back. Finish what you've begun …"
Tears slipped down my cheeks and wet Loyd's chest. We are growing old together. When we married at 18 and 21 years of age, this was our desire. And now it's true; all these years later, we have taken the best of each other. Right from the beginning, we took each other's futures as we planned one together.1