No, you turn off the light. No, you turn off the light.
Does this conversation seem familiar to you? I guess all couples have this before they sleep. Tired, lazy, and both already in bed. Then, shoot, you realise the light is still on. So you turn to one another and these phrases come out.
“You’re closer to it, go la.”
“But you came in last so you should have done it.”
“If you’re not doing it, I’m not doing it.”
“Ok fine, we’ll sleep with lights on.”
“Let’s scissors paper stone it.”
“Your legs are longer, it’ll be faster if you go.”
I remember reading PS I Love You and before the husband died, he wrote to his wife a series of notes and one of it said something like “Buy a night lamp and put it next to our bed so you won’t miss the silly fights we’d have over who would turn off the lights.” And that line impacted me until today. I know it’s random (and morbid) that I suddenly thought of it, but we just bought Google Home just now (the device that can say “Hey Google turn off the lights” and it will be automatically switched off) so I thought about the whole who-turns-off-the-light-at-night conversations. And then I thought about Fadza. I can’t imagine the thought of losing him ever ever ever, and silly conversations like these will never be uttered again. So, I now I cherish them and appreciate each moment with my husband.
We’re in San Francisco now, just completed our intensive one week course at Stanford Graduate School of Business (it was so good, I need to blog about that!). So we are having some nice us time (with our good friend Anand who had to be our default unpaid photographer *bats eyelashes*). We miss the kids obviously but we’re going to appreciate each moment we have to just do our own thing and walk around the city like we used to. I blogged about our first trip to San Francisco a while back and remember us walking along the whole pier? We might do that again and relive the memories of having nice hot clam chowder in the bread bowl. Or maybe we should go visit some art museums. Ahhh, at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter anyway – any walk with my husband holding my hand would be a beautiful walk for me.
11 years and counting.