I don't think I've ever told this story on here before.
Last summer, outside the public library in my hometown, I met an old man. An ambulance was going by, and he began to explain to me why ambulances sound the way that they do. He was heading to the diner next door to have breakfast. I asked if he wanted company and he did.
He ate breakfast and I ate grilled cheese. He was from Greece. He hadn't been there in decades, I'm not sure he ever went back after his family came to the United States to start their life. When he was growing up, his father ran a candy store in Clinton. His dream was to go back to Greece once more in his life.
He told me about his wife. I have a hard time remembering the whole story now. I wish I had written it down. I think I might have it written down somewhere. I remember that their wedding date was June 22, and I liked that because 22 has always been my favorite number.
Anyway, he told me that his wife would marry him on one condition: that he never said 'I love you,' that he only showed it. He said he spent his whole life showing her how much he loved her. She has been gone a few years now, and it was so clear how much he misses her. I thought that was so wonderful, that he spent his whole life showing her. I'm sure they said 'I love you' occasionally, I can't imagine never saying it, but that wasn't where the prevalence was.
I think about him sometimes, and I hope he got to return to Greece and see it again.