They, and my receding hair, are becoming more obvious all the time by their absence. Lindsey cried hard the first night in their apartment, according to Blaise. Who could blame her. A blast through all the wedding arrangements, the emotions of having inbound families and expectations, then the ceremony and reception and the getaway to wedding night... The honeymoon and a quick stop to unwrap a couple hundred presents, all shiny and new and somehow up to now unnecessary, then the fourth of July with my family and finally the crossing of the threshold. As Blaise says, the kitchen was less than tidy when he left it to off and wed.
So she cried. Hard. But my dear boy did maybe the first brilliant married man thing of hopefully thousands in the future. He made her dinner. And they watched a movie.
She was feeling homesick up to then. And this new thing, this was not feeling like home. But Blaise made it so. Dinner, lovingly made. Served up to his beloved. Followed by a cuddle on the couch through a 90 minute (+-) story, somebody else's story for the first time in weeks, perhaps. He fixed Lindsey up.
And that's all you can ask at a time like that, isn't it? Exhaustion, change, stress, family, and loss after loss. Nothing like home, even one that you're growing into, when the smells of garlic and olive oil (or whatever he cooked that night) are all around you.
May God bless them through their love for each other, as they bring each other home, over and over. Which is just another way of saying, "better or for worse..."