I tapped her on the shoulder. “Would you like to dance?” She looked up at me—big brown eyes—beautiful eyes. “Excuse me?” I leaned closer to be overheard above the loud music. “Would you like to dance?” I asked again. “OK!” She smiled at me. I took her hand, helped her up, and led her to the crowded dance floor. As we danced, I looked into those eyes. There was something about them—something in them. Was it softness? “You have beautiful eyes.” I blurted out. “What?” She leaned closer. “I said your eyes. They’re beautiful.” She blushed. “Thank you.”
During the following months, I got to look into those eyes every day. The softness of them captured my heart. A year later, I got to see them look into mine as she said, “I will.” They sparkled when we made love. I fell into them. They closed in pain as she gave birth to our first child. They looked up at me, as she held our tiny daughter in her arms in the recovery room and did the same three years later with our second child—a son. I saw something similar in my young children’s eyes. I’d come home from work. They’d run toward me for hugs and kisses. I’d hold them at arm’s length and they’d stare at me. Their eyes sparkled. Like a spell, I fell into those eyes and what I saw in them.
Georgia looked across our candle lit dinner table. The flickering candle reflected in those two brown pools. I fell in love again. Her warm hand held mine as we walked or talked and when she turned to me, there was that look in her eyes again. Years passed. When she smiled, lines formed at the corner of those eyes that captured my heart long ago. They were the lines of age, wisdom, and life. The eyes still held me in their power. I was older, but still didn’t quite know what it was I was seeing. I just knew it was magic.
Twenty years later, I thought about those last couple of years of our life. The thing I worshiped all those years faded. Her illness took over. The last time they stared into mine, I saw only fear. She lay on a hospital gurney. Pain racked her body. Her eyes closed, as a nurse attempted to insert a catheter. A few short hours later, she was on life support. Those eyes would never look at me again.
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