Last night, out of the blue, Jon asked, "Where do you want to meet in Heaven when we die?" The question caught me off guard as a) I was engrossed in the Oscars and the ever important critiquing of fashion do's and don'ts and b) more importantly, I've never entertained the idea of either one of us dying. It's something I don't like to think about.
And besides, I've always quite imagined the whole tunnel with the white light at the end of it thing, with Jon there to meet me as I step into the light. Of course, that's presuming that he goes first, a notion at which he scoffs. According to him, my recklessness makes me the likely candidate to go first, to which I sweetly replied, "Well, baby, I hope I do because I couldn't live without you." Booyah!
AHEM. Anyhow, Jon suggested we meet at Whitlows, the bar where we met back in 2004. While I understand the romantic meaning behind that, there's something about reuniting in a bar in Heaven that just doesn't do it for me. I didn't have an answer for him last night, but I've had the whole day to ponder it and I think I've come up with one.
When I see my love again in Heaven (after a long lifetime together, of course), I want to meet him here:
"And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand, they danced by the light of the moon, the moon, they danced by the light of the moon." ~Edward Lear~
(picture taken on our first anniversarymoon in Jamaica)
