Drink the Bourbon

To you I call him “The Lawyer.” To his face I call him “Lawyer,” among several other love-filled nicknames. He has a “real” name; a name most would consider formal. In our society today, calling someone by their formal name can feel somewhat uncomfortable, if not fully awkward. We are a casual people who no longer speak or write formally to one another. A lost art, most certainly. The Lawyer, however, has always gone by his formal name. Oh, people will definitely call him by his formal name’s standard nickname, to which he dutifully responds and does not correct, but he never, ever, refers to himself or introduces himself, or uses the standard nickname. That is not his name.

I started calling him “Lawyer” shortly after we met. It was mostly with disdain and/or attitude and/or a sense of sarcasm and/or irritation. He had that affect on me. But over time I softened toward him, and the moniker took on a wholly new meaning. I call him “Lawyer” with tons of love and very little eye rolling, and all of my friends call him “The Lawyer.” It’s quite comical.

The Lawyer and I just celebrated 7 years of marriage, and I could not be more grateful. It’s been an amazing passage of time, filled with international travel, domestic travel, local shenanigans and 4 major surgeries with a few ER visits, 3 major hospital stays, and countless diagnostics and maybe a surgery or hospital stay or two that I’m completely forgetting, and a couple of life-threatening ongoing situations. And those were all his. We won’t even add my two outpatient surgeries and multiple diagnostics.

Getting old ain’t for the weak.

It’s been a journey. He has a very, very major health issue, and another recent somewhat-major health issue, either of which would give a person pause to reflect on their mortality. Having two is enough to send us both to my counselor on more than one occasion.

Ok, so maybe just me. Whatever.

So last month was our wedding anniversary, and as seems to often happen, I was at a loss as to what to gift him to show him how appreciative I am of him and how much I adore him. He’s so incredibly independent and such the provider, that if he wants something he just gets it, makes it, designs it, handles it, comes home with it. Makes my life so easy, and frustrating, all at once. It is virtually impossible for me to get him anything without consulting him first. Virtually impossible to surprise him. He’s a pretty simple guy when it comes to “things” – he doesn’t want “things.” He doesn’t collect anything, doesn’t need designer fashion, fancy jewelry or sunglasses or the like.

So what’s a girl to do?

Start looking at the everyday.

What does he enjoy? What brings him relaxation? What does he savor?

Since I can’t get him “things,” I often attempt to gift him experiences. A concert, a museum, a festival. Introductions to famous people. Fun things out of the ordinary. He usually outdoes me in this realm, too, but I try, and he always seems to enjoy.

But, for our anniversary this year I was at a loss. There really isn’t anything going on in our town any time soon for which to buy tickets, and we already have a couple trips on the calendar so there was no reason to add to that. Kind of left me with one thing he greatly enjoys.

Bourbon.

So I set out on a quest to procure something fancy of which existence I was currently unaware. In other words, I went to the upscale liquor store and said to the man, “show me whatcha got.”

And boy did he.

I told him why I was there and what I thought I was looking for, but was really kind of talking in a realm of which I had little-to-no knowledge. He was patient with me and showed me the basics and I was grateful for the quick tutorial, but I told him I was willing to go big or go home, as they say. Ok, maybe not go huge, but definitely go big. I told him to show me what the big boys buy. He grinned and walked me to a locked glass case.

I was suddenly afraid of regretting what I’d said.

He explained to me why these few bottles were locked behind the glass, but was happy to unlock the polished cage and retrieve the merchandise for me to hold and label-read. There is a particular brand of bourbon I know The Lawyer is fond of, so we focused on that. He had shown me some less expensive bottles of the brand, and explained that one of them was actually a private label that their bourbon connoisseur had chosen. Cool. Put that on the short list. But what really got my attention was the one he had just handed me from the case. An 18 year old bottle, specifically labeled, meant for something great.

The man explained to me that it was kind of a thing to have aged bourbon and that most people who purchase already aged products like this don’t actually crack them open and partake, but rather they leave them on the shelf to be admired, shown off, and aged all-the-more. Saving them for “one day.” A special day, perhaps. Maybe the birth of a grandbaby, or a graduation from higher education, or a grand wedding celebration. He said all of this with a smile on his face, as though this was the most joyous thing to do with an aged bottle of bourbon. He wasn’t completely wrong.

But my heart gripped and suddenly ached, and the tears rose dreadfully close to the surface. I just stared at him. A thousand thoughts flooded through my head in a swirl and I had to resist the urge to blurt them all out of my mouth at him.

But in very short order I regained control of my senses, his big smile still plastered on his face. I wanted to explain everything to him in three seconds flat, but that is an impossibility. Instead what I said was something like, “well, all of that sounds lovely and I appreciate that some people shelve valuable things for later. But that’s like keeping your diamonds in the safe and never wearing them, or keeping the antique car in the garage and never driving it. Why have something if you’re only going to keep it locked away and not enjoy it. We are none promised tomorrow. Drink the Bourbon.”

His countenance softened; he heard what I said. His smile shifted to a gentle grin as he said, “you’re so right. Drink the Bourbon.”

I smiled back and said, “I’ll take the 18 year old bourbon, and the private reserve, as well, thank you.”

He packaged them up, threw in a cigar for good measure, and I went to my car and took a deep breath. It’s never easy facing the inevitable, and some days even more difficult when it stares back at you hard. I pray God will continue to give me mercy on the hard days, and his grace will be so deep in my bones that I’ll never wonder where He is. And I hope you and those you love will always “Drink the Bourbon.” We have. And it is good.