Custodian

I am now the custodian of our memories.  How many times did we hear something, see something and instantly look at each other, no words needed, to share a thought or memory?  I miss the intimacy of knowing somebody so well and of somebody knowing me so well.  Will I ever be able to sit at a restaurant table, have a busser ask, "May I take your plate, maam?" and not snicker?  Decades ago, a hapless young man took my plate, still  half full, and asked and I said, "NO", very sharply.  We were at a long gone Seattle waterfront restaurant., possibly before we were married,   Mark thought that was hilarious and often asked me after dinner here at home, "May I take your plate, maam?  Please don't kill me!"