I made a realization last night and this morning that particularly struck me for some reason. D, for as long as I have known him, has been perpetually late for everything. One of the things that used to drive me insane about him was that he could never get anywhere on time (and, by proxy, I could never get anywhere on time when I was with him). On Sundays even a few months ago, whenever we were supposed to be meeting my family for lunch, we would inevitably arrive after they had sat down to eat--not because we had been somewhere else or busy, but because D could simply not be made to get ready any faster than he wanted to. I could beg, plead, borrow, and steal, cajole and convince, even bribe, but I could not make him leave the house when we needed to for anything. We were late for movies, we were late for lunches, he was late to work. When meeting friends, we were always the last to arrive, usually at least 10 or 15 minutes and sometimes as much as an hour late. I eventually took to telling him we needed to arrive places an hour or so before we actually needed to be there, just to try to make it on time.
One of the most pleasant things about D's recovery for the past two months has been, as I realized last night, that we are not late any more. No more do I have to jump up and down in my coat and purse as he sits at his computer, begging him to please put on his shoes so we can leave. This morning, he took a shower and got out around fifteen minutes before we needed to leave for lunch--and lo and behold, fifteen minutes later, we were in our coats and out the door without so much as a prompting from me.
It's the little things.