Hubby is my rock. Always has been. I suspect he always will be. Not surprisingly, he has been amazing during the almost two weeks we’ve been in Florala waiting for my father to die. He’s anticipated my needs before I knew I had them. He’s held me, let me cry, talked with me for hours at a time, let me rant and rave–all without a single complaint. He left his job to come with me (he can somewhat work remotely). He’s kept my spirits up, kept me focused, and helped me remember just how important these last days with a parent are. We lost his mom this time last year, so he knows what this process is like. She spent three months in Hospice, but lived only an hour from us so we could visit her much more easily. Her death was last December and we are still grieving her, but here he is supporting me with all he’s got.
Today, he said he’d like to do a guest post on my blog. Since he seldom reads my blog (unless I ask him to or someone mentions it to him) this caught me somewhat by surprise. But he’s spent the last two weeks with me pretty much 24-7 and I’ve done several posts which I’ve pushed out to Facebook. I’ve gotten quite a bit of feedback–in person, by e-mail, private message, Facebook messages, and posts on the blog so there has been buzz. He’s actually a better writer than I am (damn it). He writes poetry, songs, and short stories.
I am therefore thrilled to present Hubby’s first guest post on my blog.
What is love?
I have tried in the years of my life to find a definition of love that fits all occasions.
Many times what I thought was love was really just need or lust—and there was never enough. Sometimes it seemed like love was like an eye floater which was always there but rare to come into focus and hard to hold. The anatomy of my human eye only let me get a glimpse now and again.
The limitations of my human understanding apply like that to love.
However, these past 10 days I have been privileged to see love through new lenses, and it doesn’t look like what is in the movies.
It is not the doe eyed embrace, but the reflection of a dying husband in the weary and teary eyes of his wife who has spent every waking hour caring for his physical body laying helpless in a hospital bed.
It is not the grandiose ring that is envied by friends but the steady supply of colostomy bags, absorbent materials and lotions tenderly applied despite the smells and groans.
It is not the happily ever after sailing off into the sunset, but the memories of happy times, better times when he was a loving father and his daughters were forever special.
It is not the clever courting double entendre, but the kind words and looks that are shared by fatigued and grieving people who come from different backgrounds and beliefs.
So how do I know these gestures and languages are of love?
I see the peace that is created by people in a cauldron of waiting in anticipated anguish…and, it is enough.