what's seriously hard...
A few weeks ago when I was feeling sorry for myself following a fairly brutal day I came up with the bright idea to spend a few days keeping track of everything I was not fond of doing. What a dumbass.
That experiment lasted two hours and got me nowhere. How much paper is there in the world? But as many of you know I went back to help my Mom and Dad last week and when you see REAL love and sacrifice in action then life is pretty wonderful.
My dad is a diabetic amputee who is legally blind and about one hundred other things. My mom, who turns 85 in eleven days is his fulltime caregiver. She's fairly healthy, except for that big spot of skin cancer and her exhaustion, and what she does in one short day would make an Olympian fall over in a heartbeat. When my dad fell a few weeks ago, gashed his head and broke some necessary stuff in his back, her job became even more difficult.
If there ever was a true portrait of love it's the moving picture of my parents. My dad feels like a failure because his health stinks, and he knows my mom is wearing out, but there is no white flag anywhere near either one of them.
There is my mom falling asleep whenever she sits down, and yet jumping up like a scared rabbit when she hears him. There's my dad mumbling about how he thought he would be dead by now and then the sweet sound of their mingled laughter when he says something rediculous.
This is what true love looks like. It looks like exhaustion and bandages and walkers and a fake leg leaning against the living room wall. It looks like pills lined up on the breakfast table and bloody sheets hanging on the line and that special glass of wine at noon so there is something easy about the day. It looks like the pillows on the bed just the way he wants them and how he whistles, even though he is blind, when he knows she's dressed up to do something excting like go get the prescriptions refilled. It looks like the gold wedding band he refuses to take off and the photograph of them a lifetime ago that she looks at over and over again when she gets really tired. It's driving to one more doctor's appointment and holding hands in the car when they have to wait for the train to pass and that same story over and over again about how the dman grass shouldn't be cut that way.
What a gift they are to me and how easy is my life. When people want to see a Saint I show them they a photograph of my parents and say, "Here you go. Here's a couple of Saints who are in love."
And then I cry like a baby because I am such a lucky daughter.