I've always hated hearing the word "love" tossed around, as casually as hello and goodbye. You could say it's because I'm cold and unfeeling, but you'd be wrong. Like most people, I have a way about me, and that's one of them. LOVE is such a powerful expression of affection for another person, because it completely embraces into the emotional fold so unconditionally every single aspect of things that happen to us in life...beginning, end and in-between. It's not a still photo shot of just the picture perfect memories at Christmases, Church on Sundays, if you're so inclined, Easter dinners with Mom and Dad and the FAM, tiny little precious additions, graduations, marriages. It's carrying someone, a cherished someone, someone you once said "I love you" to, like, a million times, when they can no longer stand on their own.
It's sitting at Dad's bedside when his teeth aren't in because bone deterioration is so bad dentures no longer fit like they’re supposed to. It's holding his hand when he's scared, and the only way you can tell, really, with such a proud man like Dad, is when you feel his hand clasped in yours tighten, as if just the thought of letting go is the equivalent of letting go of everything dear. It's listening to him talk about moments that are past as if they just happened, and then glimpse for a moment the confusion when he realizes things are not coming out right. It's watching him hold on so desperately to a familiar life that's fast slipping away and making sure to look directly into his eyes when you say, 'I WILL NOT LEAVE YOU HERE', so he will believe it and keep fighting.
Love will walk into the dark with you; you feel it all around you protecting you, holding you up when your legs are too weak. Love is everything and in every moment. L.O.V. E. Living One Vibrational Energy, that's it. Accepting anything less, is just wrong. So, yeah, sue me, for not wanting to hear the word from a single mouth unless it's raw and true like it's meant to be.
We put Dad in a nursing facility this past week. It's supposed to be only for a week or two. With dialysis added to the mix, he's got a lot on him right now. And he's got a full catheter, possibility of having to use a cath a day. A week, two at the max. Until he's stronger, then home and home health care. That's what the doctor said. Dad's always seemed bigger than life to me, yeah Superman. But, on my way out of the room, I looked back, and for a moment, it looked like the bed could swallow him whole. The last few weeks in the hospital have taken a toll. He's still Superman. To me. I love you Dad.
The rain literally pummeled my car on the way home after getting Dad settled in, but I hardly noticed, because my eyes were so blurred from my own inner storm. God took the wheel that day, 'cause I could barely see or focus on the expanse of road in front of me, and yet, I made it home safely.
God this hurts.
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