To begin at the end is such an odd thing, and maybe that's why I have such a hard time getting started on that great American novel. I always want to begin at the beginning.
My mother is dying. These are her last days. As I write this, I am sad and a little scared. My mother has always been an integral piece of my life. She was, indeed, the wind beneath my wings, and I only recently learned that. But I am also learning something else on these end days. I am learning the story of the greatest love on earth. And I am so honored to not only know it, but to be a part of it. It is the story of my life too. To share with you how lucky I am to be able to be here, to listen, to sit, and to hear the bits and pieces until, like a jigsaw, an incredible picture appears is an incredible experience. They simply don't make men like my dad anymore. And we women? We're not so fiercely loyal anymore either.
My mom and dad met in high school. And my father still smiles beautifully when he shares this story with me. Like my mother, his eyes shine. She was 14 and he was 16. At the fine age of 78 and 80, they still have that smile for one another. And there was never anyone else in between! Now, my mom has a story about some girl in a green dress at some dance, mind you... But my dad shakes his head.. there was never another girl, he tells me. He just likes that my mother gets a little riled up about it still... after all these years.
End days. Honoring life while facing death with dignity. End days. An accounting, a time to fess up, face the music, come to terms with some demons. End days; I once thought it would be best and easiest to simply have a heart attack or an aneurism, I now wonder if my mother, as always, is doing this the right way, sharing her stories and her desires and saying goodbye as she wishes. Regaling in the family she raised. Knowing my dad is loved and that she has to go ahead of him on this trip. He'll catch up.. time to let go.
And so it begins.. the story I need to write. The one that begins at the end.
My mother is dying. These are her last days. As I write this, I am sad and a little scared. My mother has always been an integral piece of my life. She was, indeed, the wind beneath my wings, and I only recently learned that. But I am also learning something else on these end days. I am learning the story of the greatest love on earth. And I am so honored to not only know it, but to be a part of it. It is the story of my life too. To share with you how lucky I am to be able to be here, to listen, to sit, and to hear the bits and pieces until, like a jigsaw, an incredible picture appears is an incredible experience. They simply don't make men like my dad anymore. And we women? We're not so fiercely loyal anymore either.
My mom and dad met in high school. And my father still smiles beautifully when he shares this story with me. Like my mother, his eyes shine. She was 14 and he was 16. At the fine age of 78 and 80, they still have that smile for one another. And there was never anyone else in between! Now, my mom has a story about some girl in a green dress at some dance, mind you... But my dad shakes his head.. there was never another girl, he tells me. He just likes that my mother gets a little riled up about it still... after all these years.
End days. Honoring life while facing death with dignity. End days. An accounting, a time to fess up, face the music, come to terms with some demons. End days; I once thought it would be best and easiest to simply have a heart attack or an aneurism, I now wonder if my mother, as always, is doing this the right way, sharing her stories and her desires and saying goodbye as she wishes. Regaling in the family she raised. Knowing my dad is loved and that she has to go ahead of him on this trip. He'll catch up.. time to let go.
And so it begins.. the story I need to write. The one that begins at the end.
This brought tears to my eyes. Beautiful story. You're very lucky to be apart of that type of love. Hugs to you, my friend, and I hope all of your grief is eased by knowing this love.
ReplyDeleteHugs...let me wipe the tears...A marriage like your Mom and Dad's is rare and you're so very lucky.
ReplyDelete