Love

My mom's illness has really made me think about the true meaning of love--not the love a mother feels for her child but the love a man and a woman feel for each other, or should feel for each other when they marry.

My parents have been married for 58 years. While I wouldn't say that every moment was wedded bliss, I would say that they have a wonderful marriage. They are each other's best friends. They shop together, eat together,play games together and watch television together. They only go to movies they both want to see and if there is someplace my mom really wants to go, my dad will go along, kicking and screaming, but going nevertheless.

My dad goes to the hospital every day. He gets there before 6:00 AM and stays until 7:30 PM. The last few days before the surgery, my mom didn't even know he was there, but that didn't stop him. Now, she is still sleeping from the surgery, but he goes anyways. He stares at her bruised and bandaged body and talks about his beautiful wife and how much he loves her, how great their life was together, how he wants her back, even if she is crippled or can't talk or anything. He talks to her about bringing her home, bringing the wheel chair up to the apartment and walking her around there. He promises her he will wheel her into the bathroom and bathe her body and wash her hair. He even promised her to get rid of the years of accumulated stuff (old tv guides for example) that have been driving her crazy for years. He'll do anything if she will just get well and come back to him.

My parents never had a lot of money. My dad worked two jobs because he wanted her to be home with us his kids. Money was never that important to either one of them. We always had enough. We were rich--not in money but in love. I am lucky, watching my parents enabled me to find a husband as good as my dad. My kids often tease him and say that he is just like my dad. Until recently, I saw lots of my dad's faults in him, but these past weeks have done more to point out the strengths than anything else.

My husband has been coming to the hospital with me every day since we got the call last Wednesday. Not only does he come, but he stays in the room with me all day long, only leaving to accompany my dad to the cafeteria. He patiently waits until my dad is ready to leave at the end of the day and makes sure he gets home okay too. He talks to doctors for them and flirts with the nurses and nurses aides to make sure that my mom is getting extra good treatment. It's not easy to be there. We all cry a lot. And the room smells awful. Even when my mom was ranting, he never left.

My sister drives me crazy. He defends her. At first I got mad at him for doing this. After all, if I did what she did, he would go ballistic on me. I realize now that his defending her is a sign of love for me. She is my family and he is just sticking up for me by defending her. I know when this is all over, he will go back to talking about her the way I do (behind her back).

Some people need gifts of flowers or jewelry as a sign of love. I don't need that. I don't need constant hugs and kisses to know I am loved. Like my mom, I found a husband that will sacrifice all to make me happy. When (and if) my son and daughter decide to marry, may they both find spouses like my mom and I did.