I
struggle. Sometimes I struggle to understand the why to so many questions.
Sometimes I find it difficult to comprehend the timeline of my life. Sometimes
I feel like a nomad, wandering aimlessly through life, accidently doing
something worthwhile but more often than not just biding my time. Biding my
life away here on this earth, hoping something amazing will happen to me.
That’s where I think the problem lies. I feel like I am hoping, wishing,
thinking with very little doing, hiding behind big words and grand ideas.
I
sit there watching, observing, as his eyes never stray from her face. Those
gray eyes that have seen so many years, her face graced with lines etched in,
reminding him of the many, many years ago when they first met. His eyes old and
dark glisten with tears as he tries to understand what is going on around him.
All he can do is look at her. Sometimes his eyes stray back to the smiling man
in the white coat asking him questions, questions he can’t seem to comprehend.
He looks back at her, his wife, trying to find something, an answer maybe? She
is all he knows, all he can understand right now. She sits there her face calm
and gentle, answering the doctors’ questions, hopeful that maybe things can get
better? The doctor asks how many years they have been together; she answers beaming
with pride, “65 years.” He then asks him. "What’s your name sir?" No response. "Can you tell me what year it is?" He mutters something…maybe something about
1948 or 1945? "Do you know who that is next to you?" His face never turned away
from hers and his answer is quick and confident, “my wife.” She smiles, a sad
smile as tears now glisten in her eyes. She knows all he knows is who she is
but the life they used to live is not the same. Their timeline of life long and
full has proven their love is till death do them part. This graceful, little
lady is determined to care for her ailing husband with Alzheimer’s; hard as it
is as she is older and barely strong or healthy enough to even care for herself.
"Sir,
can you draw this pattern?" He looks at his wife confused, she hands him the pen
and repeats, “draw this.” He looks at her, his eyes dart quickly at the doctor;
reaches for the pen struggling to figure out how to hold it firmly in his hand. He
sits there, already forgotten what was asked. The doctor asks, "draw a circle." Nothing. The smiling doctor, seeing how much they love each other asks, "can you
write, ‘I love my wife’." To our surprise, this old gentleman with his
glistening, aged dark eyes, scrawls in child like penmanship ‘I love my wife.’
His wife beams and reaches for that scrap of paper and holds it like treasure,
a glimpse of what once was.
I
sit there amazed. I observe what love really is. Not a shallow lust portrayed
oh so well in our young society. It’s a journey, a fight not with each other to
prove their love but a fight for each other together to stay in love. It seems
to be a constant fight to forget the wrongs and remember the right. It’s
hopeful but perseveres. It stays together, works together, gives, cares, and
shares together. We throw the word ‘love’ around a lot. The only problem is
that it’s not just being in love, it’s being love in action.
Through
my seemingly aimless wandering in this life, I fortunately come across
reminders of a purpose to be love in action to those who I may accidently meet
on my little journey of life. Purposely serving, giving, sharing, trying to
live a life of love in action. I often fail and sometimes I forget and
selfishly I….but thankfully remember.
It
is a work of art, step by step, brush stroke by brush stroke the bigger picture
slowly but surely comes together.
Though
the vision is not clear and tarries, wait for it.
