A story of seed-planting, bean-snapping, and tending to all that we love. When we realize our loved one's days are numbered, we’re reminded to tend to them with loving care.
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Mom’s heart of love pulled us in. As her memory and skills faded, as grief over the loss of Dad enveloped her, and as her body failed her, she never focused on herself or her suffering. Instead, she brought us together. We came to care for her, to protect her, and to love on her, as she had always done for us.
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…I poured out my own servant-love on my children. It was hard work and though I complained and often grew tired, fully giving of myself had its own rewards. I watched as my children grew, learned, and became less dependent on me.
Then the tables turned. As my children needed less of me, my parents needed more.
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This is day four of my time in isolation. Day six since the onset of symptoms.
It was a matter of time. No matter how careful I was in wearing my mask and social distancing, I had seen the virus work its way into the lives of friends and family. It was relentless in finding any small opening in which to infect another unsuspecting soul.
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On their wedding day, Mom and Dad, like most young couples at the altar, made promises to each other. They committed to being faithful; to love each other “in sickness and in health…’til death us do part.”
They kept those promises for 64 years.
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For most of our lives we think of family as a top-down arrangement. Parents and grandparents care for children. Grandparents advise parents. Older siblings watch out for younger ones.
But at some point along the way, this structure shifts and what feels like the natural order of things flips upside down. As our parents age, we begin to care for them.
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