(Guest blogger warning: If you are expecting a post from my articulate, thoughtful and empathetic wife, you'll have to wait. She is due back Tuesday. Until then, you're stuck with her faithful sidekick. . .)
Have you ever seen a look in the face of someone you love that haunts you? A look that shares pain, sorrow and loss by it's mere existence?
This has been a very difficult past 10 days. Jess' father is sick and in the hospital. Her mother has been dealing with all that comes with your spouse of 40 years being sick. Her family has come together from 100 miles away and spent the majority of their week here. At first all converging upon the hospital, and then sharing a schedule that has meant that her dad has never been alone.
It has me wondering: Do we ever tell our spouse, kids, parents enough about how we feel about them? Why do we let little things corrode our relationships over time like rust, rather than simply acknowledging them and moving on? At what point in our lives, do we move from growing up to growing older?
I guess we all go through similar phases in getting to know our parents. We move from idolization to rebelion. From anger at their limits and faults, to recognition of our own. At some point we move to acceptance of all that they are.
And then at some point, they aren't.
I've seen something in my wife this week. Maybe it's only in times of great emotion that we see deeper into the people we love. Jess & I tell each other all the time that what we have is rare. That we are both so lucky to have met each other. That we are blessed to have this bond.
She has a deep capacity for caring and is driven to understand and question what she is told. I've always loved her for her passion and her straightforwardness. This week I saw her questioning her father's doctors. Searching the web for answers. Talking late into the night with her sister Jean. Trying to understand something that just may not be understandable.
This week I saw her set everything aside and go to her parents. I saw her talking with her sisters, giving of herself: being there. I saw in her actions, what we should all be telling each other more often. I love you. I'm here for you. You are my family. . . .