Pray that your loneliness may spur you into finding something to live for, great enough to die for.
Dag Hammarskjold
Love is an action. Just saying it makes it no truer than saying the sky isn’t blue. Saying it reaffirms it—if it is there. If it’s not felt on the recipient’s end by past or current actions, then saying it is entirely pointless. Perhaps a waste of breath.
It’s sometimes easier to look at what love is not. Love is not getting angry and yelling at someone. Love is not having near non-existent patience with some. Love is not hanging up on someone out of anger. Love is not avoiding someone. Love is not hiding from someone or acting like you don’t see them. I’m a KJV guy, but some of the wording of the NIV version is wonderful, and describes entirely my feelings of what love actually is.
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
This is the gist of a quick redlight conversation with the car next to us on the way home from work today:
You know, that never gets any easier—breaking it to someone that is just so full of excitement after not seeing her in years that they want you to tell her hi for them, and seeing how it hits them. It really knocks the wind out of my sails to have to be the one to tell them too. The sweet part of it being bittersweet is knowing how well liked my Mom was by anyone that ever had the pleasure of meeting her.
Yesterday morning, my oldest brother gave me a call about taking Dad to the ER. Dad’s been progressively worse over the past few weeks, with the past 3-4 days just feeling horrible. I agreed that he should go if he would, but only with the understanding that his appointment next Tuesday with the GI would not get cancelled in the process. Meeting them in the parking lot, Dad was having some very bad pains, and holding his stomach like he has been for the past few days. He was miserable.
Walking into the Emergency Room was very hard for me. 7 months prior I walked in there for the first time and received an event that still effects me to this day. I don’t like the ER, or any hospital for that matter. I don’t like the atmosphere. I don’t like the possibilities. I just don’t like it.
I’m a little behind on writing about our trip to DC. My motivation lately can be found near the nonexistant level, even with trying as much as I can to do better on things. Even writing, something that I think ultimately helps me, comes with such put-off that it takes me much longer than I ever want or anticipate to type something out, or in some cases, respond to emails.
I’ll start off with the short version, which was a text conversation with one of my friends.
I wish everyone would just stop assuming they know what my Dad’s problem is. Every single person that he talks to starts diagnosing him in their own way. Quit giving him ideas that it’s just an ulcer, or that it’s scar tissue from surgery years ago, or it’s his gall bladder. Quit telling him different types of over-the-counter products to try. Quit telling him that if he gets to feeling better that he can just cancel his doctor appointment. Really?! Quit telling him that someone you know has had the same thing happening to them for years and years. Unless you have ‘Dr.’ in front of your name, just quit it.
It frustrates me so much I can’t stand it. I don’t care how good the intentions are, because if you constantly make someone believe that it’s something minor, and it ends up not being, that will make the news even more devastating.
Six months later and I’m still discovering obstacles within myself, learning how to deal with things, and getting so frustrated at times that I can’t stand it. My patience is thinner than it’s ever been, my sense of worry heightened, and my sleeplessness catching up. I have trouble getting out of bed each morning, sometimes realizing that I have to get up because my phone has already given up. I’m running late most days. The other day I slept an hour past the alarm, and was awoken by Dad hollering upstairs to see if I was off that day. I wasn’t.
I miss coming home each day and talking with Mom about everything. I miss having someone to talk to one-on-one. That’s a void that I don’t think can ever be filled. Dad tries I think, but more times than not he becomes disinterested or thinks I’m finished and just walks off. It’s not his fault though. Why I just assumed that he would want to hear all that anyways, I don’t know. That’s misjudgement on my part, and I don’t hold it against him at all.
It’s indescribable trying to explain what it feels like for Mother’s Day to be here, and not be able to see your Mom. It’s something you cannot be sure what it’s like until you’re there. I’m there and I hate it. I hate it for my brothers. I hate it for me. I hate it for anyone that ever has to spend this day without their Mom. I thought alot today about a friend of mine that misses her Mom alot, too. The only thing that makes days like today easier, is spending the day with my family, and knowing that I have friends that care enough to send me a message wishing me a great day or hoping that we’re doing okay today.
I’d give anything to have been able to give Mom another card like last year’s again this year. Last night Chase and I stopped to pick up a Mother’s Day card for our Grandma. I could stand and read cards forever, but it’s an extremely sad feeling to be standing in the isle, reading cards that are from son to mother, and knowing that won’t happen any more. I always avoid the funny cards for holidays like today. I like cards that have words that are spoken directly from the heart and carry tons of love and feelings with them. Those are the ones that truly capture the reason we celebrate this day.
If it could, we’d never lose any one or any thing. We’d never have to deal with losses, or worry if one may be near by. I really wish it were that simple.
Last night we lost one of the best pets we will ever be blessed with having, Penny. A childhood friend, man’s best friend, warm little bed buddy, road trip companion, you name it, she was it for 15 years. 15 years.
It was apparent yesterday that she would most likely not make it through the night. So knowing it was one of her greatest joys in her little life, we made sure to let her go “bye-bye” one last time yesterday evening.
It’s impossible to measure love, but even if it were, I think it’d be impossible to imagine the amount of love that little dog has received from our family throughout her life.
Thousands of candles can be lit from a single candle, and the life of the candle will not be shortened. Happiness never decreases by being shared.
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© Copyright 2007-2012 Shane Holden
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