The Day I Finally Got It
There was completeness to the ride Nancy and I took together. I can pinpoint most of the important landmarks along the path. You want to know the moment I most loved Nancy?
We were waiting for the ambulance to Keystone hospice. She was fading fast, experiencing more bouts of confusion, always restless. Suddenly, I couldn’t just sit there anymore. As a guy, as a desperate husband I had to find something to do, some way to help, something to ease her suffering, something that would take away some of her pain, while making me feel a bit less futile, a bit less helpless, a bit less impotent, a bit less useless.
Where could I find a weapon to attack my futility and her frailty? She could no longer feed herself. So, I went into the kitchen, opened the freezer and took out my weapon. She had been desperately sucking on cherry flavored junior ice pops throughout the last three weeks. Returning to the living room, I sat down next to her hospital bed and pressed the Popsicle to her lips. She was too weak to say “Thank you.” Those luminous blue eyes were too dim to flash a glint of appreciation. Wordlessly she started sucking on the frozen sugar and water. The only response came through the sound of her intense effort to sooth her parched lips. She was taking in the last sliver of nourishment she ever ingested in our home. It was heartbreaking to behold.
But in that moment, I realized that I could never love her more. She would give me nothing in return. There was no payback. No thought of a smile, no unspoken agreement of intimacy in exchange for a night out. Holding that stick as she nibbled away, I finally got it. Love was about serving a person unconditionally with no thought of self interest. The “reward” was in the act of caring for this beautiful woman who had given me her love, her kindness, her body, her smile and her faith for many years.
It’s Valentine’s Day. Today we celebrate love. We exchange cards, flowers, chocolates and kisses. Most of us hope to get a “return on these investments.” Today I remember the moment when I finally I got it. Love is about what I can give away. And my reward comes in knowing I no longer require anything in return.
There was completeness to the ride Nancy and I took together. I can pinpoint most of the important landmarks along the path. You want to know the moment I most loved Nancy?
We were waiting for the ambulance to Keystone hospice. She was fading fast, experiencing more bouts of confusion, always restless. Suddenly, I couldn’t just sit there anymore. As a guy, as a desperate husband I had to find something to do, some way to help, something to ease her suffering, something that would take away some of her pain, while making me feel a bit less futile, a bit less helpless, a bit less impotent, a bit less useless.
Where could I find a weapon to attack my futility and her frailty? She could no longer feed herself. So, I went into the kitchen, opened the freezer and took out my weapon. She had been desperately sucking on cherry flavored junior ice pops throughout the last three weeks. Returning to the living room, I sat down next to her hospital bed and pressed the Popsicle to her lips. She was too weak to say “Thank you.” Those luminous blue eyes were too dim to flash a glint of appreciation. Wordlessly she started sucking on the frozen sugar and water. The only response came through the sound of her intense effort to sooth her parched lips. She was taking in the last sliver of nourishment she ever ingested in our home. It was heartbreaking to behold.
But in that moment, I realized that I could never love her more. She would give me nothing in return. There was no payback. No thought of a smile, no unspoken agreement of intimacy in exchange for a night out. Holding that stick as she nibbled away, I finally got it. Love was about serving a person unconditionally with no thought of self interest. The “reward” was in the act of caring for this beautiful woman who had given me her love, her kindness, her body, her smile and her faith for many years.
It’s Valentine’s Day. Today we celebrate love. We exchange cards, flowers, chocolates and kisses. Most of us hope to get a “return on these investments.” Today I remember the moment when I finally I got it. Love is about what I can give away. And my reward comes in knowing I no longer require anything in return.
Will I ever be willing to love like this again? The cry of my heart is, "Yep. I would like nothing better than the chance to hold another popsicle, no matter what its "flavor' or "shape "'. After all, there was never a moment that brought me closer to the love of God. I don't want my experience of this kind of love to remain mere memory.
So, join with me in this celebration.
Experience for yourself this sweet liberation.
Make sure that you read the cards, sample the chocolates, smell the roses, and taste the kisses. Then lean back and give it all away.
Thanks, Rocky, for giving me 34 years to figure this out.
3 comments:
I feel in debt to you for faithfully recording your insights. Thank you for giving us the means to understand better what grief feels like at different stages, and for transparently letting us in to your life. I don't think I will ever see popsicles as I once did - they will be a trigger to me to reflect on unconditional love. Thank you, Dan.
Dan,
Thanks for these wonderful words. And, in response to your "top ten" list...write that book. Please? You've got so many wonderful insights to share.
I'll be praying for your test results.
Best,
Kimberly Smith
Dear Dan,
Your blog feeds my soul. Thank you for the great Henri Nouwen quote yesterday and your musings on love today. I spend too much time "keeping score" in my closest relationships and being resentful that I spend most of my day meeting others' needs, leaving little time to meet my own. But your insights give me pause and encourage me to see those relationships in a new light -- to be grateful for the privilege to serve, and to be reminded that the best love is one which receives nothing in return. Thank you for strengthening others in the journey through your sensitive and honest reflections. We're praying for you about tomorrow... And I agree: Write that book! Warmly, Wendy
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