My Valentine
The assignment for Week 7 was "Valentine", and it was leaving me a little baffled. I've been incredibly blessed with loving family in my life. I've seen many expressions of love, both big and small, and all of them have shaped my life. I continue to learn from them, and while my knowledge of individual love stories may be scattered, my memories of the love I've seen makes a story of its own. So my first thought was various expressions of love I have seen in family members throughout my life, and how those things have touched me, and shaped my own ideas of love. These expressions of love are worth sharing, and yet in some ways, it isn't something I feel qualified to do. I know bits and pieces of the stories of various family members, but I didn't feel like I know enough about any of them in particular to try and do them justice in the telling. Plus, too many small tidbits from multiple relationships was going to be hard to put together in a readable way. So what to do?
What I kept coming back to was my parents. Except for my own marriage, theirs is the one I am most familiar with. I've lived in its presence and taken at least an indirect part in its up and downs for most of my life. I'm sure there are many things I missed about their relationship throughout the years, just because I was a kid and tended to tune things out that weren't about "me" and the things I was interested in. It's just the way of the world. Still, there are things I know and things I've seen in their lives that have an effect on me and on my life every day.
They met in the late 1960's, after my father and a friend decided to head north from Texas looking for work. The two young men had big plans about how things would work out, but somehow it never quite panned out the way the expected it to, and so they kept moving. Years ago, my father wrote his memories of this time in a piece about meeting my Mother. He's always had a strong belief that God played a part in keeping him and his friend moving, because when they stopped, he met my Mom. She was a senior in high school, and he was about 20. They met at church, and Mom said that my Grandmother was more than a little concerned when her daughter just climbed into Dad's convertible to go to a get-together they were having. They grew to love one another, and married in June of 1969. My mother had only graduated from high school a couple of weeks before. Their love story had begun.
I wish now that I could go back and learn more about the beginnings of their story together. It is the part that is hardest for me to tell, because of course I wasn't there, and my memories of them didn't start solidifying until quite a bit later. They lived in the Seattle area for a while, and then moved back to Texas, where I was born the end of 1970. All my life I have watched these two folks together, and formed images of what a marriage should be, or could be. My Dad came from a stable, loving home environment. My Mother did not. Sometimes this caused difficulties and mis-communications, but they worked their way through it as the years went by, and I formed many of the memories that I have of them today.
Perhaps the memory that has touched me most profoundly about the love in their lives happened during the last few weeks of Mom's life. I was fortunate to be able to spend those weeks with them before my Mom passed away in 2014. Mom was fighting a aggressive, cancerous brain tumor which affected her both physically and mentally in those last few weeks. She found herself dwelling on things and rehashing them over and over. One day, she told me she didn't understand why my Dad had done something several months earlier. It was obvious that she was feeling insecure and hurt, and looking at her was almost like looking at a plaintive child who needs some reassurance. So I told her the truth of what I had seen. I told her I didn't know why those things had happened, but what I did know is that he hadn't done it to hurt her. I told her he loved her very much, and that I had watched that love in the little things that he did. On nights when she, body aching and mind restless, would go from the bedroom to the recliner in the living room at night to try and sleep ... how he would follow, curling up to sleep on a couch that was too short for him, just to be near her. To be there if she needed him, even though there was so little he could do. I tried to comfort her, and saw tears rolling down her cheek. Three years later, I still wish I knew if what I said was of any help.
After her death, my father often spoke of "his lady", and how much he missed her. And as I began sifting through some of the memories in their home I came across a drawer full of old cards and letters from loved ones throughout the years. I found a great many letters and cards from each of my parents to the other. Some were simply signed, but the ones that often brought me to tears were the ones where heart-felt sentiments were penned. In an anniversary card from 2008, my Dad enclosed a note telling Mom about a memory of my wedding day nearly eight years before. How he waited to walk me down the aisle, and how he felt when he saw me appear in my wedding dress for the first time.
I know their married life was not always easy for them. I remember days that always started with a kiss goodbye as Mom took us to school and Dad went off to work. I remember days when they fought, and it seemed like they were two folks a thousand miles apart, but both located in the same house. They stuck it out. And they tried to make it better for themselves and for each other. And even when it was hard, their cards were signed with "I love you more than you know.", and "Thank you for doing so much for me." I even found a card my Dad had purchased and hidden away, that he never had a chance to give to my Mom. In essence, it asked, "How did I get so lucky?"
My parents' love is an example to me. They made it through so many of life's ups and downs, and their own strengths and weaknesses. Their determination never to give up on each other is a strength and comfort to me in my own life, despite the fact that it seems their love story ended much too soon. Their marriage is the reason I am here. Their commitment to each other and to God is the reason I live my life the way I do. Their love is a part of who I am. I can imagine no greater gift.
What I kept coming back to was my parents. Except for my own marriage, theirs is the one I am most familiar with. I've lived in its presence and taken at least an indirect part in its up and downs for most of my life. I'm sure there are many things I missed about their relationship throughout the years, just because I was a kid and tended to tune things out that weren't about "me" and the things I was interested in. It's just the way of the world. Still, there are things I know and things I've seen in their lives that have an effect on me and on my life every day.
They met in the late 1960's, after my father and a friend decided to head north from Texas looking for work. The two young men had big plans about how things would work out, but somehow it never quite panned out the way the expected it to, and so they kept moving. Years ago, my father wrote his memories of this time in a piece about meeting my Mother. He's always had a strong belief that God played a part in keeping him and his friend moving, because when they stopped, he met my Mom. She was a senior in high school, and he was about 20. They met at church, and Mom said that my Grandmother was more than a little concerned when her daughter just climbed into Dad's convertible to go to a get-together they were having. They grew to love one another, and married in June of 1969. My mother had only graduated from high school a couple of weeks before. Their love story had begun.
I wish now that I could go back and learn more about the beginnings of their story together. It is the part that is hardest for me to tell, because of course I wasn't there, and my memories of them didn't start solidifying until quite a bit later. They lived in the Seattle area for a while, and then moved back to Texas, where I was born the end of 1970. All my life I have watched these two folks together, and formed images of what a marriage should be, or could be. My Dad came from a stable, loving home environment. My Mother did not. Sometimes this caused difficulties and mis-communications, but they worked their way through it as the years went by, and I formed many of the memories that I have of them today.
Perhaps the memory that has touched me most profoundly about the love in their lives happened during the last few weeks of Mom's life. I was fortunate to be able to spend those weeks with them before my Mom passed away in 2014. Mom was fighting a aggressive, cancerous brain tumor which affected her both physically and mentally in those last few weeks. She found herself dwelling on things and rehashing them over and over. One day, she told me she didn't understand why my Dad had done something several months earlier. It was obvious that she was feeling insecure and hurt, and looking at her was almost like looking at a plaintive child who needs some reassurance. So I told her the truth of what I had seen. I told her I didn't know why those things had happened, but what I did know is that he hadn't done it to hurt her. I told her he loved her very much, and that I had watched that love in the little things that he did. On nights when she, body aching and mind restless, would go from the bedroom to the recliner in the living room at night to try and sleep ... how he would follow, curling up to sleep on a couch that was too short for him, just to be near her. To be there if she needed him, even though there was so little he could do. I tried to comfort her, and saw tears rolling down her cheek. Three years later, I still wish I knew if what I said was of any help.
After her death, my father often spoke of "his lady", and how much he missed her. And as I began sifting through some of the memories in their home I came across a drawer full of old cards and letters from loved ones throughout the years. I found a great many letters and cards from each of my parents to the other. Some were simply signed, but the ones that often brought me to tears were the ones where heart-felt sentiments were penned. In an anniversary card from 2008, my Dad enclosed a note telling Mom about a memory of my wedding day nearly eight years before. How he waited to walk me down the aisle, and how he felt when he saw me appear in my wedding dress for the first time.
"And then ... a half-moment later ... I thought to myself, "But it reminds me of something
similar, some years ago." It was then that I remembered another time when I waited at the
other end of the [a]isle, with Dad, and it was you who came into my sight as you stepped
into the room. I think that moment took away an even greater breath as I stood there."
He went on to say,
"Thanks for sharing your life with me ... I'm sure glad to have you at my side."
My parents' love is an example to me. They made it through so many of life's ups and downs, and their own strengths and weaknesses. Their determination never to give up on each other is a strength and comfort to me in my own life, despite the fact that it seems their love story ended much too soon. Their marriage is the reason I am here. Their commitment to each other and to God is the reason I live my life the way I do. Their love is a part of who I am. I can imagine no greater gift.
♥♥♥♥
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