Reflection

When I came home this afternoon after running errands, my house was quiet. I never know what mood to expect from my man. I often hear him hollering (no better term for it) my name and demanding me to come HERE; come here NOW! When he doesn’t call my name, he uses more endearing terms: WIFE! or my all-time favorite, WOMAN!

The grandchildren think it’s funny and sometimes I laugh along with them—unless I’ve heard it every waking minute for a week or so. There are times I feel like a prisoner in my own home because I can’t make a move that he’s not aware of. He’s lost his sense of reality, but his hearing is remarkable, much better than it ever has been. (Which might confirm my suspicion of the “selective hearing” I always accused him of having.)

My appearance usually satisfies him. The moment he sees me, he wants to kiss me and tell me how beautiful I am, and he wants to tell me one more time he loves me. I’ve learned I need to receive it because he needs to say it, and I’ve also learned he needs those words from me. Today he got as close to me as his wheelchair would allow and cracked open his eyes long enough to ask a question.

“ Where is this place?” he asks.

“This is our home,” I say.

“When did we get it?”

“About 50 years ago.”

He looks puzzled. “How did I forget so much?”

So many feelings are backed up in my mind just now that the least little crack in my thinking threatens to erupt into a tsunami of emotions. I want to reminisce with him; I want to bring out old picture albums and relieve the wonderful adventures we’ve shared for 55 years; I want to convert the eight-track tapes of our boys’ innumerable sports games into digital form and replay the memories together.

He’s awake again. “Let’s go out somewhere, just me and you.” A sly smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “I’d love to!” I say, and I mean it. I give him a hug and hold him as he dozes back to sleep, thankful I have one more opportunity to let him know I love him.

He wakes again. “I miss you,” he says. I know what he’s saying; he misses “us.” So do I.

When our boys were little I thought my job was to get them to the point they wouldn’t act like cavemen and be independent enough that I could pursue some of my many ambitions and dreams. However, one day the Holy Spirit spoke to my heart and made me aware that God had created me for one main purpose: to bring up those boys to be Christian men, disciplined and capable of being leaders to their families. My life and my priorities changed from that moment on.

Now I’m at a similar crossroad. I can do things I want to do with the time I have left on Earth (which is rapidly running out!) and leave my husband in the care of capable caregivers. Or I can seize the opportunity to be devoted, even when he yells for me to come here NOW!

I look back on the past 80 years and honestly don’t think there’s anything I’d change—not even the paint colors on my walls. I once heard someone say, “You might not be somebody to the world, but you might be be world to somebody.” And that’s where I am at this season. For years I felt I was the world to five little “somebodies” and now I’m the same for their father—and it’s my blessing.

At this point, I want to be self-indulgent with you, my Reader. I riffled through older journal entries and came across the following account of our 50th wedding anniversary. I want to share it because…well, because I want to relive a good memory with somebody (and honestly, I like the way I wrote it!). Here it is.

July 20, 2019

I watched the couple as they entered the dining room; obviously senior citizens. He guided her to the buffet and showed her the stack of plates on the end. I was impressed by the awareness they seemed to have of each other. She indicated she wanted to check out the dessert choices before joining the queue and reminded him to pick up his salad plate. He ladled a serving of soup into a bowl and handed it to her. They’ve probably been married a long time.

With his hands holding plates of food, he used his body to push open the glass door leading out onto the patio. She passed through, placed her plate on the table, and came back to hold the door for him. He pulled her chair back for her and adjusted it as she sat down.

They simultaneously bowed their heads and prayed.

They seemed delighted with their young female server. She briefly lingered at their table when she brought their drinks, recognizing their need to tell her they were celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary. They no doubt wanted to say more, but she was understandably busy.

They chatted occasionally throughout the meal, but mostly ate in comfortable silence. She usually had to repeat her statements, leaning forward and speaking louder. Yet, she never seemed annoyed.

After dinner, neither of them seemed anxious to leave. They sat in contemplation, watching the kaleidoscope of sunset, each lost in personal thought. Then, as if on cue, they both reached across the table for the other’s hand. She tenderly stroked his gold wedding band, her chin propped in her other hand.

I found myself wondering what they were thinking.

Had the past fifty years flown by for them?

Did they compare themselves to other couples in the same season of life?

Did they have regrets?

Were they hiding fears of the future?

Were they wondering how many more anniversaries they would celebrate together?

Eventually they rose to leave. I couldn’t resist letting my eyes follow them, when I suddenly realized they were coming toward me.

And in that moment I recognized them.

He reached for the glass door, held it open for her, and we morphed into the reflection as we exited the dining room.

Burt and Careen, 2019