Thoughts on Love (from the trenches)

Love is patient. Love is kind.

These words are up in my house in at least four different places. They were part of our wedding vows. First Corinthians is a reading that lots of people look to for inspiration as to what marriage really means.

It’s not until you’re really in the trenches together do you get to see it play out.

My mom is old, alone, and sick. I’m an only child and we have no other family on her side. As we get closer and closer to moving her into assisted living (her move-in date is next week), I’ve been managing all the things: her finances, her healthcare, her grocery shopping, food, cleaning, everything.

It means I’m not around as much as I’d like to be for my own family. While I’m gone, my husband, Chris, picks up the slack.

Love is patient.

It means I’m struggling to keep my head on straight when I vacillate between sadness, anger, and frustration, and while I fall apart, Chris makes a frittata for my mother so she’ll have breakfast set for the week.

Love is kind.

It means that I have this great big thing happening in my professional life - the launch of Cosmo Reads and my impending book release - and while I panic about how I’m going to get my day job work done and juggle that plus my mom plus the girls and the rest of life, Chris quietly does the laundry so I’ll have work clothes ready for the week.

It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.

It means that - even though my relationship with my mother has not always been easy (and is far from easy now), Chris reminds me to give myself grace, and he models that by offering it to me when I’m hard on myself after a particularly difficult day. “We’re all human,” he says. “It’s okay to feel the way you feel.”

It does not dishonor others, it is not self seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.

When my mother’s words or actions hurt me - whether on purpose or by accident - Chris reminds me of all the ways that I am trying to not bring that energy to my own daughters. “Our girls are so lucky to have you. They love you, and they’re worried about you,” he tells me. “Because you’re a great mom.”

Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth.

When I’m tired, or upset, or busy, Chris offers to take on the next trip to my mom’s house. “I can handle the eye drops,” he reminds me. “I can heat up the food.” Despite his own work, despite the papers he needs to grade or the lesson plans he needs to create, he squeezes himself for extra energy when my reserves are depleted.

It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

When his grandfather was sick years ago and we were much, much younger, every Friday I would make raviolis and put them in the blender, and Chris and I would bring them to the nursing home so we could feed him. That was almost 18 years ago. It seems like a lifetime has passed since then.

In the ebbs and flows, we pick each other up, help each other along.

It’s not glamorous, marriage. Life. Sickness and health. Being in the thick of it. But if you’re lucky enough to have a partner like Chris, somehow it’s all okay.

Love never fails.