Monday, October 25, 2010

Thank you Dan.

Thanks, Dan.  My friend Dan sent this to me this morning and I though I would share it with you.  I have no idea who wrote it, but it has been sent around in some emails so that is probably a lost cause as to tracking down who actually wrote it.  None-the-less it is beautiful.

It is exactly why I took care of my Alzheimer Aunt for 10 years and why I am here with my mom.  Aunt Edith still knew me, although not too many other people share that recognition.  I liken her to Chloe the Smelly Basset, not because she smells (grin) but because there was not a day that went bChloey that I did not laugh at them both.  Funny gals, they are. 

My mom is different.  She is just confused.  I actually had a better relationship with my Aunt than I did my mom in all my growing up years and then adulthood.  My mother gave herself over to whatever man she was with, and the fact that it was my father made no difference in how they treated her or how she treated me.  She was one of the Happy Homemakers of the Fifties with their Little Purple Pills.  But she was my mother, so the obligation is there, my brother is not.

 This is what my friend sent me:

It was a busy morning, about 8:30, when an elderly gentleman in his 80's arrived to have stitches removed from his thumb. He said he was a hurry as he had an appointment at 9:00 am.  

I took his vital signs and had him take a seat, knowing it would be over an hour before someone would to able to see him. I saw him looking at his watch and decided, since I was not busy with another patient, I would evaluate his wound. On exam, it was well healed, so I talked to one of the doctors, got the needed supplies to remove his sutures and redress his wound.

While taking care of his wound, I asked him if he had another doctor's appointment this morning, as he was in such a hurry.  The gentleman told me no, that he needed to go to the nursing home to eat breakfast with his wife. I inquired as to her health.

He told me that she had been there for a while and that she was a victim of Alzheimer's Disease.  As we talked, I asked if she would be upset if he was a bit late.   He replied that she no longer knew who he was, that she had not recognized him in five years now.

I was surprised, and asked him, 'And you still go every morning, even though she doesn't know who you are?'

He smiled as he patted my hand and said, 'She doesn't know me, but I still know who she is.'

I had to hold back tears as he left, I had goose bumps on my arm, and thought, 'That is the kind of love I want in my life.'

True love is neither physical, nor romantic.  True love is an acceptance of all that is, has been, will be, and will not be.

'Life isn't about how to survive the storm, but how to dance in the rain.'


  1. You brought tears to my eyes. True love is neither physical, nor romantic. True love is an acceptance of all that is, has been, will be, and will not be. Oh how true that is! If it weren't an absolute truth, I would have left my darling Pape after the accident that took his ability to really remember things. It is was it is and it is what we have to deal with now so I love it! Each day is a blessing when he smiles and laughs with me even if he can't remember what was said 15 minutes before; even if it takes him 2 hours to do what should take 15 minutes to do b/c it is all new to him. We dance in the rain!

  2. Such beautiful thoughts - we should all read them every day and keep them in front of us. To be loved that much is breathtaking.

    Hugs - Marie

  3. Thank you, Glen, that's beautiful, and so true...just sometimes...if all you can manage is to survive the storm, that can be a triumph too...and maybe what 'will be' may be better than we can possibly imagine.


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