“I love you.”
The man I married was my knight in shining armor. He made my life both safe and wide open at the same time. He taught me how to laugh at myself, how to take joy in the little things, and how to love with abandon. He was my living example of unconditional love. He loved me warts and all, and, quite honestly, even found some of them intriguing. He believed in my every effort and gave me space to grow into the person I needed to be, step by step, over the course of three decades.
But little by little, that man left me. Not because he wanted to, but because his mind betrayed both of us. I was his world, and that felt solid, enduring. I’m still his world, but now in a much different way. During most of the day, he remembers that I’m his wife and tells me he loves me. That love doesn’t look the same as it once did, but in those gentler moments, I still feel it.
And then—just as quickly—the temper surfaces, because his world isn’t what he wants it to be.
I am learning that tone is everything, but my personality does not naturally lend itself to soft tones when confronted with anger. It has been, and continues to be, quite the journey.
The Daily Reality
Our days are a mixture of frustration and grace. I’ve learned that if I get up early for prayer and scripture, I am more patient when Fred wakes up early and interrupts “my” quiet time.
There are sweet spots in the middle of the mess. Sitting on the back porch, shucking corn together for our Maryland Housewarming made us laugh like old times.
At mealtimes, I hear Fred struggle to find the words in the blessing he’s said for years. Even when he can’t say them, he perseveres. His heart still leads, even when his mind falters. Those moments humble me.
But no schedule holds anymore. I am often out of my depth. My sharp tongue and impatience remind me how much I need God to keep shaping me.
Faith That Holds
I’ve learned I cannot do this on my own strength any more than I could give up alcohol on my own. It took God and a village. He’s the only one who can soften my sharpness now. My deepest desire is to let kindness become as much a part of my nature as sobriety has been.
And again and again, He shows up—in the mundane and in the crises.
- In the chores and the fatigue.
- In Fred’s sleepy moments of surrender.
- In my petitions whispered while he rests.
“Restore his mind and energy, Lord, as much as is in Your will. Bring him peace in this season. And grant me the same full surrender I see in him.”
Scripture becomes my anchor:
“Your Word is a lamp unto my feet.”
“You pulled me out of the miry clay and set me upon a solid rock.”
“You are my light and my salvation.”
Closing Reflections
The encouraging part is that Fred still ends our days by praying with me. The poignant part is his determined struggle to find words that come to mind, but he cannot speak them. Then, I step in to lead the man who once led me. This reversal is tender and painful, all at once.
Still, when he looks at me and says “I love you”, I hear the echo of the man I married—and the presence of the man he is now. Both are real. Both are mine. And, both are love.
Thank you for sharing my memories from a portion of September 2021.
Friend, if you’ve walked this road—if you’ve loved someone through change, illness, or memory loss—how have you answered when love doesn’t look the same as it once did?
I’d be honored if you’d share your heart in the comments below. Until next time, I’ll keep the light on . . .
– Gritty Granny
Leave a Reply