He is my husband. On June 8, 1974, we said the vows, made the promise, began that walk.
And here we are, walking still, walking together through this damnable disease. We walk a lot these days. We hold hands and stroll, slowly through the neighborhood. We live in a great place to walk; we rarely took the time to notice. Now we take the time, even as time slips by.
We take the dog and the little baggy (good neighbors) and she is impatient because of the lack of speed. She's also curious about what might have happened here or what might happen there. For us, we try to block curiosity. We know. We know enough.
Over the years, it's been LYNNE, LYNNERS, the to-the-point I NEED YOU, plus a few family favorites less suitable in this forum. He started calling me "Lynnie" when the sickness grabbed on I would get summoned with this version. At first, through walls and floors, I did not recognize that he was calling for me. Now I do.
He's sick. He's weak. He's tired. He's so so sad. Sometimes, I take out my contacts so I can't focus clearly. I don't want to cry in front of him, not for lack of honesty but because my tears cause him even more distress.
I HATE THIS DISEASE. It is taking my husband away from me, way too early.
Today, across our rather liquid lunch, he asked, "I wonder what God sees when He looks at me?"
Ever the know-it-all, I said, "I know exactly what God sees."
"And what is that? And black marks?"
"He sees you through the filter of His son. You are pure. You are perfect. You are His son and He's waiting for you."
"But what about how I look?"
"I think He sees a worn-out shell, worn down by this world. Really to take on that new body."
God's wisdom shows up at the right time, doesn't it?
So, for now, we will continue to walk, talk, eat, laugh (really), cry and cuddle. We will let the helpers help us. We will continue to praise our Father.
But, sometimes, I'm already missing my guy.