She speaks “Bless your heart” like a native. No discernible accent.
She learned the language as a child and has spoken it ever since.
If I were to speak it, it would sound like a bad script rehearsal. I can’t fake it.
She doesn’t need to.
The love falls from her words as naturally as rain from the sky. As
natural as grace. And the old and infirm welcome it just as naturally
as she offers it.
I’ve never
seen anything like it. Old people smile at her words like they’ve been
in a strange land and they’re hearing their native language spoken for
the first time in years.
They may have been in the good and
able care of others, but at the same time they’ve been starved for the
intimacy she offers them. They eat it up.
She listens. She
listens even when it means getting real close so she can hear. And she
asks them to repeat themselves if she doesn’t get it. She could fake it
and nod. She doesn’t. She leans in closer. She holds an offered
hand.
And so it was as she started helping to care for Marjorie
this past year. She quickly became the brightest light in a life so
small and cordoned off by age that it consisted mostly of one chair set
in front of a picture window so that Marjorie could watch the bird
feeder just beyond the glass. The books that used to entertain her
became blank pages. The TV became noise.
But when she came into the room to clean it, she always took the time to sit with Marjorie for a while.
There was never much new to talk about, but that’s just another of her
gifts – questions. She prompted years of retold memories to pass the
long and previously empty hours.
You could find her in the room
with Marjorie most evenings before leaving for home. She would be
kneeling on the floor in front of Marjorie. They’d be laughing and
talking and sharing, hand in hand.
Yesterday she went to
Marjorie’s side. It had been a rough night before. In words I couldn’t
summon if I had to, she leaned in real close to Marjorie’s ear and said
quietly, “I love you Marjorie. I’m going to pray that angels might come
to make your journey go easily. Tonight you’ll be in the arms of
Jesus.” And then she bent forward and kissed Marjorie’s 98 year old
lips – because that’s how they always say goodnight.
Marjorie nodded. And about an hour later she was with Jesus.
Who is this woman I married?
A wise and caring woman is the answer to your question.
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