I had just stepped into the hallway when I saw it. One of the most beautiful things one could see: the undying love between a man and his wife.
A Love Story
Dad had been sick for some time already, and the cancer reduced him to about 85 pounds. Looking at him, I wondered if his transparent skin was the only thing left that held him together. He was too weak to sit up without being lifted, and up until two weeks before he passed on, Mom was his sole caregiver, waiting on him both night and day.
The evening we saw her stumbling to help him into his wheelchair was the night that my sisters and I knew it was time we stepped up. Taking shifts we stayed by his bedside around the clock. With six daughters popping in and out of the house, we spent our afternoons talking, visiting with our dad, and helping our mom around the house.
Keeping a spouse at home instead of the hospital was an incredible sacrifice for anyone—never mind the fact that our mom was 80 years old. But it wasn’t until I spent the night at their house that I realized the extent of what our mom had been going through in recent weeks. But despite the hard work it took our mom, she served her husband joyfully.
She was the bride of his youth, and he was her groom. Pulling her close, our dad looked at her the same way you look at someone when you’re about to have your first kiss, and it was obvious to me that they were still as hopelessly in love as the day that they met.1