♥ ♥ ♥
I was on the phone today with a really lovely client, I had fun talking with him. He had so many stories to tell. He’s an old chap, but his wife has dementia. He gave me an advise which I know I’ll take to heart. I don’t know what he looks like, or what he’s like, but he sounds like a blessing and I know they lived a good life. I would like to share it will you all as I felt how he truly loved his wife, and how important it is to treasure every second you have with your loved ones because we never know when they would lose their memory and not remember you at all. My heart broke for this wonderful man, but I felt like he was still contented with how they are now and he sounds happy.
This is not the exact verbatim, but here’s what he said:
“When you marry, what you miss most when you’re old and not together anymore, is hearing the little things. Say, you’re having a cup of tea with your wife, it’s a normal routine for both of you but once it’s not, it’s like a big hole in your heart, and you wish she was there again with you, creating memories and doing the same routine. We’ve been together for 57 years and she’s been my companion for everything, and when I visited her the other day, she kissed me on the cheek and hugged me tight - which she hasn’t done for a long time now. She still gives me the tingles, you know? Because now, when you tell her something, she will forget it 10 mins later. So I realized, you have to put more effort into your thoughts and what you’re actually doing. When you get to stage about starting to worry about a matter, the only thing that matters is now. Enjoy that cup of tea you’re having, enjoy the small talks, enjoy the way she smiled at you. You will need it when you grow older, when memories are all you have. We’re not together, but I still hear her in my heart. We’re still together by heart.”
Was
He was the kind of love that pulls you apart from the inside.
Feral and ravaging.
Crashing and teeming.
Skin ripping from the pressure building.
He was my fingers dug into my palms to form crescent, blood moons.
He was my breath too heavy to catch.
My bones splintering from the weight of my blood rushing.
He was my eyes closed tight and my head tipped back and my chest full of melancholy and ache.
He was the kind of love that is breaking.
A war determined to eat me from my body.
Myself, torn in shreds.
He was my tongue wetting my lips and my skin warmed and aching.
The creep of longing that tumbled across my neck and back.
The bruises smarting against whispered touches.
He was the light that breaks through when you come out of the shadows.
He was the darkness that pulled me in deeper.
He was a frenetic up and down, drain circling, tantrum.
He was the angst that I craved.
He was words pouring out of me all at once.
And he was the throbbing in my hysteric heart.
The pulsing torment that’s deconstructed my being.
And the insomnia that continues to keep my eyes tired and my mouth starving.
My destroyed.
My raw.
My devoured.
My tormented.
My gritty.
My careening.
My burnt.
My blistered.
My wrecked.
My fiery.
My raging.
My tortured.
My drowned.
My lonely, deadly, can’t hold it together.
My never ending.
Ending.