This is a true story of happily ever after that starts in the middle instead of the beginning.
Once upon a time, there was a little old man and a little old woman in love. They lived in a small Idaho kingdom and celebrated sixty-five wedding anniversaries together.
One day, the little old woman was vacuuming when she fell and broke her hip. The little old man called 911, and paramedics took the little old woman to a hospital located in a kingdom twenty-five miles yonder. The little old man and the little old woman were sad and afraid. Their children and grandchildren were sad and afraid, too.
Doctors did surgery on the little old woman’s hip. Many weeks went by. Nurses and physical therapists helped the little old woman in her recovery. The little old woman and the little old man talked on the phone every day, and their children and grandchildren drove the little old man to the hospital so he could visit the little old woman often. Still, what the little old man and the little old woman wanted more than anything was to be together again.
The little old woman worked very hard to follow the instructions of the doctors, nurses and physical therapists. Soon, the little old woman was moved to an assisted-living facility located in the couple’s own kingdom, where she kept improving day by day. This helped the little old man stop worrying about the little old woman.
While the little old woman worked hard to get well, the little old man worked hard to take care of himself at home. He learned how to make his own bed, wash and dry his own dishes and warm food up in the microwave. This helped the little old woman stop worrying about the little old man.
Finally, the day came when the little old woman came home again. There was much rejoicing in the small Idaho kingdom.
The very next day, the little old man and the little old woman started making the bed, washing and drying their dishes and warming things up in the microwave together.
And they continue to live happily ever after.
The End.
This story of true love brought to you by one of the happy couple’s daughters.
A True Story of Happily Ever After
"Have You Seen My Glasses?"
I need to see.
That's why I wear glasses.
All day, every day.
Mostly.
Sometimes, I take them off and set them down.
(Wherever I might be in the house.)
Forget where I put them, and go on my merry way.
I don't know why I do this.
Set my glasses down. (Wherever I might be in the house.)
And forget where I put them. When I need to see.
All day, every day.
But I do.
That was before.
November 20th, 2004.
The day my sweetheart was snatched away.
At age 60. After 38 years of marriage.
Let me just say. He didn't go on purpose.
He would never leave me on purpose.
But God didn't give us a choice. Or a chance.
To beg at His gates.
Right then. When it happened.
The heart attack that clutched Dan.
While his cell phone remained in his pocket.
Honestly. I've had time to think.
And here's what it comes down to.
I think I set my glasses down. (Wherever I might be in the house.)
To get his attention. Because you know I love attention.
His office was at home. And he was a busy man.
Father of eight. Provider. Protector.
Attorney. Church volunteer. Political activist.
Troubleshooter. Actively engaged.
Still.
Whenever I set my glasses down. (Wherever I might be in the house.)
And couldn't find them in say, 15 seconds. When I needed to see.
I made it a point. To pass within earshot of my husband and ask,
“Have you seen my glasses?” (Wherever they might be in the house.)
Whereupon.
He would immediately abandon whatever he was doing.
Whatever deadline he was up against.
And I told you he was a busy man.
To find my glasses. (Wherever they might be in the house.)
And deliver them to me. With a kiss.
And I was always grateful.
Because I needed my glasses right this very minute.
To do something very important, and I needed my glasses to do it.
And I needed a kiss.
After.
November 20th. I noticed. Pain. Whenever I asked.
“Have you seen my glasses?” (Wherever they might be in the house.)
If any of our kids happened to be visiting.
They said no. They hadn't seen them.
So I had to find my glasses. (Wherever they might be in the house.)
By myself.
It wasn't their fault. They didn't know.
They were supposed to drop whatever they were doing.
Whatever deadline they were up against.
Whatever important thing they had on their calendar.
To find my glasses. (Wherever they might be in the house.)
And bring me a kiss. While they're at it.
Some people say that those who die are always happy.
But they don't know. Everything.
I found out.
That when my sweetheart isn't able. To drop whatever he is doing.
To find my glasses. (Wherever they are in the house.)
And bring them to me. With a kiss.
He feels pain.
Too.
Now.
I leave my glasses on.
All day, every day.
Mostly.
When I take them off.
And set them down. (Wherever I might be in the house.)
I'm careful to memorize where I put them.
So that when I ask myself, “Have you seen my glasses?”
I know the answer.
That way, my sweetheart and I don't have to cry.
As I flounder from room to room searching for my glasses.
And ache for the reward of kisses when I find them.
(Wherever we might be in the house.)
Hey! Our Nest Is Not Empty
Our “baby” daughter, Janette, got married on August 14th. I sewed her dress, and she was beautiful . . . a princess . . . her prince . . . the wedding . . . the honeymoon . . . a new life for them . . . and for us.
On August 16th, my husband and I woke up and had the whole house to ourselves, including the refrigerator and all its contents. Well, then . . . I suppose we never paid attention to all that talk about the “empty nest” phase. Who has the energy to think about stuff like that while sorting socks, toys, toddlers, report cards, and teenagers?
Let’s see. It looks like nothing about this parenting deal is going to come easy around here. Maybe mother loosening her grip on it will be the hardest thing of all. I suppose it’s hard because I can’t think of anything as meaningful as raising children, and I like being involved in meaningful. Then again, I don’t want to rewind the tape for any repeats. Thank you very much, but “my cup runneth over” with memories of the tooth fairy, chicken pox and driver's ed.
But here’s the point. The phrase “empty nest” is not going to work for me. Not even close. Matter of fact, I consider it a personal insult. How can they say our nest is empty when we’re still in it? Nothing about spending the past thirty-seven years as a mother makes me feel empty. Quite the opposite. Anyway, I’m not exactly through being a mom because parents don’t retire. They just graduate to the next level.
Still, it is quiet in this house while we’re getting used to the idea that clocks, dryers and computers make sounds we never heard before. I can even hear myself think once in awhile, and these are a few of the comforting thoughts I hear:
My dad died in his sleep at age 93 in June. My mom, age 90, continues to love and nurture her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren with countless little thoughts, prayers, words and deeds from her three-room apartment in an assisted-living facility. Most of my parents’ belongings are in the house they shared for forty years, but their house with all its belongings isn’t their nest. My parents take their nest with them wherever they go. It’s where they do what they do best. Their nest will never be empty, and neither will mine.