about the frightening effects of Alzheimer＇s disease on her father-in-law＇s personality. On Friday a childhood friend called long-distance to tell me her father had died. I hung up the phone and thought, This is too much heartache for one week. Through my tears, as I went out to run some errands, I noticed the boisterous orange blossoms of the gladiolus outside my window. I heard the delighted laughter of my son and his friend as they played. I caught sight of a wedding party emerging from a neighbor＇s house. The bride, dressed in satin and lace, tossed her bouquet to her cheering friends. That night, I told my husband about these events. We helped each other acknowledge the cycles of life and that the joys counter the sorrows. It was enough to keep us going.
Finally, there is knowing. I know Scott will throw his laundry just shy of the hamper every night; he＇ll be late to most appointments and eat the last chocolate in the box. He knows that I sleep with a pillow over my head; I＇ll lock us out of the house at a regular basis, and I will also eat the last chocolate.
I guess our love lasts because it is comfortable. No, the sky is not bluer: it＇s just a familiar hue. We don＇t feel particularly young: we＇ve experienced too much that has contributed to our growth and wisdom, taking its toll on our bodies, and created our memories.
I hope we＇ve got what it takes to make our love last. As a bride, I had Scott＇s wedding band engraved with Robert Browning＇s line "Grow old along with me!" We＇re following those instructions.
If anything is real, the heart will make it plain.