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“Well, I guess you can’t always rely on feeling in love. That comes and goes. It’s a decision, too, you know. You have to look after it. The more you can make the other person feel loved, fill their tank as it were, the more they have in their reserve to make you feel loved. It’s a cycle. I used to try and plan little surprises when I could if ever things were getting stale.”
Grateful for whatever you have, whether it’s a new car or a new packet of chips.”
His mother had always said that Fred had been born with an extra helping of love in his heart, and he thrived on sharing that love with those around him. The problem was now he didn’t have anywhere to put it. Grief was love with nowhere to go.
Fred had learned all the tips and tricks over the years: never argue, go with the flow; never shame, instead distract; never condescend, always encourage. All the while, his heart was breaking.
What a blessing sleep could be sometimes, a merciful relief from dementia, from pain, from grief. A brief holiday where there were no suitcases full of burdens to carry. In dreams you could forget that you didn’t remember, and remember those who were no longer there.
Love is . . . about picking someone up and never, ever putting them down again, no matter how heavy things become.”
But it will be an even stronger love, strengthened by the daily exercise of choosing each other. Not just a love that loves when things are easy, when you’re feeling happy. No, it will be an unbreakable love that continues loving when things are hard. One that loves through bad times, through loss, in health, and in sickness.”
Until he was widowed, Fred never realized that he’d taken physical touch for granted—yet it meant so much.
