As they wheeled my father back into his hospital room I watched the exchange between he and my mom. I sat quietly behind them, wanting to be invisible, not wanting to disrupt them. In a moment, the glances they exchanged told the entire story of a lifetime together. The way they looked at each other, the way she ran her hand along his slightly wrinkled face, the way he reached his out to meet hers, it told the story of a deep abiding love. It wasn’t the look they had had exchanged as teenagers who fell in love at first sight at the amusement park many moons ago. It had depth that could only come from almost forty years of weathering the storms of marriage together.
Watching them, again, strengthened my belief that romantic love, as we know it, isn’t an overnighter. What many us to believe to be “love” is merely love grounding its roots and the taller and stronger you want it to grow the more nourishment it needs. Time, sunshine, rain , space – room for its roots to breath and grow and flourish and many many many moons later you have tall and beautiful tree that and adapts to the seasons and weathers well the storms of the climate we call “life”.