This month has spun past full and fast. Some months are like that–each day so brim-full of people and conversation and work and weekends busier than the weeks between that you can barely catch your breath.
I crave the process of writing like a runner craves the road. I feel so thankful that I finally get the chance to sit for five minutes on this Friday night and pin down meaning with these keys. I’m grateful to Kate for faithfully hosting this writer’s party each week, even though I know her month might have been as full as mine.
Tonight the prompt is CARE. And if you have no clue what’s going on, head on over here to check out what Five Minute Friday is all about!
An open letter to the woman with the 101-year-old mother:
Today you tipped a little while in my direction and spilled out some of your story. I felt honored that you would tell me, the girl a half century behind you in wisdom.
You told how she came to live with you this summer. How her house sits empty in Ohio with no one to cut the grass. How the sister in another state was caring for her, but now it’s your turn and you feel like there are days it’s just simply too. Much.
You told how she was a rock for your family, caring for your handicapped brother until even his hair was gray and he fell. Your mouth pulled in at the memory, and I thought how painful it would be to lose a brother. I told you so, and your eyes grew glossy.
You told how exhausting it is now, how you were unprepared to physically lift the woman who carried you as a child.
I don’t know what it’s like, but thank you. Thank you for caring. Thank you for dying to self for the sake of the dying. Thank you for making her breakfast each day, making her bed, making her smile.
We—the self-absorbed, the media-glutted, the youth-obsessed—we desperately need your example. We need to see love in action that is not flashy, not instagrammed, not applauded. We need to know that it’s possible to love our parents this way so that when the day comes, we will have the courage to care too.