My husband is miserable tonight and exhausted by the myriad of ways his body is betraying him. Turns out, a lot of things go wrong when muscles die.
I camp out in a chair near his wheelchair while he watches old movies. He doesn’t watch them because he loves them so much, but because he needs a way to get out of his own head. There’s not much I can do to help, but I want to be close. I don’t like movies much, but I really like him, so I read and research and pin stuff on Pinterest that I’ll probably never look at again. That’s how I stay out of my head.
But back to my point. As I mentioned, Steve is so tired and so, so uncomfortable tonight. My parents came over and we tried to pray for him, but I could only cry. I couldn’t say any words. I’m so tired of watching him suffer with no way to help him. Not that prayer doesn’t help….it does. I believe in prayer, but have you ever landed in a place so confounding and painful that you can only pray out tears and groans and sighs? That’s me tonight. I’m so thankful for parents who are just as lost for answers, but are able to find the words we need. My dad started his prayer for his dear son (the “in-law” part is just semantics) with these words, “Father, we have no might in this battle…” And that’s all I remember, but it’s exactly how I’ll probably start every prayer for the rest of my life. My parents prayed, Steve and I cried, and then I walked them out to their car. When I came back in, Steve caught my eye and mouthed the words, “Hello, beautiful.” They were silent and ragged, but they were dearer to me than any of the million times he’s said them in the past thirty years. They were an offering. A diamond ring. A party dress. A sweet caress. Just two words, poured out like water on dry ground, from dry ground.
This night was hard, but I’ll tell you what: I will never forget it. Not as long as I live.