There's this woman I once knew, a woman I, in times gone, called a dear friend in our younger years. But no more. When this woman disappears from her home, after many nights in a row, her daughter emails me.
Her mom is a long time drug addict. Functioning, kind of. I severed ties with the mom over 10 years ago. But I just can't say no to her daughter who's been raised by her father since the court awarded him full time custody. Obviously.
There's a horrible thought that goes through my mind.
Why does this voluntarily toxic woman who, for all these years literally cares about no one, continue to live?
Why isn't she dead? Or rather how is she not dead?
Awful.
But,
I think it.
You wouldn't believe the places I've gone. Things I've seen. Looking for her mom. You wouldn't believe where I've found her. Maybe you would. You've seen movies. Depending on the director, films generally sum addict filth and vile rather accurately.
I let this woman who I (then) called my friend, stay with me once.
The 100th time I tried to help her get well for her daughter. I let her stay with me...
Once.
Resulting in the end of our friendship.
But,
Her daughter is ever faithful, ever loving, ever committed, ever devoted.
As long as we bring this woman home. Her daughter will take care of her mom. Not that her mom appreciates it.
And from her daughter,
And my dad's wife,
I ponder two things.
1. Sick is sick
2. Love is love
There is no lesser sick, or greater sick. Just sick.
There is no greater love, or lesser love. Just love.
No?
I once fell terribly in love. I was 20 years old. He was 30 years old and a raging alcoholic. But I loved him.
I love him still. A little.
He dumped me. I was devastated. According to him I didn't love him enough. It took many years to understand what that possibly meant. And he was right. I didn't love him enough.
Did I love him enough to roll him out of his own vomit, quite possibly day after day, bathe him, feed him, clean his house, run his errands, and make attempt after attempt to see him get well? No. Absolutely not.
I loved him. Just not enough.
I see the way that woman's daughter loves her mom.
I see the way my dad's wife loves my dad.
Addicts. Drunks. HIV, Cancer. I'm not comparing any of these illnesses as equals, but if sick is sick, and love is love... can't ignore the care these people require is the same.
Whatever it may be, however it may happen, do you know anyone who will be there for you in true sickness?
Someone who will run all your errands, clean all your messes, care for you every hour, of every day. Alongside doing all the cooking, housekeeping, laundry, and they probably have a full time job also...
Because that's cancer.
My dad's wife is amazing. Truly. All the pills, physical routines, cleaning, cooking, doctors, chemo, charts, running to the pharmacist, taking care of the house, doctors, paying the bills, plus my dad is a daily insulin diabetic...
The only other person who would care for dad that way, is me. Or I would at least try. My dad's wife is amazing. Superhuman.
In conversation with my dad he asked what my goals were for 2015. I told him, "Paris. I don't know what I'll do after That." I said. "Maybe Egypt?"
To which my dad replied rather affectionately, "Go to Paris. Take it from there. Who knows, dear. You may never want to come back, or go anywhere else ever again."
"No, I'll come back." I assured my dad.
My dad just shook his head and said, "Go to Paris. You have to. You never know, dear. You might meet a wonderful man, fall madly in love. Paris is known for that! I want you to go to Paris. It's where you need to be."
It is where I need to be. Paris. Italy. Spain. I've always known. Since a little girl staring at pictures of renaissance sculptures and paintings, "I need to be where these were made. I want to go here."
Years ago,
My dad's wife tried to get me to read some books by this guy she saw on Oprah.
Oprah.
Right.
I didn't read the books.
So recently,
Once again,
My dad's wife gave me copies of this guy's books and CDs. His teachings are supposed to help you find inner strength.
I'm reading them.
If these books and CDs are what gets my dad's wife through the countless days and nights, loving my dad unconditionally, taking care of him, and his cancer, every hour, of every day, then I'm reading his books.
And,
Who knows,
I may also need the strength one day to get me through countless days and nights.
In Paris.
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