I was reading a long thread on a friend’s page which prompts me to write this for him and all of us, including me.
Love is one thing and a person’s patterns have nothing to do with it. I will give you the perfect example, well, it is for me. I was married for almost 38 years. The marriage took me away from my extended family. It showed me that my husband had a tin ear, did not care for romantic movies and seldom gave me a compliment. I was expected to know that he loved me. Why? Because he did.
He learned that he had put me on a pedestal. I did not drive on the freeway and could not operate a road map or measure anything with a ruler. I told him exactly what I thought and corrected him on practically everything he did.
We did this because love and patterns have nothing to do with each other. Love is a mystery to the bitter end. I should know. I have been living without this dear man for almost a dozen years now.
The love we had was cosmic, never-ending and brutally heartbreaking for both of us. There were few good times and many dark nights.
What do I make of all this? Love is not a pretty picture but a huge demand for growth. At the end, I was caring for a child. He looked noble right up until the end. He was a devout Christian and never ever stopped loving me nor I him. But the patterns? They sucked big-time. They threw us off course thousands of times. They prevented us from feeling things we were not yet strong enough to feel.
He refused to cry in front of anyone. I had to tell him we were being parted (by death) before a tear trickled down his chest. I had to be so damned strong and he had to be so damned weak. The cancer took his dignity but not his nobility and his pure heart.
I don’t know what I am left with but the knowledge of the heart. It is this. Death is the great revealer. Life is just preparation for it. No one wants death hanging around their door, but there it is. There it is. Love is stronger. Now I know.