Love and Death, part 1

Valentine’s Day was just a couple of days ago. A few days later I am still nursing a Valentine’s-induced emotional hangover. If the love in your life looks different in any way than the normative ideal that is so often presented to us in Hallmark cards and advertisements everywhere, then February 14th can be a hard day to get through. The thing is, my mom and both of her parents passed away on dates leading up to Valentine’s Day—February 11, February 12, and February 14th–all in different years; so when I do celebrate what some are now calling “Love Day”, I celebrate by grieving. 


And what characteristics does that ideal image of love possess? That corny picture that we cannot stand watching, but we cannot turn away from, either. Beauty? Of course. Yes. Sex appeal? A must. A tall blonde with nice curves who can run in heels? Usually. But wait, there is more to this cruel picture (cruel because for most of us, it isn’t realistic). Societally most of our visions of romance are anchored not to health and youth. 


Chronic illness was never supposed to be part of any love story. Neither was death, not really. Even in the phrase “till death do us part,” death is not part of the narrative, actually. It is the inconvenient end, just like the last call on Saturday night at the club around the corner.. No one wants to acknowledge that it is going to happen. Until a few minutes before closing everyone is still dancing, flirting, and ordering drinks, Time does not exist on the dance floor. Tomorrow feels far away…until the second that the fluorescent lights come on. Then it becomes impossible to ignore the truth. It’s 2AM. Tomorrow has already come. In Shakespeare plays and Broadway musicals, and even wedding ceremonies themselves, we watch the part where people kiss, fall in love, and make a vow to be together. When the credits roll, we leave the theater. Sometimes, when indulging romantic fantasies, we pepper in scenes of sitting in side-by-side rocking chairs and having grandchildren, but we do not fast forward to the end of the reel. The picture perfect love story will not accommodate the unsexy realities of aging and illness.


“We get no choice. If we love, we grieve.”  - Thomas Lynch


I am writing for those of you who are serving in the role of caregiver, and those of you who lost a partner gradually to an illness. Also to those of you whose bodies changed in ways that have affected your sexual relationships, your reproductive viability, or your ability to do the activities you enjoy with the people that you love; and those of you who are grieving a loved one who has left this world. You may not find any romance on television that looks like your love story does right now, but it does not mean that your story is any less beautiful. You deserve to be recognized and honored for the love that you’ve given, and shared. Your love is worthy of celebration. 


Maybe cancer or some other chronic illness entered center stage, ushering in a new act that is ugly, messy, and hard. If the scene right now includes a catheter, a PICC line, adult diapers, or all of the above, today I want to tell you that yours is a love supreme.  Even if the scene includes bouts of hysteria, hospital food, piles of pill bottles, uncontrollable tears. Even if friends are no longer coming around to visit you because your situation is too intense for them, or too awkward, or too boring. And even if you are barely ever alone because of the nursing assistants and the family and the doctors, or if you’re alone way too often. Yours is the perfect love story. I want to read the storybook about your romance.