Every once in a while I'll catch a "This I believe" essay on NPR but never one on the subject of love. Some essays in this collection are well-written, some are not, but I find it admirable that the editors include a variety of viewpoints and a variety of writing styles. From a sociological standpoint it's fascinating to read how Americans of different age groups and backgrounds choose to share their feelings and which excerpt of their life they choose to highlight in such a short essay.
From "The Gift of Being" by Lorraine Kelly:
"...the finest things in this world are fleeting, ephemeral. Mourning their absence only means that I'll miss their appearance the next time they come around. I believe that if I covet the past, either because of opportunities missed or grudges unrelinquished, I'll miss the good things of now."
From "Love Is Stronger Than Death" by Opal Ruth Prater:
"I believe that as long as I am alive, Dusty's memory will live in me. I see his eyes peeking out at me from my grandson's face. I find something of his spirit in each of our children. My husband's death affected our family greatly, but his life impacted it more. He will live as long as one of us is alive to remember and to love him. And sometimes on a warm fall day, I catch that outdoorsy scent of fresh air and sunshine, and my face is buried in Dusty's shirt once more. Although I know he sleeps, I hear his shout of laughter somewhere just ahead, and I think he waits for me. I believe that love is stronger than death."
From "To Dwell in Possibility" by Patricia W. Bennett:
"In houses like 22, there is a palpable sense of home: of welcome; of acceptance; of where, if you could go anywhere, you'd want to be. We trust such dwellings, if we are fortunate enough to possess them, to nurture and shelter the dearest components of ourselves. our children are introduced to the world by the sights from their windows, the aromas from their kitchens, the visitors to their porches...We mistake, today, thinking that the essence of a house is buyable, buildable, displayable. No, the soul of a house emanates from abiding, of daring to dwell in a place, and in it, being ourselves, warts and all."
From "Amazing Grace" by Korinthia Klein:
"I remember how we ate in the dining room and laughed and talked while Grandpa rested in his hospital bed set up in the den. I wonder if it was sad for him to be alone with our voices and laughter. Knowing Grandpa, he was probably content." "The cancer had stolen his smile, but I saw joy in his eyes and he held my hand afterward, and I knew I had done something important."
From "Old Love" by Jane R. Martin:
"Old love has all of the same ups and downs, including possible family interference, but with a greater risk of loss. Old love is fragile, and time is merciless." Time is merciless.
From "Love Like A Child" by Mary Lineberger:
"When my children were babies and cried for hours over my shoulder and no amount of rocking would soothe them, they loved me anyway. When my frustration overwhelmed me by their constant dependency and I had to put my children down and walk away, they loved me anyway." Holly, my sweet Holly, is so forgiving. It's so difficult to make her comfortable sometimes and we make mistakes and sometimes aren't as gentle with her as we need to be, and she forgives us and loves us anyway.
From "God Is in Her Hand" by John Samuel Tieman:
"...I believe that love is not found in the mind or the heart. Love is found in the hands. Love is in the nightly back scratch I give my wife. My wife kneading the dough, that's love. Love is in the hand that crafts, sculpts, sews, caresses, soothes."
From "Four Sisters in Life and Death" by Elynne Chaplik-Aleskow:
"Ivy was quiet and gentle. Often she would observe others, not missing a thing. She was thoughtful, endearing and loyal...Unknowingly she had no time to waste. She had only sixteen years to do what she was going to do." Or, in Holly's case only two or three years. So little time, and she's already touched so many lives.
From "Staying Close" by Ginny Taylor:
"At one point when I had mentally and physically hit bottom, I remember thinking that Scott must somehow love me more than I could ever love him. With my illness he had become the stronger one, and I the weaker one. And this disturbed me. I recovered from my illness, but I couldn't seem to recover from the thought that I loved my husband less than he loved me. What kind of wife was I to even think this? Had I always assumed I would be the stronger, healthier one? Or did I just not know how to be a good patient? this seeming disparity in our love continued to irritate me for the year following my illness." "As I fell into the draft of his six-foot-three-inch frame, I discovered that my leg quit burning as my pedaling became easier, and I was able to catch my breath. My husband was pulling me along--again. This is what I now believe: that love between two people is powerful, infinite, and so big that it can never be quantified into more or less. True love--not the sensationalized, watered-down media version--is forged by the fire of countless job changes, late nights with sick kids...during these and other tough times, love as the opportunity to become stronger when one partner learns to lean on the other. I pray my husband will always be strong and healthy. but if he should ever become the struggling one, whether on a bike ride or with an illness, I trust I'll be ready to call out to him, "Stay close behind me--my turn to pull you along.""
From "A Tender Lullaby" by Lee Reeves:
"Now she's gone, and I spend much of my time writing the story o her brief time on earth. I remind myself that my voice and writing--just as in singing--need not be perfect. As I pour it onto the page I must accept its limitations and flaws. Far more important is the love and intention I bring to the process. Sometimes, I imagine that Leta can still hear me, that my voice wafts across the veili and touches her like a tender lullaby."
From "The Yellow House" by Julie M. Sellers:
"...the spring didn't come, at least for the two of us. We parted ways just as the buds were forming on the trees."
From "A powerful Act of Love" by Susan Hall:
(from the lyrics to Red River Valley) "Come and sit by my side if you love me, Do not hasten to bid me adieu."
"And so I have come to believe in sitting and listening with someone as a powerful act, a loving action full with possibility. This I have learned from my son and his special music, a belief forged only after I was able to take a moment and listen."
From "Pennies from Heaven" by Reg Stark:
"We all watched as she deteriorated over a long, agonizing six months in and out of surgery and chemotherapy--without a complaint or a hint of self-pity. She finally succumbed one evening just before midnight in a home she loved--surrounded by her friends and family." In our case our hope is that avoiding medical interventions will serve Holly better in the long run and that she will not have an agonizing decline. It's impossible to have any control in this kind of situation; just plan for the best case scenario and roll with whatever happens...
From "Made by Hand" by Mary Mrugalski:
"One day when I panicked about trying to get everything done in a weekend, the bread of my past returned...Time began to expand, and the day felt luxuriously long. No more panicking. The baking bread smelled like comfort and safety."