True Love?

Okay, my readers. You may number one or two, but still I feel an obligation to keep my blog as interesting and current as possible. And, hey, who wants to read about death and dying? That gets maudlin very quickly.

But I do want to share a common response I'm getting when I mention that my dad died less than four weeks after my mom. "Well," they say. "At least, they are together again."

And I want to say, "Well, maybe they don't want to be together again. Maybe they did a lifetime together and want some space or the chance to meet someone new or, heck, the chance to sit and stare at the wondrous images up there in Heaven.

But, of course, I don't say a thing. That would be sacrireligious, blasphemous, or something. How can I diss my parents' relationship or make the judgment call that my mom in particular was probably hoping for a reprieve? It's not that she didn't love my dad. She did. But certain hurts, misunderstandings, and who knows what built up over almost 68 years, and I figure she was just plain out of steam.

I know we all say things we don't really mean. Hey, I'm married, too. But when my mom told me a matter of months before she died that she'd like my dad to take a permanent golfing vacation, I got the feeling that she meant business.

And as she was in the final stages of dying, it appeared that she'd pretty much shut him out. Yes, there was that morning when the hospice care worker found them talking softly to one another. They were apparently holding hands and whispering sweet nothings. I think my mom realized that it would be terribly unfair to leave my dad without some words of love and comfort. I suspect that she'd worked through whatever had come between them and wanted to part on a good note. That was the least she could do.

So, when friends and strangers comment on the close death of my parents and how much they must have loved one another, I don't buy it. Theirs was not what I would label a happy and loving ending.