Love and Honour

 

Yesterday was my parents 56th anniversary.

56 years.

Hard to believe. For a number of reasons. But I will just leave it at ‘hard to believe’.

I am proud of both of them. Proud that they somehow managed to stick it out. I know first hand that it wasn’t always easy. Nor pretty. Nor fun. But is it ever? I mean, if I am to be honest about it – no one manages to stay together for that length of time without having a boatload of crap floating in the wake, right? There is no such thing, I am quite sure, as the ‘functional’ family. We are all from families of dysfunction, in one form or another. As a matter of fact it is probably accurate to consider that the term ‘dysfunctional family’ refers to the norm. Which opens up a whole new dialog on family value, societal acceptance, wilful ignorance and conscious disregard.

But I do not wish to go there right now.

Right now I wish to remain in a place of honour. And love. For those are terms that describe what I feel in reference to my mom and my dad. They have lived through wars. And fought them amongst themselves. They have shared in life – in lives – in love – in laughter and in tears – anger and in joy – sorrow and in happiness – pain and pleasure. In solitude – and together. They have somehow managed to do it. I do not truly understand how. But I am happy that they did.

Dad’s health is on the decline. He has been quite ill for a couple of years now, and ‘improvement’ is not a word that will ever likely be applied.

We have made our peace, of a sort. Or at least, I believe we have. Never very good at honest communication, it is hard to truly know dad’s thoughts on the subject.

I told him that I love him a few minutes ago. And I meant it. And I believe he knows that.

He said that he loves me too. And I believe that.

That is enough for me.

 

My passion – a beautiful sunset – and eerily apropos music.

Thanks for coming along for the ride travelers. Back soon.