Both ends of love
The dichotomy of our life right now is not lost on me. We are knee deep in goat babies and new life. Then last night we sat with our beloved grandpa (great grandfather to our children). For the third time this week. At his hospital bedside after taking a big nose-dive in his health in a very short time. Less than two weeks ago we were sitting in the warm sun at Dairy Queen eating french fries and ice cream cones. Then one rough night and suddenly he’s laid up in the hospital for a week now. Things can change fast when you are 93 years old. We returned home at dusk and tucked ourselves (and goats) into warm beds with full hearts.
Loving extravagantly comes at a high price. Make no mistake.
The potential of losing what you hold most dear is the byproduct of big love. Crazy love. The kind of love that is brave enough to ask hard questions when it would be easier to say nothing. The kind of love that puts all of life on hold because sometimes you don’t get second chances to love right, love in the moment, love completely. The kind of love that keeps coming back and pressing in, against all reason, simply because a promise made is meant to be kept.
When you love much, the door is flung wide open to scores of abundance and richness that to some remain a lifelong mystery. But the door is also open to hard goodbyes and loss. Loving wildly means experiencing loss in most visceral ways.
Audrey read stories to Grandpa and my phone buzzed with texts updating on a soon-to-deliver goat mama at home with the rest of our crew. Fresh beginnings of life and the inching towards end of life. All mixed up in one beautiful, perfect day. If our grandpa hadn’t moved cross country three years ago, we wouldn’t have this gift we have. This we-love-you-so-much-it-hurts gift. This constant awareness that our present with him is just that. To be received, treasured. Which is just what we’ve done, are doing. In the best way we know how.
In the quiet sitting, holding hands….”Am I squeezing you to tight?” he asks. My eyes well up and I tell him not at all, keenly aware that when one day his weathered hands aren’t here to squeeze mine, I will feel a hole in my heart. The kind of hole that only love leaves.