We ate steak at the fanciest place in town, me and my sister, our husbands, and our parents. Around the table, we joined Mom’s reminiscing. We retold our favorite stories of family vacations and holidays. We revealed some silly childhood secrets. And we listened to Mom’s stories from fifty years she and Dad spent together. One of our favorite stories is of the birthday Mom expected a diamond ring but went home from their swanky dinner with a shiny new set of hot rollers. Whenever Mom tells that story, instead of making fun of Dad for his slow-moving ways, she praises his serious, methodical decision making. She points to it as proof of his dependability.
My mom told stories. I told stories. My sister told stories. Even our husbands had memories to share. We retold some of the stories Dad put on paper in his journal for us. The thing we missed most was Dad’s voice in the storytelling.
Rather than telling the stories himself, he locked eyes on the teller and responded, “By golly, that happened to you too? Isn’t that something?!” He enjoyed his stories told in our voices. Alzheimer’s had robbed him of being able to remember they were his.
 |
| (PC: Kathy Merrifield) |
My mom is Dad’s main caregiver. She’s been faithfully caring for his soul along with his body. She chose an expensive steak dinner for their golden anniversary celebration because my dad still loves steak. She made a reservation for the six of us early in the evening when the restaurant would be empty and quiet. She called ahead to make the maître d’ and waitstaff aware of my dad’s extra needs. Every detail of the night was geared toward capturing any enjoyment still available to my dad.
Please click over to The Glorious Table to read the rest of the story and let my mom's story help you trust God's faithfulness for your story.
 |
| "You can't be serious, we've been married 50 years?!" |
 |
| "Well, that's just wonderful!" |
Such a wonderfully written article! Thank you, Lori.
ReplyDeleteThanks for reading Julie. Hope you guys are doing well!
Delete