My Grandparents have been married for 67 years. It will be 68 years March 11, 2011. My Grandma is in the very severe stages of Alzheimer’s and has been living in a home for over a year. My Grandpa visits her everyday. He sits with her directly in front of a large birdcage with tiny little finches of every color chirping and flitting about. This is also where he feeds her. Everyday.
A quite, petite woman who was always humble about her radiant beauty. Tender, gentle, and sweet yet she carried a strength that was steadfast and solid, never to be broken. And with this she always laughed. Always giggled. A soft sweet giggle. Always. She gave her heart. Her whole entire heart. To her husband. To her six children. To her family. She made their clothing. She sent them to school. She gave them hugs and kisses. She loved him. She loved them all. She provided. She scolded. She fought. She bathed. She listened. She cooked for them. She fed them. She fed her family.
And when I surprised them with a visit I walked into the room to see my grandpa gently touching her face, whispering something to her that was making her giggle. A soft sweet giggle. Always.
My grandparents have been married for 67 years. This is what I believe in. This is what I know. This is what I want.
