About right now, I would be picking up the phone to call you.
After the day’s responsibilities waned, before my eyes shut for the evening.
You would answer as if you had been waiting to hear my voice.
No matter the quality of the preceding hours, hearing your sincere welcome would add immeasurable value.
I sit now thinking of you.
Wishing I could reach for my phone to hear you on the other end of a familiar number — knowing you were smiling simply by your tone.
And yet, here we are.
Me, missing you.
You, sitting quietly in the next room.
Now I wait to hear you move.
To ask if I can help.
To help without you asking.
Your memory flickers, and the flashes are less consistent.
My muscles and mind ache from the responsibility of care, but my heart aches all the more.
I would entrust your care to no one else. How could I, having known your love so endlessly and selflessly?
It is an honor more than an obligation, even though my body doesn’t discriminate between the two.
I remember more than you now, despite you being older.
What a cruelty: to care for a loved one who no longer realizes the impact they have had on your life — that they were once your greatest fan.
That you still need them to be.
That you still need them.
This column was originally published by CherryRoad Media. For more faith-based columns and inspirational writing by Tiffany Kaye Chartier, follow her on Facebook. Her devotional collection “The 4-Minute Reset: For Cultivating Peace, Purpose, and Positivity” is available on Amazon and other major online retailers.
