Mum, dad showed me that love is forever

So, Valentine’s Day came and went, and the world didn’t seem to be left in a more loving or lovable state. Hardly a surprise of course, and Valentine’s Day has long and perhaps always been a time when we celebrated cheap cards and cheaper sentiment. Real love and real marriage are deeper than that however, and last far longer than a mere and single day. 

My parents were married for more than 50 years, and they were devoted to one another. They had their rough moments, they sometimes argued (they were in love, not robotic!) but they knew that the love was absolute and forever. Rock and steel, not the flimsy, flowery stuff we see today. Divorce was for other people, now it’s for all people.

Dad died first, and when he passed on, mum was already suffering from dementia. It was harder for us in some ways, because we knew how much mum loved her husband and we wanted her to grieve for him. But it just didn’t seem to register. We had some special photos made of my dad for her. “I don’t want them,” she said. We asked why. “Because he’s got someone else.” Not much point arguing, and frankly it was almost funny. On another occasion we sat around eating doughnuts. We remembered when dad would bring home boxes of them on his way back from work, and we spoke about it. “Yes,” said mum, “but now he does nothing for me. Not a thing.” This time I wanted to cry, not laugh.

She wasn’t really unhappy in that world. She was surrounded by love and care, and formed a particularly close relationship with her granddaughter, my niece, Katie. That lovely young lady is profoundly autistic, and the pair of them behaved together in a way that might have bewildered some people. It was heaven on Earth for us.

Dad’s clothes were still in his room, along with his razor, and all of those small, odd things that people collect around them. We once started to clear them away, and mum came in and — this was so rare for her — got extremely angry with us. We apologized, and left the room. I went in again hours later, thinking she’s fallen asleep. She hadn’t. She was still sitting on the bed, looking at the cufflinks, the ties, the cheap cologne. I walked round her, knelt down and looked into her eyes. For the first time in months there was clarity. She looked at me, as if she had never been ill, and said, “He was here.” Then she cried, and when she stopped, she was a prisoner of the dementia once again. I still shiver, even now, when I recall that day.

From then on her decline was steady, until she fell into a sleep that lasted almost two weeks and from which she never awoke. There was no pain, and I suppose in a way it was a gentle, peaceful way to go. The nurses were so caring, so appropriate. One of them, a mere child really, asked me if I was okay and then handed me what I thought was a card. “Your mum had this under her pillow all the time,” she said. “Best if you have it now.”

I looked at it, stared. It was that special photo of dad that we’d made for her. He hadn’t found someone else, and she knew that. Now they can laugh at old photos and old memories together. In peace.

As Catholics we stand and fight for marriage and defend its genuine and natural definition. This is just, right and essential. But in so doing, we need to remind ourselves that while we oppose the attack on marriage, we also have to stand firm personally for its qualities and cherish its joy and love and perfection. God gave us marriage, as a sacrament, to fulfill His plan, but also so that we may be happy and content. God and His Church tells us that, my parents reminded me of it, my wife confirms it. There is no need for a card once a year; and no amount of meddling from a politician or a judge will change a thing.