Dear Eddie, I am “the perfect age.” Thank you for being my partner. I felt you cringe under my right elbow when my orthopedist’s Physician’s Assistant, surely no older than twelve, gushed, “Oh, seventy, you are the perfect age. The life on these new knees is 25-30 years.” Yep, that translates to “the knee will outlast you, old lady.” Oh, I like these blunt science kids; you taught so many over the years. But, admittedly, my sense of humor has been a little ragged the last few weeks.
Deciding to replace the troublesome knee, that has limited my mobility and our walking together for way too long, was one of those pain in the neck, or pain in the knee, adult decisions made with the head and not with the heart. And, people are right; for the first few weeks, I have been convinced it was the dumbest thing I have ever done. I may be on the edge of seeing the good to come. Maybe my sense of humor will recover.
Caring friends gifted us with Lucy and Charlie Brown, (with strings attached). The punch line inside the card is from I Peter 1:6 as presented in The Message: “You have to put up with every kind of aggravation in the meantime.” If that ain’t the truth? And, then the words, “Just letting you know I care, no strings attached.”
You, my dear husband, are showing wonderful care for me, in spite of our individual and couple aggravations. We talk about our Love Languages, ala Dr. Gary Chapman. Surely, in these weeks, my need for Acts of Service has been paramount. Thank you for every pillow shifted, ice contraption refilled, cold drink proffered. Thank you for all the company to Physical Therapy, grocery store trips made, stairs climbed, and kid errands completed. I caught myself responding with gratefulness when I heard the sounds of you emptying the dish washer drifting from the kitchen. And, thank you for your body comfort wrapped around this wincing person. We are so used to being a team, and my perfect age part of the team has been laid low. I love you, darling Eddie.
