A Love Story Neverending
Somewhere, you can hear my voice. By Julia R. DeStefano
On October 20th, I felt a pull. A bizarre urge to pull my car over to the side of the road, and get out to walk. It was my lunch break, and I had some time to breathe before I was to meet with library volunteers. Usually, I prefer the subtle hum of the radio in these moments or a ride to satisfy my mid-day coffee craving. But not today. Today, my car felt too small — like it couldn’t contain me. My thoughts trailed to all the Halloween sci-fi I’ve been watching, typical for me this time of year. Had it gone to my head? No, this was different. I grabbed my keys and my phone, and nestled them within my jacket pocket. I put my headphones on and set off for I know not what. I didn’t have my sneakers with me. It didn’t matter. I had Justin Hayward’s sultry voice in my ears. I tend to gravitate towards him when I am feeling particularly questioning — the impassioned rise of his voice as he always sings, “Love conquers all” no matter how much I may begin to doubt it — before seductively beckoning me to “investigate the other side of life.”
“The lovers and the fighters and the risks they take.” Which one am I? Probably both, if I had to guess.
I continued to ponder his poetry as I walked, stopping every so often to snap a photograph of a well-decorated home or a perfectly-turned tree. I sent a return smile to those smiling back, remembering just how my hair matches the leaves this time of year and how fun it is to be in contest with them for best red. By the time I made it to my next building, Justin was singing about getting the fire into our hearts. My eyes met a group of students playing across the way, clearly with fire in their hearts. Then, my eyes met the sky. I knew something in that moment. It was the same feeling I had had earlier that morning as I looked at the sunrise while curling my hair. Like now, I couldn’t put my finger on what it was. But I knew.
I would learn that my nana had passed. The reasoning behind my little walking adventure took shape at that point. She loved to go on long walks, and she was stubborn — like me — about so many things but especially about getting her walks in, and going where she wanted to go during them. And she loved my grandpa so deeply. But I bet it took her some time before she could admit it to herself, or even show him her love — also like me. Mere days after her 90th birthday, nana has answered my grandpa’s call to come home.
One of my favorite things to do is to read up on history’s great loves, especially the letters left behind that those friends and couples wrote to one another. I’m still raw, still processing, but what I do know is that my nana and grandpa had a love story for the ages. It brings me comfort, as love always does, because I’m someone who believes that without love life isn’t really worth living — and I don’t mean a tragic, hard love but rather, a quiet “non-showy” love. Exactly six months ago, I had been taking part in my grandpa’s care and hearing more stories than my heart could probably handle. Among the things that struck me is how she kept watch by his bedside even when her Alzheimer’s caused her to forget why she was there. I think of The Wallflowers’ “One Headlight,” in which Jakob Dylan sings: “….she died easy of a broken heart disease.”
Broken Heart Syndrome, they call it. I never thought much about it, finding the concept — though scientifically-proven — a bit too hokey for my taste. Still, I had a sinking feeling that once grandpa passed, nana wouldn’t be too far behind. I could feel it when I heard her call out for him, despite her mind tricking her into believing he was still sleeping in the next room as his prayer card sat beside her table. I don’t doubt the scientifics of old age, and I don’t doubt that her disease played a major role in her decline. I also don’t doubt that her heart was completely broken once grandpa passed — and that it made everything else that much worse. Because my nana was a complete woman in her own right who had led a full life of travel and adventure. But she recognized that my grandpa brought her to the level of true completeness. Just as she had been calling to my grandpa, so had he been calling to her. Ten months was much too long for him to go without his soulmate — someone to finish his sentences and thoughts, someone to pass the hours alongside without necessarily needing to utter a word. They gifted each other with a friendship and love neither of them had known before. When forced to be without it, they missed it and couldn’t sustain the separation.
Because the truth is, we are complete in our own right. But there are those in this life that, try as we might, we simply do not feel complete without — just as there is someone in my life whom I do not feel truly complete without. Nana, I trust you will show me the way — hand in hand with grandpa — before the hourglasses run out of their sand.
Strength and vulnerability and prayer and now, sleep. Que sera sera.
