Love is Dirty
When we think about love, we most often think of the beautiful memories or moments we share with our special loved one. We think of roses and chocolates, candlelight suppers, soft music, and walks along a deserted beach. When we think about love, we remember tender moments, a first kiss, romantic evenings, and starlit skies. When we think about love, we seldom think about the dirty part of love. Love, is all of the things above, but love, true love, is dirty.
After a year and a half of marriage, my husband and I went to Nova Scotia. We took our motorcycles with us, of course! My husband had just met my parents. One morning, as we looked out at the beautiful sunshine, we decided to take a motorcycle ride to explore and possibly end up at a beach somewhere along the ocean. We had a marvelous morning visiting a park in the area which had an amazing overlook to the ocean below. It was breathtaking. We rode into town and stopped at a little cafe for lunch.
As we began our afternoon journey, Hubby took the lead on his motorcycle. As we wound our way along the back roads, through the forests and glens, I became more confident with my new riding skills. It was a great day! The sun was shining brightly and life was good. Soon we came to a little hamlet called Larry’s River. There, we approached a curve in the road with a warning sign with the maximum speed limit of 30km (30 kilometers per hour). I looked at my speedometer - right on 30. Around the curve I went, and off the cliff I went, right into the waters of the Atlantic Ocean coming into the bay. I forgot to convert. I was going 30 miles an hour not 30 kilometers per hour! I sailed through the air and landed with a thud. My husband, Ron, saw me go and knew he was now a widow. He stopped his bike and heard my dulcet tones calling for Honey.
There was an ambulance ride and three hospital visits before the return to my parents for convalescence in a make-shift bedroom set up in their living room. I had a dislocated right arm, a broken left leg, and multiple minor fractures here and there. That meant I couldn’t use crutches, and couldn’t do much of anything for myself. I was wheelchair bound for the next several weeks. Love is dirty.
Love fishes the mangled bike you’re so worried about out of the water and brings it home for one last look.
Love does the laundry and hangs it on the line even when it’s Sunday.
Love puts the paste on the toothbrush and hands it to you with a tender smile.
Love picks you up off the floor with an encouraging chuckle when you try and fail.
Love empties the commode by your bed several times a day without a word.
Love washes your hair over the end of the bed with the basin of water brought from several trips to the kitchen sink and back.
Love puts down a bed liner each time so you can topple over onto it to at least wipe your own butt with your good hand.
Love takes you for “walks” in the wheelchair, up hill and down - holding on for dear life going down.
Love brings you endless glasses of fresh water to take your pain pills.
Love lugs you and the wheelchair to the mall so you can have an outing.
Love stands guard at the ladies room in the mall in case you get into trouble.
Love makes you laugh when you’re frustrated and angry and irritated at your limitations.
Love does all this over and over and over again.
Yes, love is dirty.
Happy Valentine's Day, Darling. Love you forever.