Most of you know her, but only I really know her. 37 years of hand in hand, heart in heart. She is the embodiment of all that is pure in the world and I'm the lucky stiff she fell in love with.
I am most certainly not the easiest guy on the planet to have as a husband. Add ALS and we find out who has the meddle to carry the load while I swerve from self pity to defiance to frustration to sorrow. She is one amazing woman.
Shall I count the ways? Need I? Publicly, she has organized multiple fund raisers over the last couple of months that could easily stand as examples in education of how to run a successful fundraiser. She has communicated with numerous doctors, healers, holistic gurus, therapists and idea men for hours and days assembling concepts for me to consider. This is public. I cannot come close to maintaining her pace and diligence. I dare say when Amy sets her mind to a project, it will either happen or explode upon her impact.
Privately, though, she does her best work. With me. She is tireless in her efforts to fix me. I tell ya, if there were ever a cure that involved staring at me while I sleep, drilling her will into my cranium, then I would be well today. I swear I can feel the daggers the next morning.
Consider the pressure on her. Consider the weight upon her shoulders. The stress. My disadvantage is dwarfed by her burden. I want so much to snap my fingers (on my right hand, of course) and solve all her problems. I want to feel the heal. I want it to be her because she gives her heart and soul every waking second to making me well.
Amy is a healer. Not a parlor trick mesmerist (though you can learn a lot reading of Mesmer), but a healer who can make people feel better simply by enforcing their ability to help themselves. She is a hypnotist, but I've learned the perception of such is usually flawed. She works with folks to help them find their own healing powers. She is a catalyst for self awareness and I can say I've never heard a client cluck like a chicken. She puts herself out there with whole hearted fervor and an overdeveloped sense of empathy. Boy, am I lucky.
So, if ya know her, you know what I mean, and if you don't, get to know her and you'll witness it yourself, and I promise you'll never be the same.
I ride on hope and I pray it has a strong back, but I am led by determination, by grit and by love, shouldered by Amy, and I know I can count on her to lead me true, wherever that truth lies.
Great post, Dad, love you both.
ReplyDeleteI love reading your posts, Tracy. They are mesmerizing, sad, familiar, happy, joyful, but most of all real. Keep it up ... for a long, long, long time.
ReplyDeleteThey say ALS does not effect the mind but after reading the last post I am beginning to wonder. The saint like angel that Tracy describes seems to surprisingly be missing from my mirror. I think God grants us poor eye sight as years go on so we can honestly say- you look really good tonight, a comment I hear often even while I still have paint on my face and my hair looks a bit like Beetle Juice. He compliments my thinning wrinkled skin saying how soft it is. He endures endless hours of my chatter by occasionally nodding at appropriate times. He takes his now- priceless possible limited time, to concern himself with MY happiness instead of his own.
ReplyDeleteHe has embraced my crystal wearing, tree hugging, feather waving, incense burning, prayer chanting friends as well as therapists of every form and modality.
There is no effort in my wild rainbow chasing adventure of health if it means I will get even one more day of happiness and health with the most irritatingly intelligent, beautiful, inspiring, macho, creative soul I call my husband.
Okay- enough of this mushy crap. Let's go change the world!!!