Here’s part of a telephone conversation between Bryan and me on Dec. 20th. Bryan was in Campbell River, I was still in Victoria:
Sandy: “Hi Honey, how are you?”
Bryan: “I’m okay….. I took the kids out for dinner tonight.”
Sandy: “Great! Where did you go?”
Bryan: “Wendy’s…. I feel like such a failure.”
Sandy: “WHAT? WHY?”
Bryan: “I couldn’t even cook dinner for my kids two nights in a row.”
This from the man who has single-handedly cared for our children with patience, kindness, compassion and tenderness for almost six weeks. The man who got them up in the morning, cooked their breakfast, made their lunches, brushed their teeth, found their clothing, organized their library books and homework and still managed to get out of the house on time. Well, almost on time. I suspect there were a one or two days when the three of them did what Bryan calls “The flip, flop and fly.” Flip out of bed, flop on some clothes and fly out the door.
This is the man who continued to work full-time, and fulfill his responsibilities at work while carting kids to dance lessons, play dates, clubs and piano lessons. The man who bought groceries, did laundry, tidied the house before I came home on the weekend, and catered to my every whim when I returned, exhausted on Friday nights. And all this without a word of complaint. Not a word. Not a moment of self-pity. Not a whinge.
Where do you find such a man?
When Bryan was a small boy, he loved to play make-believe. He was always the hero who saved the damsel in distress. Very seldom do a person’s dreams of make-believe come true, but Bryan’s did. He IS the hero. And I am the damsel in distress.
Oddly, when I was a little girl, I dreamed of being rescued by the hero. I pictured him riding up and vanquishing the evil forces holding me captive, and then sweeping me away in his protective arms. I guess my make-believe came true, too. Bryan can’t really vanquish the bad-guy in this scenario, but he has rescued me and protected me, and held me safe. He has rescued my children, loved them and nurtured them even better than I could have done in similar circumstances.
I have often said in the last few weeks that it’s a good thing it’s me that’s sick. I could never do what Bryan has done with such grace, such patience and such goodness. He radiates strength.
He would probably disagree with me. I know he has felt several times as though he was barely hanging on, that everything was going to fly apart at any second. And it’s true that ittle things have gone awry. It is true that our daughter showed up a school a couple of times without socks, in the middle of a raging south easter’. It is true that when they came down to meet me in Victoria for the weekend, Nathan had seven shirts, four pairs of pants, no pj’s, no socks, and no winter coat; and our daughter had two shirts, one pair of pants, one dress and one skirt – none of which matched – and no tights, three pairs of shoes and two nightgowns. Oh, and no hair brush – but that was probably a good thing, since her hair clearly hadn’t been brushed all week, and the tangles would have been beyond a mere brush’s ability to deal with. But the truth is that things go awry with me in charge, too – only I get everyone all twisted up about it, while Bryan just shrugs. And everything is just fine.
And all this time, he has made fresh bread for me, to tempt my appetite; he has brought me hot water bottles to warm me up; he has rubbed my tender feet, gotten the knots out of my back, and stroked my forehead when I was sad.
A couple of weeks ago, a friend gave me a book called “Porn for Women.” Every page has a beautiful man doing something that women find sexy – like doing the laundry, or cooking a meal, or filling a bubble bath for them. One has a man holding out a piece of cake, saying “Have another piece of cake… I hate to see you looking so thin.” Another has a man empying the clothes dryer saying, “As soon as I’m done the laundry, I’ll go get groceries… and I’ll take the kids with me so you can have a break.”
I don’t need “Porn for Women.” I live it, Baby.
Our son once chose these words to express what he thought of when he thought of his daddy: “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.”
That’s my Bryan.
