I know I already updated today, but...
I want to tell a story my mom told me about her dad and stepmom.
My grandpa, John Burke, remarried Marie, my now step-grandmother, when my mom was in her late 20's-early 30's. Marie is a wonderfully hip Australian woman with a great sense of style and a heart of gold. She and John had an immensely caring relationship, or so I gather from what my mom has told me about them. John was quiet and introverted and tended to be really tough on my mom and her brother growing up, but there was never a doubt in their mind that he loved them with all his heart, and would take a bullet for them. Marie was a very giving wife and waited on John hand and foot, and to the casual observer it would appear as though John did not do anything in return or appreciate her kindness, but he showed her his appreciation in his own way. Marie realized this and never once doubted his love for her, for he was an extremely caring, passionate, sensitive husband.
Long story short, they were in love. Pure, simple, real love.
Marie had breast cancer a couple years into their marriage, and eventually had a mastectomy. During her chemo John was at her bedside every night, holding her hand and making sure she knew he was by her side throughout the whole process. After the surgery Marie was extremely self-conscious about her body and the huge scars left over. Every night as they got ready for bed, she would change into her pajamas behind the closet door, hiding the new body she was ashamed of.
She did this for quite some time, until one night as she was changing, John walked up to her. He embraced her, and then kissed her side along all of her scars. He said nothing, and Marie looked at him and began to cry.
That is what I want. I want that kind of love, more than anything.
My Grandpa John had a heart attack when I was one year old. Marie woke up in the middle of the night when she heard him struggling to breathe. She tried to lift his body off the bed onto the floor, but he was far too heavy for her and his body fell with a thump. She called 911, but before the paramedics arrived she knew he was gone. She watched while they performed CPR for several minutes on her dead husband's body. She watched him die in her arms.
To this day my Grandma Marie still talks about John with passion and tender love. Sometimes when she tells a story about him I can see tears come to her eyes.
My grandpa, John Burke, remarried Marie, my now step-grandmother, when my mom was in her late 20's-early 30's. Marie is a wonderfully hip Australian woman with a great sense of style and a heart of gold. She and John had an immensely caring relationship, or so I gather from what my mom has told me about them. John was quiet and introverted and tended to be really tough on my mom and her brother growing up, but there was never a doubt in their mind that he loved them with all his heart, and would take a bullet for them. Marie was a very giving wife and waited on John hand and foot, and to the casual observer it would appear as though John did not do anything in return or appreciate her kindness, but he showed her his appreciation in his own way. Marie realized this and never once doubted his love for her, for he was an extremely caring, passionate, sensitive husband.
Long story short, they were in love. Pure, simple, real love.
Marie had breast cancer a couple years into their marriage, and eventually had a mastectomy. During her chemo John was at her bedside every night, holding her hand and making sure she knew he was by her side throughout the whole process. After the surgery Marie was extremely self-conscious about her body and the huge scars left over. Every night as they got ready for bed, she would change into her pajamas behind the closet door, hiding the new body she was ashamed of.
She did this for quite some time, until one night as she was changing, John walked up to her. He embraced her, and then kissed her side along all of her scars. He said nothing, and Marie looked at him and began to cry.
That is what I want. I want that kind of love, more than anything.
My Grandpa John had a heart attack when I was one year old. Marie woke up in the middle of the night when she heard him struggling to breathe. She tried to lift his body off the bed onto the floor, but he was far too heavy for her and his body fell with a thump. She called 911, but before the paramedics arrived she knew he was gone. She watched while they performed CPR for several minutes on her dead husband's body. She watched him die in her arms.
To this day my Grandma Marie still talks about John with passion and tender love. Sometimes when she tells a story about him I can see tears come to her eyes.