February 26, 2008

Dinner For Two

At one time an elderly neighbor gave me the names, addresses and phone numbers of people to contact if she were ever incapacitated. In case of an emergency I was to call her only two living relatives, who lived in other states. Spelling out her wishes in case of her death, all I had to do was call the funeral home, who in turn would call her attorney. At the end of the note she scrawled in bold letters, “NO Family Dinner! NONE.” My ex-neighbor is still alive, alert and residing in an assisted living facility. I decided it was no longer necessary for me to keep her emergency information, but I can’t help but wonder what a funeral dinner for two might look like.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Gail;
-----Love can be so mutable. It scares me how quickly it can turn to frustration and anger. If one is not careful with his thoughts and words, it can extrude viciousness from the best of us. I am beginning to understand the dynamic of how closely love dwells to hatred. Those we love we expect to be most loyal. Therefore, what is hardly noteworthy when done to us by a neighbor becomes a major breach when done to us by a loved one. And the same intensity of feeling packed into the affection of love serves to blast forth the heat of anger. Then the wrong of it, the shear disastrous horribleness of the dastardly thing done to me by the one I love (which would have gone unnoticed if done by the neighbor) has to now find its fit among the myriads of tender memories of the loved one. Like a little bur, it starts popping every good memory it contacts until it has destroyed them all. Then we can no longer even eat together. So, when I look at Char and see the things she does that set me off, I first reduce them to neighborly size before I give them thought. For it is not my family members’ loyalty to me that is my first concern. It is my loyalty to them. That way, there are no burs to burst good memories. And there can be dinner. Even with two.

Let love be genuine (Rom 12:9)
Steve Corey