Love Led The Way

By Harriet Savitz

I am 68 and I am still learning about love. When I was younger, I loved most everything. I loved chocolate sundaes, dancing, my new typewriter and also included in my loving list were my parents, my husband, my children, and my pets. I loved each day, and the busyness of it, and I loved filling it with challenges. "I love this," I would say easily. And then the next minute, I would love something else also. There seemed no limit to the loving. It came so easy and there was so much to love.

But now I am more careful about my love supply. I know what it is like to love and lose a partner. The loving becomes painful. I know what it is like to love and lose a friend. The loving leaves an ache somewhere inside me. I know what it is like to make a mistake about those I loved. Perhaps they do not deserve this gift I offer... I have wasted my love, thrown it away, misplaced it, used it, and misused it. And often when I think it has gone forever, love surprises me by returning, stronger then ever and with a larger supply. As if it were off somewhere preparing for the shortage.

I know I would learn something if love could answer a few questions. One would be, "Where do you come from when you enter without knocking, and where do you go when you leave without warning?" "How do I keep you by my side?" I see love in people my age as they crochet afghans for their children, stitching their love into a pattern. I see it in hours spent waiting for a telephone call, a visit, a loving reminder that they are needed. People fall in love and out of it, love desperately, love eternally. The words, "I love you," can shake a dynasty, affect worldly decisions, change one's lifetime. At this end of my calendar years, I know no more about love than I did at the beginning. Except that I dare not be without it.

I was recovering from a stomach virus at my daughter's home. And feeling quite sorry for myself. Television annoyed me. I was impatient with well-wishers on the telephone. I didn't want to look out the window and watch other people enjoy the day. I thought of all the bleak things I could remember and piled them up in front of me. One day passed into two. Reading material lay scattered on the bed, but remained ignored. I had more important matters to attend. Self pity was one of them. I felt old, spent, used up, discarded, and mean. I was angry at my body, at my age, at all the things I hoped yet to do but couldn't, at the energy that played tricks on me, and at the unpredictability of life. Such as a virus coming in, attacking without warning, and claiming victory.

On the third day, as I lay on the pillow, realizing I felt better and yet, unwilling to reenter life's merry-go-round with all the responsibilities waiting for me, a paper airplane glided into the room and landed beside me on the bed. I looked up. The room was empty. I picked up the airplane and inspected it. A message written on its wings, said, "Get well soon Grandmom. I love you. Ryan."

I heard activity outside the room. A snowstorm was brewing. Everyone was in the attic getting out sleds and boots. I left the bed and walked toward the doorway, carrying my paper airplane.

It was time to reenter the world. Love led the way.