How do partners show love to one another? I know one couple where both women are big into public displays of affection. Some other friends like to surprise each other with extravagant gifts. Another shows love by working out with his husband when he'd rather sleep in.
There are so many different ways to say "I love you."
My friends Teddy and Nora were an incredible example of what love looks like as a couple is aging. They'd known each other for decades – Teddy was a groomsman in Nora's first wedding (he was college buddies with the groom). 50-something years later, the two reconnected when both their spouses had passed away. They got married and were together for 12 beautiful years before Nora died.
I got to be good friends with Teddy and Nora when I worked at the CCRC where they lived. I was their "Health Services Navigator" but knew them best through the American Sign Language class I facilitated. (Let me be clear here so no one comes asking me for lessons: I don't know ASL; I was learning alongside the residents!) Every Thursday morning without fail, Teddy would escort his bride in her wheelchair to the room where we met. Two years of classes every week; I can only remember one time they weren't there.
Teddy and Nora were like a lot of other couples in our community, where one spouse is a care partner for the other. In many of those situations, you'd see the one spouse still out and about at activities and events, while the one who had more challenges kept to themselves in their cottage or apartment. Not Teddy and Nora. No matter what sort of health challenges Nora might be facing, Teddy helped her remain engaged. It was an incredible act of love and devotion. Teddy never, ever gave up on Nora. Even when Nora seemed ready to give up on herself.
The first year of our ASL group, Nora was an absolute all-star. She picked up finger spelling faster than anyone else in the class and could sign the basics perfectly. Her hearing was almost completely gone – that was one reason they'd decided to start learning to sign – but she was alert and engaged. (Every week she also had on a pair of cute socks, Teddy helping her pull on the penguin ones that matched her red pants most frequently; those were always my favorite.) She'd sit closest to me at the front and would nod along as we went through that week's lesson.
As time went on, Nora's health began to decline further. She'd still come to class every Thursday at 10:30, but she started sleeping through the lessons. At first, Teddy would lovingly elbow her in the side to wake her up so she could follow along. Eventually, he gave up on that. But even after months and months of Nora sleeping through class, Teddy still brought her. He rolled her from their house to the car, loaded her in front then her wheelchair in the back, drove across campus, unloaded the wheelchair then Nora, pushed her inside, rolled her down the hall, helped her transfer from her wheelchair into a standard seat, then did it all in reverse an hour later once class ended. He did this week after week, even when he knew Nora wasn't going to be awake for the majority of the class. To me, this is love.
I don't think Teddy brought Nora every week because she wanted to come. Maybe that's why, but I don't think so. I don't think he thought Nora would regain her energy one day and start signing like she used to. I don't think he brought her because he needed to spend that time with her or thought she'd gain something from the lesson.
I don't even think he brought her so she could see us, her "friends from the Sign Language group."
I think Teddy wanted us to see her.
Teddy was showing Nora how much he loved her by refusing to let her become unseen.
Most couples I know wouldn't do the same thing. When their spouse starts sleeping through activities or their interest in socializing wanes, they accept this fate as final and let their loved one stay home in the recliner. Maybe that's love too, just a different kind.
What I saw Teddy do every week was proudly wheel the love of his life into that room, his heart shouting out to all gathered: "Here she is. Here we are. She is older every day. She isn't the same person she was a year ago, a month ago, a week ago. She is tired, she can't hear, and she won't participate in this class. She will most likely sleep through the entire thing. But she is here. She exists. I haven't forgotten her, and I won't let you forget her either. She is here, she is whole, she is mine. She is ours. Look at her. I will not let her be invisible."
This is one reason I believe so wholeheartedly in inclusion. Maybe Nora would have been just as happy at home on those Thursday mornings. It sure would've been a lot less work for Teddy. But, thanks to Teddy's tireless dedication, Nora's community ties stayed strong until the very end. Yes, older people can get great care in their private residences, or in healthcare centers (nursing homes). But if those are the only spaces in which they exist, the ties that bind them to others start to sever. To be in real community is to see each other, and be together, at every stage. If we let those who are "declining" or "progressing" fall to the wayside, they are out of sight and all too often become out of mind.
I want to see Noras in sign language classes. I want to see Noras still in church. I want to see Noras in the grocery store. I want to see Noras at the dog park. I don't want the Noras of the world to fade into obscurity. I want them to be seen, not just for their sake, but for ours.
But Nora wouldn't have been seen without Teddy. And that is a life-changing, world-altering, never-gonna-forget-it type of love.
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