What I would do for her
A Caretaker's Vigil
Fingers poke my leg, waking me. I’ve only slept four hours since turning out the light.
“Can you help me, please?” she asks, pain in her voice.
Nothing needs to be said. I would burn the world for her.
I help her out of the bed. Her pain is unbearable. She nearly cries as I pick her up.
I give her medicine for the pain. She takes it carefully. She hates it and needs it in equal measure. She hates not being in control of her body.
We shuffle to the bathroom. She endures my touch as I help her through her embarrassment.
She cries softly as she stands up. She washes her hands as I flush and clean behind her.
I stare at her back as I apply the patch. She is the one who gives. That is who she is. Receiving is so hard for her.
This woman, the most valiant bad-ass I know, grunts in pain as she shuffles to the living room. Soft words are not her way. A person is defined in her eyes by their actions.
I help her into her chair. Before she sits, she holds me tight.
“Don’t leave me.”
My heart melts. I would give anything to hear those words, if they weren’t torn from her pain.
I sit on the couch next to her chair and play a Lucado video to distract her.
She falls asleep as the pain recedes. I watch her breathing slow. Sleep is not in the cards for me now.
I would burn the world for her. But all she needs now is me. I pray I’m enough.
Sweet, sweet story. Hopefully we all have somebody as supportive during long illnesses. Very inspirational.
As someone who has experienced being the patient, I recognized the quiet dignity in these moments. Love isn't measured by what we say when life is easy—it's revealed in the sleepless nights, the gentle reassurances, and the willingness to carry someone when they can no longer carry themselves.
"I would burn the world for her. But all she needs now is me." That is the kind of love we all hope to find.