where love stares us in the face and begs a response

We spent the evening over at my grandpa's house again.

Sometimes even the better part of me wonders what we're doing over there
as we've been spending more and more time over there to keep things going

we tidy things up and he gets upset
we tidy things up and he forgets and puts things back where they were in the first place
paid bills get reopened
clean clothes are a non-issue to him
he often brings up the past as in to shove it in others' faces
even simple misunderstandings make him lash out

he's stinky, irritable, revengeful, forgetful, confused, stuck in the past, and difficult
most of the time

so why?

he's a part of the family
yes

someone has to look out for him
yes

we care about him
yes

but why?

maybe because this is what love really is

because really
when we think about love
we think about the sacrificial parent
pacing the floor late at night,
rocking a baby on half the necessary sleep,
nurturing a child on the way

we think a dedicated family at a grandparent's hospital bed side
with the grandma/grandpa softly speaking words of love and encouragement

we think about the success stories
about teachers transforming classrooms
about 75-year anniversaries
about 1 Corinthians 13--a love never impatient, unkind, jealous, boastful, proud, ill-mannered, selfish, irratible, revengeful, disonest

and yes,
of course
this is love

this is love in abundance

but what is love the rest of the time when it's not quite saintly enough for us to take notice?
where do those stinky and easily resisted pleas for attention and care reside in our lives?

I think sometimes we, or at least I, get too busy to stop and wait.
we like helping people, but we're helping them in the rush to get to the next thing,
even when that next thing is often helping someone else.

We don't think we'd ever follow a request to help an elderly citizen across the road by rushing them through traffic so fast that they collapse on approaching the curb and then rush on to hand a few dollars to a bewildered man standing outside the gas station asking for money and then run back to the car to rush home to make dinner

of course not

but love is not neat,
and love
takes a lot of time.

With my grandpa,
much of the irritation comes in thinking people are in too much of a rush to take notice,
much of the hurt, past and present, and thus the hurt he passes on
are an effort at healing from feeling left out of the loop too long

he's forgetful,
and we rarely take the time to remind him.
he doesn't change or clean
because there isn't always someone coming,
or somewhere to go,
and he doesn't want to bother taking the time for just himself.

once in a while I realize what I'm missing with him.
tonight we brought dinner--
McDonalds, no less,
but sustenance all the same.
I finished my food,
opened up the newspaper to read bits to him until it ran dry,
and then I just sat.
For once, I didn't rush him through his story or make sure he kept eating.
I stopped myself from moving to the next thing.
I stopped myself from running, and
I listened for over an hour
as he talked about growing up and his family and a pet horse named Esquire and kids at school.
I listened as he forgot his story and started from the beginning,
and I smiled and asked questions anyway.
He forgot he had food in front of him, got up and left, came back
was surprised at the food,
started his story again,
and I listened anyway.

I moved him to the kitchen
and started to clean off the table so we could begin on transferring his scrapbook to new pages when I get back from North Carolina.
I found layer upon layer of lottery tickets and intricate prediction charts and decades of brochures
but underneath,
there were older planner pages where his patient lettering taught mine,
calendar pages he made out for me to cross off the days until holidays and summer vacations,
menus I had made him for breakfast and lunch on those vacation days--

And somehow,
tonight was one of those nights
when I really saw him.

This is a man who has shown his family a lot of hurt,
and they, for the most part, have tried to look past it
to help the man he is now but with a slanted glance
and a bit of a rush to get by with the help without any extra hurt.

I'm certainly younger.
I've received a much lighter load.
I've fought a less uphill fight.
I've known the hard man,
but I've also known the soft.

But I still bear a good deal of the rush,
and I need to make a greater effort to try.

He needs attention.
He needs love.
He needs to feel worthwhile.

I need to give him that chance.