To love and to lose is one of the biggest tragedies in life, yet one fails to see the blessing in the loss. We lose for many reasons - a death, a divorce, a broken friendship and the end of a relationship. In that moment, we feel our life has come to an end. How are we to go on? A piece of your soul is taken leaving an empty hole in your heart.

The question of “why me” repeats in your mind but as the beauty of time progresses, we see the answer. Loss makes us stronger and wiser. A loss helps us to appreciate even the smallest, insignificant things in life. Our hearts become softer and full of even more love than we had to begin with. A loss helps us to see that we can’t do it alone, that we need faith and hope to get us through. We learn the mercy and grace of God.

When the grieving and the healing have taken their course, we are renewed, ready to begin a new chapter in our lives with a whole new outlook and attitude. Only then are we able to appreciate the lesson learned through that loss. One never forgets those we lost, but we do learn to let go.

We learn to keep living even though we don’t want to. We learn to treasure each moment and each person. In turn, losses make our lives a lot richer.

To love and lose is a tragedy, but it’s not the end of our lives. It’s part of our journey.

We were the only family with children in the restaurant. I sat Erik in a high chair and noticed everyone was quietly eating and talking. Suddenly, Erik squealed with glee and said, “Hi there.” He pounded his fat baby hands on the high-chair tray. His eyes were wide with excitement and his mouth was bared in a toothless grin. He wriggled and giggled with merriment.

I looked around and saw the source of his merriment. It was a man with a tattered rag of a coat, dirty, greasy and worn. His pants were baggy with a zipper at half-mast and his toes poked out of would be shoes. His shirt was dirty and his hair was uncombed and unwashed. His whiskers were too short to be called a beard and his nose was so varicose, it looked like a road map. We were too far from him to smell, but I was sure he smelled. His hands waved and flapped on loose wrists.

“Hi there, baby; hi there, big boy. I see ya, buster,” the man said to Erik. My husband and I exchanged looks, “What do we do?” Everyone in the restaurant noticed and looked at us and then at the man. The old geezer was creating a nuisance with my beautiful baby. Our meal came and the man began shouting from across the room, “Do ya know patty cake? Do you know peek-a-boo? Hey, look, he knows peek-a boo!” Nobody thought the old man was cute. He was obviously drunk. My husband and I were embarrassed. We ate in silence, all except for Erik, who was running through his repertoire for the admiring skid-row bum, who in turn, reciprocated with his cute comments.

We finally got through the meal and headed for the door. My husband went to pay the check and told me to meet him in the parking lot. The old man sat poised between me and the door. “Lord, just let me out of here before he speaks to me or Erik,” I prayed. As I drew closer to the man, I turned my back trying to side-step him and avoid any air he might be breathing. As I did, Erik leaned over my arm, reaching with both arms in a baby’s pick-me-up position. Before I could stop him, Erik had propelled himself from my arms to the man’s. Suddenly a very old smelly man and a very young baby consummated their love relationship.

Erik, in an act of total trust, love, and submission laid his tiny head upon the man’s ragged shoulder. The man’s eyes closed and I saw tears hover beneath his lashes. His aged hands full of grime, pain and hard labor-gently, so gently cradled my baby’s bottom and stroked his back. No two beings have ever loved so deeply for so short a time. I stood awestruck. The old man rocked and cradled Erik in his arms for a moment, and then his eyes opened and set squarely on mine.

He said in a firm commanding voice, “You take care of this baby.” Somehow I managed, “I will,” from a throat that contained a stone. He pried Erik from his chest unwillingly, longingly, as though he were in pain. I received my baby, and the man said, “God bless you, ma’am, you’ve given me my Christmas gift.” I said nothing more than a muttered thanks.

With Erik in my arms, I ran for the car. My husband was wondering why I was crying and holding Erik so tightly, and why I was saying, “My God, my God, forgive me.” I had just witnessed Christ’s love shown through the innocence of a tiny child who saw no sin, who made no judgment, a child who saw a soul, and a mother who saw a suit of clothes. I was a Christian who was blind, holding a child who was not.

I felt it was God asking…. “Are you willing to share your son for a moment?”, when He shared His for an eternity.

The ragged old man, unwittingly, had reminded me, “To enter the Kingdom of God, we must become as little children.”

Leisa,

I think I have finally found my answer to your question, “What is love?”

Real love truly is unconditional.

I have been looking back to the times I spent with my Grandmother. As you know, I grew up with her. I was not very nice to her at times - as most teenagers are not. As I was growing up, I really did do some nasty things to hurt her.

You know Leis, she was always there to forgive me, once I realised my mistakes.

She did this openly and honestly and with her arms wide open. Her love never judged me. Her love never condemned me. Her love never knew spiteful words. She would tell me that my actions had hurt her, but never did she lash out in retaliation by saying mean things or even to punish me - ever.

She held me up, she let me become myself and then she let me go.

To me, if you can’t love without judging, then you do not love. If you can’t love without expectation, then you do not love. If you can’t love just because you can - then why would you do it? Does someone have to show you love in return, for you to feel it for them? My grandmother’s never did. She just loved all of me. No matter what my actions displayed.

I believe that to love, you have to be patient. To love, you have to be kind. To love, you have to forgive.

I’m not saying that you should put your life on hold, but all the same, I don’t believe that you should turn your back just because that person hasn’t yet found the strength to know who they are yet. And let’s face it - this is the only reason people lie. They are lying to themselves really - not to us.

You can still love them Leis.

Sometimes people just make mistakes. This is their walk - not ours. Their life lessons - not ours. Who are we to judge? And if you truly did love in the first place, then you will be there to forgive. To me, this is real love.

Leisa, I can let him go. I can walk away and start afresh now. But I do love Ian, so please don’t ask me to stop.

Vicki

One of our favorite patients had been in and out of our small, rural hospital several times, and all of us on med-surg had grown quite attached to her and her husband.

In spite of terminal cancer and resulting pain, she never failed to give us a smile or a hug. Whenever her husband came to visit, she glowed. He was a nice man, very polite and as friendly as his wife. I had grown quite attached to them and was always glad to care for her.

I admired their expression of love. Daily, he brought her fresh flowers and a smile, then sat by her bed as they held hands and talked quietly. When the pain was too much and she cried or became confused, he hugged her gently in his arms and whispered until she rested. He spent every available moment at her bedside, giving her small sips of water and stroking her brow. Every night, before he left for home, he closed the door so they could spend time alone together. When he was gone, we’d find her sleeping peacefully with a smile on her lips.

On this night, however, things were different. As soon as I entered report, the day nurses informed us she had steadily taken a turn for the worse and
wouldn’t make it through the night. Although I was sad, I knew that this was for the best. At least my friend wouldn’t be in pain any longer. I left report and checked on her first. When I entered the room, she aroused and smiled weakly, but her breathing was labored and I could tell it wouldn’t be long.

Her husband sat beside her, smiling, too, and said, “My Love is finally going to get her reward.”

Tears came to my eyes, so I asked if they needed anything and left quickly. I offered care and comfort throughout the evening, and at about midnight she passed away with her husband still holding her hand. I consoled him and with tears running down his cheeks he said, “May I please be alone with her for awhile?” I hugged him and closed the door behind me.

I stood outside the room, blotting my tears and missing my friend and her smile. And I could feel the pain of her husband in my own heart. Suddenly from the room came the most beautiful male voice I have ever heard singing. It was almost haunting the way it floated through the halls. All of the other nurses stepped out into the hallways to listen as he sang “Beautiful Brown Eyes” at the top of his lungs.

When the tune faded, the door opened and he called to me. He looked me in the eyes then hugged me saying, “I sang that song to her every night from the first day we met. Normally I close the door and keep my voice down so as not to disturb the other patients. But I had to make sure she heard me tonight as she was on her way to heaven. She had to know that she will always be my forever love. Please apologize to anyone I bothered. I just don’t know how I will make it without her, but I will continue to sing to her every night. Do you think she will hear me?”

I nodded my head “yes,” unable to stop my tears. He hugged me again, kissed my cheek, and thanked me for being their nurse and friend. He thanked the other nurses, then turned and walked down the hall, his back hunched, whistling the song softly as he went.

As I watched him leave I prayed that I, too, would someday know that kind of forever love.

A girl in love asked her boyfriend: “Tell me, who do you love most in this world?”

“You, of course!”

“In your heart, what am I to you?”

The boy thought for a moment and looked intently in her eyes and said, “You are my rib. In the Bible, it was said that God saw that Adam was lonely. During his sleep, God took one of Adam’s rib and created Eve. Every man has been searching for his missing rib. Only when you find the woman of your life will you no longer feel the lingering ache in your heart.”

After their wedding, the couple had a sweet and happy life for a while. However, the youthful couple began to drift apart due to the busy schedule of life and the never-ending worries of daily problems. Their life became mundane. All the challenges posed by the harsh realities of life began to gnaw away at their dreams and love for each other. The couple began to have more quarrels, and each quarrel became more heated.

One day, after a quarrel, the girl ran out of the house. At the opposite side of the road, she shouted, “You don’t love me!” The boy hated her childishness, and out of impulse retorted, “Maybe it was a mistake for us to be together! You were never my missing rib!”

Suddenly, she turned quiet and stood there for a long while. He regretted what he said, but words spoken are like thrown away water — you can never take them back. With tears, she went home to pack her things and was determined on breaking up.

Before she left the house, the girl said, “If I’m really not your missing rib, then please let me go.” She continued, “It is less painful this way. Let us go on our separate ways and search for our own partners.”

Five years went by. He never remarried but he had tried to find out about her life indirectly. She had left the country and came back. She had married a foreigner and divorced. He felt anguished that she never waited for him. In the dark and lonely night, he lit his cigarette and felt the lingering ache in his heart. He couldn’t bring himself to admit that he was missing her.

One day they finally met — at the airport — a place where there were many reunions and good-byes. He was going away on a business trip. She was standing there alone, with just the security door separating them. She smiled at him gently.

(b): “How are you?”

(g): “I’m fine. How about you. Have you found your missing rib?”

(b): “No.”

(g): “I’ll be flying to New York on the next flight.”

(b): “I’ll be back in 2 weeks time.”

(g): “Give me a call when you get back. You know my number. Nothing has changed.” With a smile, she turned around and waved good-bye.

One week later, he heard of her death. She had perished in New York — in the event that shocked the world.

Midnight. Once again, he lit his cigarette. And like before, he felt the lingering ache in his heart. He finally knew that she was the missing rib that he had so carelessly broken.