Love Actually

One of my favourite movies of all time is Love Actually.  I love Christmas.  I love cozying up to a feel good movie at this time of year.  I love Hugh Grant and most of all I love the message that is delivered in the very opening scene.   This year, though I haven’t actually had the time to watch the movie,  I feel I have been offered perhaps an even more special showing of its opening precept.

“love…actually…exists….everywhere…”

Hospice is busy right now.  Every day I trudge into Campbell House in my snowy wintery boots and am filled with awe at its warmth.   As  I watch families sit vigil, with Christmas music and softly falling snow in the background, I am amazed at the overwhelming feeling that permeates : peace.  In years past the trend has been for people to “hang on” and make it to the big day.  The rush of deaths often happens the week AFTER Christmas.  This year has been an anomaly; these past few weeks have been filled with poignancy and sadness as we have watched many people die before their goal dates.  We have hugged and supported these families whose future Christmases will forever be tainted by the sadness of their loss.

The love at hospice is so obvious.  I am privileged to bear witness to it year round, but especially so at Christmas.

The special glimpses of love that I have seen outside of hospice are much more subtle: innocent love at the extremes of age.  So simple, in fact, that I almost missed them.

The other day, Jack Jack, (Mia’s best friend and true love who lives only a few doors down) came to the door all dressed in his snowsuit (which is a BIG undertaking for a 6 year old).  He desperately wanted Mia to come outside and play with him.  As she RACED to open the front door I noted the excited bounce in her feet.  Is there any better feeling in the world than someone you love coming to call on you?

But, alas, it was COLD outside and SNOWING and Mia had a friend over and they were playing HOUSE.  That’s three BIG STRIKES against going outside.  

I watched as Jack Jack GRINNED at her as Mia opened the door.  I stood by as Mia jumped up and down repeatedly as she explained to him that she didn’t WANT to play outside but did he want to come inside?  Jack’s grin didn’t waver as he answered that there was no way in hell he was taking off his snow suit and coming inside to play house with a bunch of girls when there was freshly fallen snow on the hill outside and his GT snow racer in his hand.  Was she SURE she didn’t want to come outside?  Mia kept grinning and bouncing as she informed Jack that she was WARM and had ALREADY had a hot chocolate after she got off the bus and she had NO DESIRE to get her snow pants on and besides, he never shared his GT snowracer with her ANYWAYS.

They were at an impasse.

And yet there they stood, grinning, bouncing and laughing together as they negotiated their differences.

Finally I had to tell Mia that I was getting cold standing there with the door open.  Was she SURE she didn’t want to go outside?  Was Jack SURE he didn’t want to come in?

There is a reason they are soul mates : they share a very strong tendency towards stubbornness.

I can’t remember the last time I was SO EXCITED to see someone that I literally bounced up and down.  ESEPCIALLY someone who lives a few doors down that I see several times a day.  I also can’t remember the last time I approached an unsolvable deadlock with a friend with quite so much love and enthusiasm.

Though neither of them budged on the issue and a compromise was never reached, they cheerfully agreed to go their separate ways, Jack to his GT snow racer and Mia back upstairs to her friend, while JOY and LOVE radiated from their still smiling faces.   

Mia and Jack : At a time when Mia won and they stayed indoors

Mia and Jack : At a time when Jack won and they played outdoors

At the other end of the spectrum, on the other side of the 401, another showing of love has slowly been growing.  Perhaps with less bouncing but no less poignancy,

my dad, at the age of 91, on a locked ward of a retirement home, occasionally takes a break from calling out for his beloved wife, Lynda, to enjoy the peace and comfort of his new companion, Pat.  We speak of this blossoming friendship with wonder and humour. 

“It appears there’s some cohabitation happening at the Teddington!” Mom will text me, “I found two of Pat’s blazer’s hanging in dad’s closet again”.   More recently Pat has taken to removing her location bracelet and putting it on Dad’s wrist, causing both agitation on the part of my father “WHY AM I WEARING TWO WATCHES” and from the nurses “Where did Pat go!  Has she escaped again!?!!”

I watched the two of them together the other day when I was visiting.    As she came around the corner, my dad’s eyes rose to look at her and suddenly a quizzical and hesitant look of recognition came over him.  As she approached, hands outstretched he gently reached out and took her hand in his, ‘Oh…hello, Love” he said gently.  She smiled back at him and patted his hand on hers.  It was gentle and kind.  These three simple primitive gestures – smiling, recognizing and the offering of a hand – quell their mutual anxiety of living alone in a new place.  It offers them comfort to know the other is there.  It offers us all solace to know dad has found companionship.

I marvel at the fact that, even in the final years of life, when much of who he was is gone, the comfort of love and the bonding of souls is still there; an integral and essential part of living.

But perhaps the greatest showing of love came at the Teddington Christmas luncheon.  My mom, sent me a picture of the two of them; Dad and Pat all dressed up, sitting side by side at the table.  “Pat wanted to sit beside her husband, “ she texted, “So I’m sitting  by myself, opposite them, for lunch.”

There is no jealousy on the part of my mother.  She happily obliged Pat with her request and took it as a fine opportunity to get a great photo of the two of them.  They sat there, the three of them, enjoying soggy sandwiches and lukewarm soup, comforted by one another’s presence. 

At the end of the meal, Pat leaned over to my mom and said, “He IS my husband, isn’t he?”

“Well, Pat…technically he’s my husband too…you just never know with men!”

They shared a good laugh together with my dad chuckling away too, looking on at both of them  with bewildered adoration.

They say that patients with dementia don’t need to know facts or be corrected on what is or is not happening at any given moment. They experience and remember only how things make them feel.  This Christmas brunch, thanks to the loving generosity of my mom, allowed them all to feel the warmth of love that surrounded them at their table.

Love.  Actually.  Exists. Everywhere.

Merry Christmas, Everyone.  May you find love, in all its many forms…everywhere.