I am not the Only Caregiver in this House

Last night, after dinner, I laid down on the couch, watching TV. I laid my head on the side of the couch where the cat moonlights.

I'm allergic to the cat.

So, the sneezing and sinus pressure began marching in.
I didn't say anything.
The next thing I knew, Michael comes around the corner with his big, oversized, flat bottomed so it wont-tip-over and can-ride-on-his-lap coffee mug.

"Peppermint Tea," he says.
I'm like, "oh, nice."
"For you," he says.
Me: "For real?"
Him: "You looked like you need some Peppermint Tea."

It was the sweetest thing ever.
It made me feel special, and loved, and taken care of.

I am not the only caregiver in this house.

I am not the only one who puts another's needs ahead of my own.

I am not the only one who gives when I am tired, when I don't really want to, or when I'd rather do something for myself.

I am not the only one who comforts.

I am not the only one who thinks of things I can do to make it easier and more comfortable for someone else.

This is the part of us that people don't see.

When people see us out and about, they see me carrying Michael's stuff, or lifting him in and out of our car, or helping him with this or that.

But this caregiving - the care that I receive happens in the quietness of those moments that are just between us in our home.

Like Peppermint Tea.

Or the massages I get on a nightly basis.

I am truly blessed to call this man my husband. I am truly thankful that we have come so far.

I am not the only caregiver in this house.