THAT IS WHAT LOVE FEELS LIKE

In 2014, my dad and I had the difficult task of going through my mother's things, the hardest being her clothes and purses. Certain outfits brought back beautiful memories; however, taking them out of the closet brought back the stark realization that she was gone. On the lighter side, we had to check each item painstakingly. Later stages of dementia resulted in her hiding jewelry and money in pockets, hems, etc...and the Kleenex! She always feared having a runny nose with no tissue available, so her purses and jacket pockets were stockpiled. If we had unfurled and stacked each tissue (I'm not kidding), I think we would have refilled three boxes.

Anyway, we accomplished our mission. The closet was empty, boxes filled, her blouses, slacks, and jackets hanging on the clothes rod and a portable clothes rack. After loading the van, we headed to a local homeless shelter that housed both men and women, as some of her jackets and sweatshirts could be used by either gender. I located a volunteer, and before he followed me to the van, he unlocked the closet where they stored clothing donations. I looked in and chuckled. I told him the closet wasn't big enough. You see, my mom never discarded anything (she also had 700 beanie babies!), and close to the end, she would order something that she never had a chance to use. The volunteer must have thought I was exaggerating until I opened the van doors. He returned to the shelter, calling for some residents to help unload.

Several men jumped at the opportunity. A man approached me as I began unloading some of the smaller boxes. He was unkempt and toothless. At first, I hate to admit, I felt the urge to turn around and run. He took the box I was holding and put it on one of the food carts they were using for transport. I thanked him and, with an embarrassed look on his face, said, "I wasn't always like this." While both of us continued to unload boxes, he told me of his many attempts to get clean and sober, each relapse causing him to lose more until nothing was left. Proudly he exclaimed that his most recent period of sobriety was the longest yet, and he truly felt the Holy Spirit. I congratulated him and said I would pray for his continued success. I told him I struggled with addiction and shared a little of my story. As I was sharing, I realized how blessed I was. Although we shared the same affliction, the consequences he suffered were much more severe. All I could think of was, "There but for the Grace of God go I."

The van was empty; the job was done. The shelter volunteer and residents offered thanks and wheeled the carts to the storage area. I started towards the driver's side of the van. The man I was chatting with came back out of the storage area and asked if he could hug me. It wasn't a little one ... it was an extended, long bear hug. He backed up and, with a toothless smile, said, "and THAT is what love feels like," and walked away. As I started the drive home, I looked in the rearview mirror and saw nothing but a few stray hangers hanging from clothes rods where my mother's clothes hung. Instead of feeling empty, I was enveloped in peace and fulfillment. 

Yes, my friend, that's what love feels like.