Skip to main content

48 Years...a Love that has no End Date

  Let’s talk about an unraveled braid of love. Let’s talk about a love that spans over the seas, white Magnolia Trees, and beyond the twinkle stars. Let’s talk about a love that doesn’t end and has never charred. It’s a love that has no expiration date. I’ve witnessed this phenomenal phenomena, the truest form of adoration...my mom and my dad’s relationship. 

Today would of been their 48th Wedding Anniversary. Even though, my dad has been gone for more than 11 years, I know without doubt, he’d be placing a flower order at Viviano’s. I know he would of acted on his chivalry with knightly gestures. I know he would of adorned my mom with romanticism. My mom and dad would of dressed dapperly and made their honoring entrance at a restaurant. They would of doted, dazzled, and casted smiles. Cards would of been exchanged and more devotion would of been tenderly traded. 

This type of passion travels through travesties.   It conquers death and keeps marching. Memories are pondered at the piety pond. It’s a love that will never die. It will never bank or bend...steady on and steady fervor flow. It’s a type a love that was shot from Cupid’s bow. 

My mom and dad’s love for one another was of divinity. Days were divine, spunky, and vivaciously vined. Cheerful hearts galavanted throughout the years, so did a few speck of tears. Ah, but the tears dried and forgiveness trampled pride. The “Bob and Sandy” tapestry was always mended and stately stitched.

How does a love like this endure? God. 

God brought my mom and dad together and let no man put asunder. Yes, times were tempted and love was tested, but God bolstered their bond braid. The relationship ravished with rooted rose bushes. Rosy resilience couldn’t be cut down. My mom and dad’s love will forever be perched upon shelves and graced upon. Ah, but a love that has no end date. 

Happy 48th Anniversary, Mom...and Dad! 

“That’s the kind of love your mom and I have.” - my dad stated while watching the secret wedding scene on “Braveheart” 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

"Memory Day" Memories

“Memory Day” Memories   August 11 th , 2008 will always be etched in my mind.   Why? Do you ask?   That was the day the leading man in my life went home, my dad, Bob J. O’Banion.   He was my encourager, support system, teacher, boulder, and most importantly, a godly leader.   When you needed a hand, both of his calloused hands were there to hug, shake, and give you a pat on the back.   When you needed Christian advice, his wisdom traveled from his can line to yours.   With the can pressed against your ear, you’d hear, “God is the way, the truth, and the light.”   He was a true definition of a man, a sovereign man.   Integrity made him a humble guide through the Blueridge Mountains, the dry desert, and beyond.   Love lined his face with deep canyon wrinkles.   He sought and dug ditches to provide.   The rooftop was his “day home”.   Sun-tanned skin branded him a “sweat by the brow” toiler.   Family sto...

Seasonal Change

The loss of my dad still hurts, especially when seasons change.  . For those who have lost a loved one, the aching still seems to pulsate through the cracks left upon our hearts.  . Seasonal change can breeze in bronzes of bereavement. It can fall with ambers of aches and molasses colored missing.  . For me, this is true about Autumn. The leaves change once again, and my dad’s memory wafts o’er red-roofed wishing wells. The shallow water collects pennies of “wish you were here” under Birch trees.  . Seasons and holidays blow in memories that patina the past.  . Those who have lost a parent, we think upon childhood memoirs. Instances where we held our mom or dad’s hands, while strolling under amber stained glass etched with maple leaves.  . I think upon harvest memories where the jack-o-lanterns flow, and the crockpot chili steams in bowls.  . My dad walks behind my brother and I as we prance towards candy. In seasonal memory “trick-or-treats” bounce of...

Climb the Rope of Hope

  I have to admit, I’m feeling a dew drop of sadness today. I was supposed to go to a RV show with friends, but decided to stay home. Why did I stay home? I miss my dad. It’s been almost 12 years and I still ache for him. I miss his love and his godly guidance (I’m crying as I write this post). I couldn’t go trudge in and out of memories. I couldn’t go up and down steps of the past. My heart couldn’t bear the weight of camper-sized flashbacks.  When I was growing up, we were a band of gypsies, as my dad called us. We traveled the highway and byways of America in our RV. We’d laugh and play games. We’d have conversations about God’s beauty. We’d bond as a family, as a God braided clan. That bond has made me grieve a hard grief. That closeness clamors my heart with the dad category of love. I don’t grieve on a daily basis anymore. The wounds of loss have healed. The scar is not as prevalent. But, the missing still resides. The missing still dews rosy teardrops.  ...