someone to grow old with ....

I was watching an episode of Brothers & Sisters from my DVR tonight. I'm attracted to the show for many reasons. Shallow reasons like who the actors are or how wine is the answer for everything .... and real reasons like how everybody is in everybody's business & how when it comes right down to it- no matter how much they disagree with each other or nag each other or yell at each other .... I know, from the raw emotion that is tangible in my room & the choke in my throat- it all comes from love. Love, concern, protection, loyalty. Like it is in my own family.
There was a moment in this episode when the mother figure is considering plastc surgery. She wants to feel pretty, she says. She knows that the next romance that comes into her life will never have known her when she was young & vivacious- and that scares her. She already feels old and therefore, doesn't believe she will be growing old with anyone. And I began to cry. Just as I do now thinking about it. Thinking about my mom and dad.
I looked at some old pictures today. Of mom & dad when they first fell in love. When they probably still felt young. And I think about what they have experienced together. How they've grown. How they've changed .... not just physically. How they may have started out in love but now it's much, much more. NOW, they are devoted to each other. And what that means. to them. to me. I ponder over how scary & difficult it must be to lose the other half of you. I know the PC thing is to be your own person & not identify with what you have or who you're with, but honestly .... don't we all do that on some level? And what do you do when the person who adores you most ... is gone? How do you go on when the person who accepted you for who you are is not around to remind you of that on a daily basis? And what to do with those early morning & late night hours when it was just the two of you? Through these swollen & irritated eyes, I peer at what I am typing and I wonder why.... why is the pain necessary? For the person who is dying or the people they are surrounded by. Why? I also wonder how scared mom is. Or if she is. And I wonder if I should be there. Despite my fear. Despite my choices. In our pain are we allowed to be selfish?
.... in finding the poem that my mom once gave me to read upon her death .... it speaks of a better place. of happiness & peace. of joy. and I'm not sure I believe. But I want to.