I stood in the doorway of a restaurant, quietly waiting as a precious lady shuffled slowly toward me.
She made it all the way to the door and came to a halt.
With her husband gently holding her arm, she tried again and again to step forward. But her foot didn’t seem to listen to her mind. It was as if her body and will were in two different places at once.
Finally, with a little encouragement, she made it through the doorway and shuffled toward the next one.
The scene repeated itself at the second door. I stood holding it open, silently rooting for her as she struggled.
Her husband looked up at me with a tender smile. “She does great until she gets to a doorway,” he said softly. “It’s Parkinson’s. It’s hard.”
Then he turned his focus back to her, gently guiding her, encouraging her, and patiently waiting until she could take the next step. And finally, she did.
I watched the two of them as they slowly walked away, hand in hand. My mind wandered to their life together. I wondered about all the moments behind those quiet gestures—if she had ever complained about his socks on the floor, or if he had ever snapped at her for nagging. Had they spent decades together, learning the rhythm of each other’s hearts? It seemed they must have.
The image stayed with me as I reflected on my own marriage, my husband and I now edging into our mid-thirties. I realized how often I focus on the small frustrations—nagging over soda cans, arguing about who forgot to pay a bill (spoiler alert: it’s usually me), or fussing over dishes left in the sink.
Maybe, just maybe, those things aren’t what truly matter. Maybe the point of these years isn’t perfection or control, but the quiet ways we support each other—helping each other through life’s doorways, even when the steps are hard.
Perhaps, in the grand scheme of the years ahead, the only things that will count are patience, kindness, and the willingness to walk together through every struggle, every challenge, every doorway that life puts in our path.
Tonight, I’ll pick up those socks. I’ll wipe down the sink. And then, I’ll pause. I’ll take a deep breath and thank God for the man who sleeps next to me, the one who will walk through all of life’s doors with me, hand in hand.
