How to Honor Your Wife: Honor in Action
by David Chadwick
One mid-afternoon, my mother wandered from the house alone with no one knowing where she was. Dad became frantic and panicked. Several hours went by. Finally, a neighbor called to say he’d seen her several blocks away. When we went to get her, she didn’t even remember having wandered away.
Soon thereafter, our worst fears were confirmed. Doctors diagnosed her with an advancing, slow-moving form of dementia. Most Alzheimer’s patients experience memory loss and eventual death over an eight-to-nine-year life span. Mom’s lasted for seventeen long, arduous years. We watched this gracious, kind, charming, loving woman slowly slip away and lose her mind. We watched Dad slowly lose his best friend.
Mom progressively worsened to the point where she needed to move into an assisted living unit. Over time, her memory became so diminished that Dad had to move her into the Alzheimer’s unit. No one wanted to place her there, especially Dad. But it was his only choice. She needed round-the-clock care. It made me very sad to go visit her.
At this stage, the only time we ever got a response from her was when we sang some of her favorite old hymns. Amazingly, she would start singing them with us—word for word. Her faith that had sustained her since childhood still had a home in her heart. Dad and Mom were experiencing what someone once called “the long good-bye.” Yet faithfully Dad visited her almost every single day.
Dad would stroke her hair and wipe her brow when it was wet with sweat. He would rub her back to keep the blood circulating. He would move her around so bedsores wouldn’t develop. He would fetch water to wet her chapped lips, feed her food she was unable to bring to her lips, and somehow hoped she knew he was present. Any time she gave him the slightest smile, his day was made. It was sad to watch my dad see a part of himself die before his very eyes. Once I asked Dad how hard it was to watch Mom die. “It’s hard, son,” he responded. But then he quickly added, “But I made a commitment to her. I promised for better or worse. This is worse. I promised in sickness and in health. This is sickness. I promised in richer or poorer. This is poorer. I made a promise ‘till death do you part.’ She is the love of my life. We are, after all, one flesh.” She died soon thereafter.
During her last years on earth, my dad especially honored my mom. She was his prized treasure. She was his permanent trophy bride. He exalted, valued, and esteemed her. For me, he was a living example of the definition of the word honor. His focus was on his beloved. I’ll never forget that example. May his example be ours as well.
This series is adapted from David Chadwick’s book, Eight Great Ways to Honor Your Wife. To download your free PDF copy of the book, please visit our website by clicking here!