The best is yet to come?

It was the single dumbest sign I’ve ever seen. It was in my mother’s room. It said, “Grow old with me. The best is yet to come.”

My parents were old and it sucked.

Dementia was slowly and painfully killing my mother a millimeter at a time. My dad spent his days talking to her, taking care of her needs, and missing her.

They were married for 60 years. All those years ago, they vowed to stick together through better and worse, richer and poorer, for better and worse, and eventually until death.

That stupid sign sat on the dresser and I would always think, “This is these best?!” Stupid.

The other day I thought, maybe something here is the best. Maybe the best is realizing love can endure the horrors of aging. Or, that love is more than good times, health, and the rest of it.

Maybe the best that was yet to come is the reassurance that there is someone who will be by our side for better and worse, richer and poorer, in sickness and health…until death.

As I think about it, maybe the “best is yet to come” is the hopeful anticipation of heaven and rest. The hope of a place with no more crying, or mourning, or pain. The hope of a place where their tears are wiped away and all things are made new.

I can live with that. I might even start to like the sign.

Thank you mom and dad. You’ve given me courage to believe the best is yet to come.

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