Support is being there, strong and silent, offering your arm when my legs desert me and forget how to walk without pain. It’s slowing your steps to a rate my small, broken legs can match, letting me focus on walking until I’m forced to let go and take the last few, shaky steps on my own.
Love is not mentioning it as we get in the car, just handing me a water bottle and letting me keep some dignity. It’s the gentle caress of my hair at a stoplight to remind me you’re concerned without making me feel guilty for needing the help.
I don’t know how to accept these things gracefully. Just being there, accepting me without judging, means more than I know how to express. Thank you. I love you.