Okay, so I admit I don’t know much about healthy relationships. You see, my dad died when I was 5 years old, And after that, my mom had a series of men who were either abusive, or who didn’t give a damn. But I think the most critical aspect is toilet paper. Or, in the UK, they call them toilet rolls. Wait, are you rubbing your eyes and shaking your head? I’m not joking!
Because I never had the ability to drive (because of my vision impairment), and hence I never had the ability to learn how to go grocery shopping. and keeping up with the replacement of toilet paper was a herculean effort for me. Yet one of the ways I tried to show my wife that I loved her was by noticing when the toilet paper was low. I’d remind her, “You need to remember to get toilet rolls…”
Glenda used to stuff whole toilet rolls, or multiples thereof, into the toilet. There would be stacks of cardboard cylinders, the remains of what had been toilet rolls. I’d gather 5, one on each finger, to take them down for recycling. An act of love on my part, gone unnoticed and unappreciated. I’d start new bags of recyclables in carrier bags. I’d carry the bags out to the bins. I did many things as a husband, as best I could with my limitations.
I tried to ignore the boogers the kids left smeared on the bathroom walls. I tried to ignore that they used my toothpaste (when they bothered to brush). I never complained. I thought that this was what LOVE was, but it wasn’t enough. I still kinda think this was the stuff of love, and I so appreciated that the necessary toilet rolls reappeared week after week. But apparently, what little I did and what I tried to do wasn’t enough…
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