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Love is …

March 14, 2021

There’s a split second after dropping the pill container when I can hope that the pills stay contained……and then the container hits the table and the pills fly out in all directions.

I dash to catch one heading under the stove and stop it just in time, but by the time I turn around, the other pills have stopped rolling, and now give me no clue as to where they are.

There were seven of them.  One–the largest, least camouflaged against the wooden floor, least expensive–is the one I saved from rolling under the stove.  The rest are tiny, and expensive enough that every time I pick them up from the pharmacy, the pharmacist says, “You do know how much they cost, right?”

One pill is near the epicenter and I’m able to spot it right away.  A couple more aren’t that far away.  A fourth has rolled much further in a different direction than I expected, but when I squat down and look from new angles, it shifts into view.  I have to crawl around for a few minutes before I find the fifth, but eventually I spot it.

The last pill is nowhere to be seen.  I crawl on hands and knees, winding my way around table legs, ever more aware of the cracks in the floor.  I never noticed this hole, but could it be big enough for the pill to have fallen under the floorboard?  The cabinet isn’t exactly flush with the floor.  Could the pill have rolled underneath?

No matter how close I get to the floor, or how many different angles I look from, or how much I squint, trying to see between the cabinet trim and the floor, the pill has vanished.

With no more ideas of where to look, I sigh, stand back up, and wait for my husband to come down for dinner, hoping a new set of eyes will do the trick.

And so, when he arrives in the kitchen, I’m sitting with my feet propped up on a chair, reading.  “I lost a pill somewhere on the floor,” I tell him, looking up from my book.  “Will you look for it?”

Randy doesn’t miss a beat.  He drops to the floor and rolls under the table.  When his careful inching doesn’t produce a pill, he grabs a flashlight and lays back onto the floor to shine the light into all the cracks.

I stay out of the way, watching him, and think to myself, this is what love is.  Not roses or romantic dinners, but rolling on the floor without hesitation when help is needed.


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  1. carwilc permalink

    What a great story! I hope you showed it to your husband! He sounds like a keeper!

  2. Roses are overrated anyway. This is the best.

  3. Do you think there might not have been seven pills?

  4. This is love. Especially, when he went back with a flashlight! I loved the details here. I could picture you leaping for the first pill as the others rolled away.

  5. Lainie Levin permalink

    YES. This IS love. All of those moments where we show up for one another in all of those cracks and crevices and corners of our lives. A beautiful story, beautifully told.

  6. jumpofffindwings permalink

    So many thoughts here: the first that love is this—absolutely. Then the reality that pills scatter, and dropping them is a pain. I have dealt with those compartmentalized containers upended. Finally the reality of needing to take medicine/pills and the importance of science. This is an engaging narrative with a point that matters!

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