Saints and Swearing

I know what love is.  It's patient and it's kind.  It's cooking 3 meals a day for a grieving army.  It's a perfectly timed hug, followed by a homemade cocktail.  It's an 8am car ride to a funeral when you got off work at 5am.  It's blowing throw a stop sign at a construction site to ensure timeliness to a service. It's 100 man hours crafting the most beautiful box the world has ever known.   It's a gentle "it's ok" in a cemetery.   It's the pep talk of a lifetime when morale is at its lowest.  It is balancing babies and heartache gracefully.  It's much needed humor in the midst of despair.   It's an impossible flight out of Alaska at an impossible hour.  It's the pained expression of bereavement that you can't protect your sisters from.  It's 50 long stemmed roses to "Amazing Grace".  It's a husband looking at his wife the same way he did on his wedding day and counting every hour until her last.  It's a grief I've never felt before and the word "fuck" when your saint-like grandma tells you "the cancer's back."