All Saints Day

I'm not a saint.

I've been called one dozens of times; as recently as Saturday actually.

People assume it takes a saint to be married to someone with a disability.  Sure there are times it absolutely sucked, but I always scoffed at the idea.  "Oh, you're husband is blind? You must be a saint!"

(Although, in truth, there should totally be a patron saint for those married to the blind)

I didn't marry my husband for noble reasons.

I didn't care for my grandmother, my father or my siblings to be seen as "good".

I didn't help my friends and their children to be saintly.

I like the feeling I get when I can do something random to make someone smile.  People I know and care about have received everything from flowers to groceries, diapers to cakes, dinners to tires, a massage appointment or a lawn mowed – because I care.  The majority of the time, they never know I have anything to do with it, because I don't want or need thank yous or misplaced worries of having to repay the favor.

If it beats out all the wrong I've done and my saintly moves get me into heaven – so be it.  If I knew it wouldn't help, I'd still do it.

For each person I've done something for, I'd like to think they've done something for someone else, which inside my heart, helps me. 

3 thoughts on “All Saints Day

  1. Do you ever feel the urge to lash out and shove the perception of being the saint in people’s faces? I have it often because I’m the good child in my family, the ‘perfect’ one when my brother is in trouble with the law and the smart one.
    Sometimes I don’t show up to family functions or do things I know will annoy family members to take the gloss of my goodness.
    Happy birthday for this month — I don’t know who the patron saint for survival is, but she’ll be looking down on you and spreading some good wishes.


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