Love Language – Family Caregivers Month

When my dad was diagnosed with ALS at 73, he was the most active human I knew. He had the energy to live life to its fullest—on top of being utterly devoted to our family.

Three years have passed. He lost his ability to speak, eat, move, and breathe independently. Absurd as it is, I came to expect this. What I didn’t expect—that dad and I would lose many of the ways we used to tell each other, ‘I love you.’ Ways, of course, that I took for granted back when things were easy.

When he kept me up late telling stories in the hallway, he was telling me that he loved me. When he asked me to see him captain his tennis team at nationals in Arizona, he was telling me that he loved me. When he squeezed my shoulders as he walked behind my chair, he was telling me that he loved me. And when I asked to tour his vegetable garden, I was telling him that I loved him. When I went to Temple to see him sing, I was telling him that I loved him. When I cooked him all the dishes I learned on my travels, I was telling him that I loved him.

A father and a son. Two adults. A hundred little ways we said ‘I love you’—strengthened over decades…fading over months.

As the disease progressed, the whole family felt it. Dad and mom, my brother and sister. Heartbreak and confusion. Not just about the new physical reality, but about our emotional bonds. If what this family needed was a whole lot of love and strength, where and how were we going to express it? The usual ways were gone.

For a while, we explored new traditions. I led light yoga sessions until that was too tiring. Mom hugged and cuddled Dad until that stifled his breathing. Arel learned to cook Michelin-star soups (thick enough to hold together, thin enough to swallow) until dad couldn’t eat them either.

Loving, it seemed, was a moving target. Was it supposed to be this hard? As I searched for answers, one day, Becky, my (then new) girlfriend, asked me a question. “What’s your love language?” If you’re not familiar, the idea is that each person has a preferred “love language”—a specific way they feel most emotionally connected to another. The five common love languages are: words of affirmation, quality time, physical touch, acts of service, and gift giving. The reason it’s good for partners to ask each other this question is this: if it sometimes feels like love is missing in the relationship, it might just be that their love languages are misaligned. Two heartfelt ‘I love you’s’ passing in the night. If that happens, both partners may need to rewire their brains—to hear and speak love where they couldn’t before. This takes intention, work, imagination, and faith.

What I realized when Becky asked me about love languages is this: it’s a useful framework—not just for new couples, but for a family going through dramatic change. It helped me make sense of all the work we were doing just to relocate our love. I am sure every family afflicted with ALS realigns around its own chosen languages—whether traditional ones like words of affirmation, or specific ones like giving each other space. But for us, a love language that our family has newly adopted is acts of service. Caregiving.

When mom sits by dad’s side for his cough assist sessions, handing him paper towels for his mouth, she is telling him that she loves him. When my brother, who moved back home, helps dad brush his teeth and turns the light out every night, he is telling him that he loves him. When my sister travels solo with her newborn baby, braving mid-flight blowouts in the back of the plane, she is telling him that she loves him. When I prep all dad’s weekend meds and orchestrate his Sunday baths—I am telling him that I love him. And when my dad—our strong and loving provider, the most active human I know, actually lets us do all these things for him so he can enjoy our company another day—he is telling us, again and again, that he loves us. He loves us. He loves us.

This Caregivers Month and Thanksgiving season, our family honors everyone who has wandered through the desert to learn a new language of love.

Warmly,

Dylan Greif and family