About love

Last week, I underwent back surgery and spent a couple of days in the hospital. It was quite an emotional week—I felt immense pain, fear that I might never fully recover, disappointment at how long healing was taking, frustration, and sadness. But I wonder… do we need to experience darkness to truly appreciate the light? Because despite everything, there was a bright side—so bright that I want to share it with you today.

The day before my surgery, I was placed in a large, empty hospital room. One by one, two other patients joined me. We were three very different people: Katarina, a kind and optimistic 65-year-old Greek-German woman; Rose, a good-hearted but very ill 65-year-old German woman (who only spoke a dialect I could barely understand); and me, the “youngster” of the group. My roommates had undergone major surgeries, were unable to move from their beds, and were experiencing intense pain, discomfort, and, at times, overwhelming fear.

The first moment of warmth came when Katarina’s loving sister visited her after surgery. Katarina was in excruciating pain and couldn’t stop vomiting. There was little anyone could do, but her sister sat by her bedside and softly sang a traditional Greek song. As I watched Katarina slowly relax, I was captivated—it was love in its purest form.

Over the next few days, the three of us bonded. We took care of each other: I called for help when they needed it, acted as their voice when they struggled to communicate with the (very kind but very busy) hospital staff, and they, in turn, watched out for me. Whenever I took too long in the bathroom, they would call my name to make sure I was okay. We shared our life stories, encouraged each other, and dreamed about a future filled with sunshine and health—just like in the final duet of La Traviata, “Parigi, o cara, noi lasceremo.”

As Rose’s next surgery approached, her fear grew. The nights were long, and at one point, she had a very distressing nightmare. “Go away! No, don’t take me with you! Leave Katarina!” she cried out. Remembering Katarina’s sister, I got up, sat beside her, gently took her hand, and sang a lullaby I used to sing to my children. Rose asked me to stay, and I promised I would. I held her hand and sang until she calmed down, then continued singing softly to make sure she could sleep peacefully.

Now that I’m home, I call them every day to check in and offer encouragement. We are all healing, slowly but surely. And despite the pain and fear, I feel profoundly grateful for this experience. What I wrote above was only part of it—I also felt the extraordinary love of my husband, my family, my friends, and the incredible hospital staff.

This journey was healing and enlightening. I guess that somehow, tough times remind us of how fragile our lives can be and reveal the strong bonds of love holding everything together.

So, back to our question—what is love, after all?

To me, love is taking care of each other, feeling compassion and gratitude, holding on through the toughest times, offering a glimpse of hope and lightness, seeing the good inside and calling it out.

Love is the courage to expose yourself for others.

Love is a healing light.

Love is the rope to hold on to when everything falls.