My husband and I had been married nearly twenty-two years when I got Stevens-Johnson syndrome (史蒂文斯－约翰逊综合征), my immune system produced painful blisters(水泡)responding to the virus. Although my long-term examination was good, I, who had been very independent, soon became completely helpless.

My husband, Scott, stepped up to the plate, taking care of kids and cooking dinners. He also became my personal caretaker. Sometimes I had negative emotions and felt ashamed because I totally relied on others instead of myself.

I recovered from my illness, but I couldn't seem to recover from the thought that I loved my husband less than he loved me. Then recently Scott and I went on a long bike ride. At one point with a strong headwind and sharp pain building in my tired legs, I really thought I couldn't go any further. Seeing me struggle, Scott pulled in front of me and yelled over his shoulder, "Stay close behind me." As I followed his steps, I discovered that my legs quit burning and I was able to catch my breath. My husband was pulling me along again. At this moment I woke up and I believe: during these and other tough times, love becomes stronger when one partner learns to lean(依靠)on the other.

I pray(祈祷)my husband will always be strong and healthy. But if he should ever become the struggling one, whether on a bike ride or with an illness, I trust I'll be ready to call out to him: Stay close behind me-my turn to pull you along.

Some of my earliest memories involve sitting with my dad in his study every night when he came home. Dad has a jade green comb. Every night, he would smile, hand me the comb and say: “Help Daddy clean it, OK?” At age five this task brought me such joy. I would excitedly turn the tap on, and then brush the comb with a used toothbrush as hard as I could. Satisfied with my job, I would proudly return it to Dad. He would smile at me, and place the comb on top of his wallet.

About two years later, Dad left his job and started his own business. That was when things started to change. Dad’s business wasn’t doing so well, and our stable life started getting shaky. He didn’t come home as much as he used to. And when he did, it was always late and I’d already be in bed. I started to get mad. Why didn’t he listen to Mum and just stick to his old job? Over the years, I stopped spending my nights with him.

Now 28, I’ve already got a job. Dad’s business has also started to be on track. Things are better. Yet the uncomfortable silence between us persisted.

Two days before my birthday last year, Dad came home early. As I helped him carry his bags into his study, he said. “Hey, would you like to help me clean my comb? It’s been a while: since I last cleaned it.” I looked at him a while, then took the comb and headed to the sink.

As I cleaned the comb, it hit me then: why, as a child, helping my dad clean his comb was such a joy. That routine meant my dad was home early to spend the evening with Mum and I. It meant he would watch TV with us or playa few videogames with me. It meant a happy and loving family.

I pass the clean comb back to Dad. He looks at it and smiles. But this time, I notice something different. My dad has aged. He has wrinkles next to his eyes when he smiles, yet his smile is still heartwarming. The smile of a father who just wants a good life for his family.

Dad carefully places his comb on top of his wallet. The same old jade green comb. I guess some things never change. And for that, I’m glad.

Uncle Ed wasn’t like other adults in my village. He thought time should be spent working on a farm or on the end of a tool handle. And Christmas Eve was a workday like any other for him.

I was ten years old that year, just reading Charles Dickens’s A Christmas Carol, when he asked me whether I wanted to ride to Gadsden with him to see some used dump truck (自卸卡车). Any other time, I would have knocked the furniture over getting out to his truck. Country kids never miss a chance to go to cities. But this was the day before Christmas. I might miss the big feast if I went with him.

“You want to go or not?” he asked again. “I guess...” I finally agreed after weighing the pros and cons.

That afternoon, we saw many used dump trucks, none of which was satisfying. But, in a Christmas miracle, Uncle Ed gazed down at his watch, Timex, and said we had bigger fish to fry: celebrating Christmas like men!

First, we headed to the day-old bread shop and filled up the truck with fruitcakes and hotdogs. Next, with powdered sugar on our lips, we turned down Broad Street and idled through the shining downtown of the city on its most festive day. Then we turned south toward the Big Chief Drive-In, which had one of the finest hamburgers in northeast Alabama. We ate in the truck and enjoyed it all, listening to the radio. It was as good a Christmas as I would have for a very long time.

I should have told him this when he was alive, but things get awkward the longer you live. So, even though it’s too late now, I want to thank him for it, for letting me come along.

“And it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well …” Some may hear the words of Dickens and think of fine literature. But I see Uncle Ed in the glow of an AM radio, smell French fries and Winstons, and hear the ticking of an old Timex, in the most beautiful way.