Agape
Updated: Oct 1
9/29/2026
Written by Lindsey Graser
Today was a long, tiring, productive day. I cleaned a pool and dug out a fire pit as part of my side hustle. And swam 1,600 yards and rode 11 miles on my bike with my brother as part of my sanity.
By the time I got home, I was spent.
Charlie made me a quesadilla while I showered. I ate it and collapsed on the couch. I curled myself into a ball and tucked my head into the crook of his arm. He covered me up, rubbed my back, and every now and then kissed the top of my head.
We breathed together.
Inhale. Exhale.
Inhale. Exhale.
Tomorrow is our third wedding anniversary, and I’ve been thinking about Charlie and how we started...
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I knew Charlie only from afar for almost 15 years.
That changed in the summer of 2022.
Charlie had been knocked down pretty hard by a series of blood infections, due to his central line port needed for daily hydration. He was home again, but needed some help getting his feet back underneath him.
And somehow, at that particular moment in both of our lives, I was available to help. I had recently left a job and was a little disenfranchised by the notion of typical work. I responded to the post he made on social media looking for some part-time help.
I arrived at his home for what I guess you could call an interview, and Charlie went through the list of what he needed in a very business-like way. He showed me around and pointed out all the nuances about the way he did things, like placing the pen back in its place after logging my hours on the spreadsheet he had created and placed on his fridge.
We finished the tour and sat down in his living room.
I could tell he was nervous.
There was just one more request.
“There may be a day where I just need someone else in my house.”
I could bring a book to read, sit and watch TV, whatever.
Just be there.
I understood what Charlie needed.
To just not be alone.
“Of course, I would be happy to do that.”
So I helped him while he got his feet back underneath him. I cleaned. I did the grocery shopping. I did the laundry.
A month or so passed, and Charlie gained more strength. He was back to doing things on his own. It seemed my job was over.
Then one morning he sent the text:
“You know how I said there might be a day when I just need someone in the house? Today is the day.”
“I’ll be right there.” But you know I’m not much of a reader, so there was no bringing a book. Plus, I wouldn’t turn down the opportunity to just sit and chat with this man who politely minded his own business while I took care of things around the house. There was so much to Charlie, and I was so eager to get to know the person who quietly did his own thing while I was cleaning dust bunnies and reorganizing his fridge.
I arrived, and we did just that. Sat and talked. It was real and authentic. My job was over. This was no longer work. This was friendship.
After that, we really started to just enjoy each other’s company. It seemed from the start, we were both just looking to help make each other’s life easier. As a single mom, I appreciated the things he would do, like picking me up from dropping my car off at the shop. And he appreciated having someone to cook a meal for.
There is a depth and sensitivity to Charlie that just drew me to him.
Charlie opened up a little more each time we saw each other.
Then not long after, after 18 whole months of not sharing the air with another human during the height of the pandemic, Charlie contracted COVID. I had brought it him. Not the gift I wanted to bring. But hey, nothing says budding romance quite like quarantining together.
He recovered without too much difficulty, but shortly afterward, he landed back in the hospital with another blood infection.
And Charlie would not let me come see him.
Every day I asked.
Every day, no.
For five days.
Then, on the fifth day, he gave me the clue that let me in. He was hungry. I asked if I could bring him some food.
He asked if I would bring him a double cheeseburger from Tom Wahl’s and some onion rings.
YES.
I told him I would leave it at the nurse’s station. But he said since I already going to be there, I might as well just bring it to him. And so I did.
When I saw the faint smile on his face, I knew exactly what this meant to Charlie.
I broke through the vault.
And I knew at that moment Charlie would forever be my person.
He let me in.
He was hooked up to what looked like dozens of IVs, and I remember asking him if I could touch him.
He moved over and gently patted the spot next to him.
I slid in next to him, rested my head on his shoulder, and he took my hand. We sat together in what felt like another world. A quiet room, with just the glow of the fluorescent light behind us and the IV machine interrupting every so often: beep, beep, beep. Air in line.
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A few nights ago, we played Scrabble. I put down the word AGAPE.
Agape love. I thought, that’s exactly the kind of love we have for each other. Pure, unconditional love.
Four years ago, I sat beside him in that hospital room, my head on his shoulder and his hand holding mine. Tonight, I lay in his arms, spent and exhausted. The same man who moved over and made room for me beside him all those years ago was still making room for me.
Tomorrow we will celebrate our third wedding anniversary. Yes, in the $7 knock-his-socks-off dress.
But for now it's time for bed. Tomorrow’s a very special day.
*We thought it would be really funny to dress up for Halloween with Charlie as the Emotional Support Human and me as a basketcase. We would have won that contest too, if we didn't need to leave early because Charlie wasn't feeling well. Since then, we bought one hat, and we decided only one of us could wear it at a time. So at least one of us has our shit together at any given time. Hahahahaha.
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