A chick of the most excellent variety told me today that my wedding story blog post was one of her most favorite pieces I've ever written; I'm going to counter that sentiment with my husband being the most excellent piece I've ever had.
Today is my 15th wedding anniversary. And while I know that in terms of the universe, that is a mere 10,000,000,000th of a millisecond (probably). But it terms of my life, it is everything. Everything.
I fell in love with this man as I was falling out of love with another. In the dark days of that break-up, I would construct elaborate and wonderful fantasies of me with the man that became my husband.
In my imaginings, he lived in LA, far away from NY and my mean and horrible, cheating bastard of a boyfriend. He had an apartment in the hills with floor to ceiling windows that offered panoramic views of the city below. He would hold me while I cried. Watch me drink myself to sleep and keep vigil till I stirred again. He drew me warm baths and made exquisite love to my broken spirt and nursed my love for him out of my bone marrow.
The reality? He held back. He watched from a distance. He was a gentleman and never got too close until he did. Until we kissed in Battery Park on a park bench (after many, many port wines at the Red Bench). Until we walked home clutching each other like we shared a lung and couldn't breathe any other way. Until we said goodbye that night and I told him (I remember the words, the mood, the atmosphere in his apartment like it was yesterday) that he was my heaven.
And then he gave me an incredible gift; the most beautiful necklace. He gave it to me after he told my split-secondly-ex-boyfriend (who also happened to be one of his very best friends in the world) that we were in love. He told him first before anyone else found out. He didn't ask for permission, he spoke the truth.
Six months later we were married. And we remain thusly. And gloriously and magically. And REALLY.
One night (afternoon?) after the latest round of ridiculously, incredible sex I said to him: "I can picture our fights right now; loud, passionate and intense." Uhm... yep. The fights burn more calories than my trips to the gym and sex... keeps... coming (to use a pretty great pun).
He was there to pull his children into the oxygen breathing world. He was there to wait it out till I could reasonably and comfortably and confidently get back in the saddle after I gave birth.
He was broken and held together with tears and snot and love when we got Lincoln's diagnosis.
He frets almost uncontrollably over the maturity of his first-born; her physical and emotional safety unmatched in his heart.
He KNOWS his children and he navigates their intricacies like an orchestra conductor.
And he loves me.
Broken and weird and strange and unwrapped, me.
I would be lost. I would go on, but I would wander and have no touchstone. The years have not all been bliss; but they have been ours and my charmed life would not exist without him.
Happy Anniversary, baby.
Today is my 15th wedding anniversary. And while I know that in terms of the universe, that is a mere 10,000,000,000th of a millisecond (probably). But it terms of my life, it is everything. Everything.
I fell in love with this man as I was falling out of love with another. In the dark days of that break-up, I would construct elaborate and wonderful fantasies of me with the man that became my husband.
In my imaginings, he lived in LA, far away from NY and my mean and horrible, cheating bastard of a boyfriend. He had an apartment in the hills with floor to ceiling windows that offered panoramic views of the city below. He would hold me while I cried. Watch me drink myself to sleep and keep vigil till I stirred again. He drew me warm baths and made exquisite love to my broken spirt and nursed my love for him out of my bone marrow.
The reality? He held back. He watched from a distance. He was a gentleman and never got too close until he did. Until we kissed in Battery Park on a park bench (after many, many port wines at the Red Bench). Until we walked home clutching each other like we shared a lung and couldn't breathe any other way. Until we said goodbye that night and I told him (I remember the words, the mood, the atmosphere in his apartment like it was yesterday) that he was my heaven.
And then he gave me an incredible gift; the most beautiful necklace. He gave it to me after he told my split-secondly-ex-boyfriend (who also happened to be one of his very best friends in the world) that we were in love. He told him first before anyone else found out. He didn't ask for permission, he spoke the truth.
Six months later we were married. And we remain thusly. And gloriously and magically. And REALLY.
One night (afternoon?) after the latest round of ridiculously, incredible sex I said to him: "I can picture our fights right now; loud, passionate and intense." Uhm... yep. The fights burn more calories than my trips to the gym and sex... keeps... coming (to use a pretty great pun).
He was there to pull his children into the oxygen breathing world. He was there to wait it out till I could reasonably and comfortably and confidently get back in the saddle after I gave birth.
He was broken and held together with tears and snot and love when we got Lincoln's diagnosis.
He frets almost uncontrollably over the maturity of his first-born; her physical and emotional safety unmatched in his heart.
He KNOWS his children and he navigates their intricacies like an orchestra conductor.
And he loves me.
Broken and weird and strange and unwrapped, me.
I would be lost. I would go on, but I would wander and have no touchstone. The years have not all been bliss; but they have been ours and my charmed life would not exist without him.
Happy Anniversary, baby.
2 comments:
You were correct. I do love this piece! Happy Anniversary to you both!
MOB you are an incredible writer with an amazing journey............I honor how you embrace all...... find and cherish all. you rock! sue f.
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