why I love my husband, reason #183

Neal,

It was from across a room filled with twenty friends that your eyes caught mine and held them, longer than I thought they should, long enough to make me think,

“only a husband should look at me like that,”

and then we fell in love and married and gave each other our twenties.

And I stand there, this afternoon, over a pot of cinnamon apples, stirring, scraping, a hundred conversations running through my mind, the soul-child, trying to reconcile emotions with common sense. I have tried and tried, and yet I cannot seem to come to terms with the disappointment I hold over this one relationship. It’s not what I thought it would be. It’s not even what it was, for a short while. It is what it is, and it won’t be changed. I know that. So, why the outstanding hurt?

I go circles, there, in my mind, and you catch me.

The toddler is tugging at my leg and the young boy is distracted again from his assignment and the food is steaming and there’s much to be done, but you stop me short.

You’re sitting there, on the tiled floor, and you ask what bothers me. I’m almost embarrassed to tell you because you’ve heard it all before. There is no new development in the story and all the comfort and all the wisdom and all the “figuring out” has already been had. I tell you anyway, hesitantly, apologetically. I should be much stronger than this. And all you offer, after the words tumble down, spilling onto the floor along with the rest of the mess, is

I’m sorry, babe.

There’s no condescension, there’s no impatience with my grief and you won’t even let me go at it alone.

You excuse yourself and come back with an iPad playing Audrey Assad. You scoop me in your arms and you dance me in the air, you’re so much taller than me, my feet dangle. I’m lifted, in your arms, above my present demands. Little boy looks over and smiles, toddler waits in his high chair, the food cooks on and you circle me around.

You create space for me. You push back the walls of my roles and their incessant pleas for attention and you make room for my heart. You offer no fix, only the gift of your company, and if there is no time or space for the two of us to stop right here, you take your strong arms and you build a refuge out of thin air.

I bury my face in your neck and I think, “this is why I love you.”

You see me, through a crowded room of people, through crowded season of life, and you catch my eyes.

You catch my soul, Neal.

And I love you for it.