this guy.
it was his birthday yesterday...so i thought about him a lot.
when thinking about him...and all that he brings to my life...the words are hard to navigate. they swirl and spin and grow bigger and also feel completely elusive. he's so MUCH to me, but is made up of so many "littles."
i keep thinking back to a night not too long ago. it was a saturday & we were enjoying some happy hour drinks at our dining room table. in one conversation we jumped from topic to topic. i just love talking with this man. we talked about his experience of putting tourniquets on bleeding colleagues/friends who had--to not sugarcoat it--been blown up. we talked about his "visceral" opposition to guns and, for him, how it feels different due to the fact that he's handled guns, has seen firsthand the power & damage they can wield, and has been shot at himself. we talked about feminism. we talked about our future babies & how we hope to raise our kids one day. the sun sank behind the rooftops across the street and we kept talking in our darkening dining room.
eventually we moved to the kitchen and began cooking. he showed me a video of an army training exercise they did before deploying. i had never seen it. his buddy, kyle, who would be killed a few short months after the video was filmed, was in the foreground, saying hilarious things, yelling at the other guys…it still made andy laugh. he pointed out the two other soldiers on the screen: one had committed suicide after returning home from their deployment in afghanistan and the other had been discharged from the army--he had really been struggling, andy said, “had a lot of PTSD.” (one can only imagine.)
but there they were on that screen as andy watched them—even now with a smirk—laughing & being typical boisterous soldiers trying to amuse one another…trying to bring some lightheartedness to what i’m sure was an exhausting, demanding day.
as always, my eyes widened. as always, my heart sank a little lower & a little heavier.
but, watching that screen alongside me was my husband…alive and so, so well.
eventually we moved to the kitchen and began cooking. he showed me a video of an army training exercise they did before deploying. i had never seen it. his buddy, kyle, who would be killed a few short months after the video was filmed, was in the foreground, saying hilarious things, yelling at the other guys…it still made andy laugh. he pointed out the two other soldiers on the screen: one had committed suicide after returning home from their deployment in afghanistan and the other had been discharged from the army--he had really been struggling, andy said, “had a lot of PTSD.” (one can only imagine.)
but there they were on that screen as andy watched them—even now with a smirk—laughing & being typical boisterous soldiers trying to amuse one another…trying to bring some lightheartedness to what i’m sure was an exhausting, demanding day.
as always, my eyes widened. as always, my heart sank a little lower & a little heavier.
but, watching that screen alongside me was my husband…alive and so, so well.
it’s important for us to talk about these things. important to share the experiences we had when our two worlds were so widely separated for awhile. we need to revisit that time every so often while it’s still in the not-too-distant past, keep building that bridge. (a bridge that can often become murky and silent.) it obviously makes the way our worlds are completely shared now all the more sweet.
a few minutes later, he was slinging his arm around my waist while belting out R&B harmonies as we cooked. at one point he was sweetly kissing my neck and, without missing a beat, popped his head up to comment on the final score of the hockey game.
this guy.
this guy.
the other night we shared a fist pump in bed after he remarked that it had been awhile since we’d “brawled.” i said i think—ever so slowly—we’re figuring each other out more & more. figuring out what battles are worth choosing and that, mainly, most of them just really aren’t worth it. “learning how to be more patient,” he added. “yeah, but sometimes all that hard-won wisdom goes out the window,” i said as i rolled over. “yeah, sometimes we’re just really fu&*%$# pissed.” we both laughed.
he’s not perfect, i’m nowhere near perfect, and this beautiful thing we’ve got definitely isn’t always perfect. we’re not so molded to one another, which i think is good. we’re still two (young) individuals—still growing in our own ways, still colliding against one another at times. but it’s real…and we are learning. learning how to be more sure and confident in this baby marriage we're nurturing every day. we still have a long way to go, that's for sure.
one remarkable life partner, this guy. every day i’m more thankful. his birthday wish? breakfast at the pancake house down the street before work. done. too easy.
we topped off the day at lake park bistro's bar, sharing drinks & dessert. this old photo they have of people lounging in front of the restaurant caught my eye. the building sits on a beautiful bluff overlooking the lake and i love knowing that people have been enjoying this spot in our neighborhood, like we did last night, for over a century.
good things endure.
good things endure.
here’s to the best year yet, amark. may you feel all the love & happiness you bring to me—in the dining room/kitchen/kissing/singing/
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