An Apology

Dear Dan,

You know I love you, right? I'm sure you do, even though I don't show it as well as I'd like to these days.

Take last night, for instance. You came home from work, carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. I asked about your day, and you told me. You. Told. Me. Something I remember begging you to do years and years ago: "Why don't you ever talk to me?" And so, you did. And yet, what was my reaction? Some heavy sighs. Some nods of my head as if to say, "Come on, hurry it up." Because, as usual, I was wearing the Mommy Hat since it was dinner time and the aliens needed to be fed.

They consume me, honestly they do. And sometimes, like last night, I worry that they won't leave enough leftovers for you or for me. I didn't have the time to devote to listening to you like I should have. I let your words just roll through my ears and snagged only enough to get me the gist of the conversation. Yes, I heard you, but I didn't listen and converse with you the way I wish I could. The way we used to. The way we still do when I'm wearing the Wife Hat, and baths are done and lights are off and we use whatever's left over to nourish our starving souls.

I hate this. I hate that we are put on the backburner in order to survive the early childhood years. I miss consuming each other, and the fulfillment that gave us. Instead, now we have the wild banshees clamoring for crumbs of whatever we can dish out to keep them satisfied. Don't get me wrong: I don't hate them, and I don't hate our life. I just miss you. I miss us. But the consolation in all of this is that I know neither of us is going anywhere, that we are there to catch each other when we trip or fall down from exhaustion. Sometimes, I glance at you and know you are trying to tell me, "Don't worry. I'll be here still when the craziness has died down." For that, I am eternally grateful to you. Thank you for not giving up on me, on us.

Last night, I fell in love with you again because I saw with perfect clarity what a strong, amazing man you have become. (I say that only because I can still remember our early days when we were both learning to stand on our own feet as we navigated college, first jobs and first moves.) Last night, you spoke words of encouragement and experience to a friend who is where we were five years ago. Overhearing your conversation (yes, I eavesdropped for about four minutes), reminded me of the number one reason I love you. It's your tenderness. Every single one of your good qualities flows from your unending tenderness.

I love your heart. I love that The Color Purple always gets to you. You are oh, so strong! But that tenderness is never buried very deeply. You are an old, experienced soul, created by God to bring constancy to our world. And I'm not trying to be sappy, romantic or melodramatic, but you have rescued me. You, my dear, are the epitome of God's love for me. You have turned the intangible into tangible. Your love is transcendent, inspiring, and uplifting. You make me want to be a better person, just so I can live up to the view you have of me. As long as I live, there will never be enough ways or words for me to properly thank you. I've turned to God instead, trying to thank Him for you, because I know you are His gift to me. You are the person He knew I'd need to weather the storms I've face in my life: divorce, cancers, deaths, anxiety attacks, moves, postpartum depression, and lupus.

I have three major fears in my life: ending up like my mom, dying alone, and surviving you. I know I could survive without you, but it is unimaginable to me. Whenever I discuss that fear with you, you always reassure me that it will never happen. And for some reason, I have the wildest belief that you are right. Maybe you are psychic (as you've tried to convince me), or maybe God just knows my breaking point.

So, now, I have an apology to make. I am sorry for all the times I've put you last on the list. For all the times I was glued to the computer or TV when I could have unplugged and interacted with you. For all the moments I let slip by when I should have thanked you for busting your butt for us. I am sorry for taking you for granted. And I'm doubly sorry because I'm pretty sure I'm going to take you for granted again. Thank you for being resilient and loyal to me, and for always sticking around when I do that.

I love you, more deeply and purely than I've ever loved anything or anyone before. Thank you for the love you give me in return, every single day.

Elizabeth