Wednesday, December 24, 2008

Working on a Decade

Yes, I know this is a terrible pic of me, but when we are working at being parents, one of us is always behind the camera, and thus this is a rare shot of us together.
8 Years Together. For the couple who married exactly 3 months after they met. For the ones who were completely insane. For the couple who was "not going to make it".
So this is John. He is my best friend. The love of my life. The one who can make me laugh in spite of myself and everything else that has gone on in my life. The one who supports my dreams and my goals and ambitions like no other. The one who understands me at times when it seems like no one else in the world is able to. He is the one who made me believe in marriage in a world full of couples who just cannot make it. My partner in this fine mess we call life. He is my angel, my hero, by biggest weakness. He is the only one in my life with the power to get under my skin and infuriate me within seconds, then turn around and make me feel so loved and supported and enamored at the snap of a finger. To date, he has been the only one who could take the tough-talking, no-nonsense city girl and turn her into the one who wants to abandon everything and get married, have a child, be a family. Later, he was the one to show me that despite what others say, I actually can have everything I want in life: the child, the marriage, the career, the education. He is still the only one.

This morning, he met me after work in the hospital cafeteria in an effort to have breakfast together before I went to bed for the day. He was sitting in the cafeteria, alone at a table, watching for me to come through the door. I came through the entrance on the other side, and could not see him. I turned the corner, and saw him sitting there quietly, waiting for me. In that instant that I saw him there, my heart skipped a beat. In the instant that followed, I was in awe that the sight of him can still have that effect on me after all of these years. And in that small moment, after a stressful night working the ICUs, I was home. I was safe, and nothing could touch me.
Now, as I pause at the keyboard, I am having trouble coming up with the words to express what I want to say. For the first time in my life, I am speechless. As the yaers have passed, we have changed. Both of us. But when I look at him, I still see the cute guy with the nice butt walking through the Party Source while our friend Dawn said "That's him. That's my friend John I want you to meet." He is still the sweet guy who made the trip home after meeting me, in the rain on a motorcycle. The one who stopped under a bridge to call me halfway through the trip to let me know that it would take him longer to get home than planned and to not worry when he didn't call. He is still the one who made me laugh with his cute southern accent (the years have caused it to fade for my ears because I am so used to it.) He is the only one who could get me on a ATV, riding on the back, laughing madly and completely trusting him to keep me safe. He is still the lovable dork who, when dressing to go into the OR when I had Evan, actually wore orange and blue polka dotted boxers beneath the pale blue scrubs. I can still hear the nurses' giggles. Can still hear him shouting "That's my BOY!" when we found out Evan's gender, despite the fact that he had told me he wanted a girl because I did. Or him shouting "That's my wife!" when I graduated from college and walked across the stage.
It's really strange. I cannot define the past eight years with a concise list of events. Our time together is more a tapestry of little moments. Happy, sad, beautiful, messy moments.

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