“You may not be her first, her last, or her only. She loved before she may love again. But if she loves you now, what else matters? She’s not perfect—you aren’t either, and the two of you may never be perfect together but if she can make you laugh, cause you to think twice, and admit to being human and making mistakes, hold onto her and give her the most you can. She may not be thinking about you every second of the day, but she will give you a part of her that she knows you can break—her heart. So don’t hurt her, don’t change her, don’t analyze and don’t expect more than she can give. Smile when she makes you happy, let her know when she makes you mad, and miss her when she’s not there.”
― Bob Marley
My Intro To Bach
She used to ask, “How much do you love me?”
I would put up my thumb and finger and measure off a perfect centimeter. Sometimes I would smile.
She would say, “That’s not very much.”
Physically the space between your finger and thumb isn’t large, but the heart is infinite. The heart has the ability to overcome wrongs, to forgive, to continue on after a loss.
Rose Colored Glass
There are instances in my life where I couldn’t feel.
I remember clearly the day when my grandfather gathered his family together, in his mind he was ready to pass, I guess the universe had other plans.
The light of that day was perfect.
The day my grandfather did pass away, she sent flowers, a task I never remember to do. I appreciate that she takes care of the details I forget, and it’s at these gaps that our strengths combine.
I think only cost.
When athletes describe the flow experience I understand, and yet, with this heightened sense of awareness, I also have a dulled sense of hurt.
Is this a gift?
I imagine it would be like being in a war and seeing your sister get shot by a soldier and left to die. Why would a soldier provide an opportunity to mourn?
This happened to my Oma.
The best coaches in the world can coax this awareness out of their beloved athletes, and yet, I seem to have stumbled upon these sensations by accident.
There is nothing as sudden as a car accident.
I remember driving on the highway fast, not by race car standards, but there were many cars on the road, and traffic was dense.
The road, a car, and my senses.
Alongside, a tractor trailer attempted to stop. The sound alerted me to danger and through the passenger side window, I saw the rig’s tires clearly and heard the dreadful screeching of the brakes.
The pace altered.
Traffic slowed and the truck passed my window, I could see the supporting dual tires locked up, bouncing wildly off the pavement.
My only thoughts were, “I’m going to die.”
The distraction was brief, but when I turned back to the road, traffic had come to a full stop, and I was still flying.
I slammed on the brakes as hard as I could, because instinctively, I knew I was going to hit the car in front of me. Instead of crashing, I swerved to the right and aimed BETWEEN two lanes of traffic.
Like magic, the cars parted enough that I could slow down.
I felt like Moses in the Red Sea.
Emphasis On Senses
It was incredible, and I could not repeat that maneuver again. After it was over, I had to pull off to the side of the road for a moment to recalibrate my brain.
I couldn’t believe I wasn’t dead.
The shock didn’t set in and I could continue right on driving like nothing had happened.
Is this normal?
Trusty Mr. Nutkin
Does this translate into fearlessness?
No. I still have a fear of heights that has developed late in life. It wasn’t always so, as a child I could easily climb to the top of trees.
Money, relationships, work, it all comes to the surface.
Marriage to a powerful woman means she does not need my help on a fundamental level. She may never seek my advice, nor take unsolicited prescriptions even if I believe I understand the problem.
We handle stress so differently.
On the other hand, when a deer jumps on the hood of her car out of the darkness on a deserted road, she will reach out to the first person who makes her feel safe.
Tragedies are the meaningful spikes we remember as a couple.
They also separate us.
It takes sensitivity to grasp hold of the strands of gentleness, those reminders of intimacy and follow them back to where we used to be.
I say to her, “Have patience.”
She answers, “Patience? How long does that take?”
Her warrior spirit wants to beat people up right now.
I wouldn’t characterize myself the same way because I know how long it takes.
There are the moments I’m not proud of.
She knows my buttons and does not hesitate to press them. More than once I have lost control and yelled and screamed, sometimes at her, and inanimate objects.
I once kicked a valuable wooden bowl to pieces.
Maturity is earned.
The Uphill Battle
As a husband and a father, I am encouraged to share everything with her, and my beautiful twin boys.
Twins cannot repair a relationship.
They create stress. Stress reveals my true nature. That’s where I have heard that children do not fix a relationship that is damaged or one that needs repair.
The saying has elements of truth, however, I know twins expose my weaknesses.
A blessing and a curse.
Long ago our boys were conceived on schedule, but before that, I remember when we made love on the beach and it was easy.
When I asked her to marry me it was very similar to many decisions I have made. My head is muddled, I’m nervous, and the inner voice questions everything, but somehow it works out.
From that decision to now has taken many steps, to the side, backward, forward, and in circles.
Anyone that tells you marriage is easy hasn’t married a force of nature.
I have learned to listen.
When I am small and fearful, the pounding surf is terrifying. However, when I relax and let her evolve and be herself with no limits, or boundaries, the magic happens.
When my mind settles and I get the courage to write the thoughts from my heart, I know our marriage will improve. I have hurt her, and she has hurt me.
However we do it, we must navigate back to the same page wherever that leads. I have told her I will follow her off the cliff.
I love you more than writing.
I love you more than beer.