This letter will never be enough. Never enough to thank you for all that you do. I’m not sure anyone will ever know ALL that you do behind the scenes to keep our lives running. To keep me running. But I at least need them to know this.
On Sunday night before our talk, I couldn’t sleep. Nightmare after nightmare of empty rooms or words that wouldn’t come washed over me in waves. But somewhere in the darkness, you found my hand. You got up and got a cold wash cloth and put it over my eyes. And then you woke up every ten minutes for the rest of the night to turn it over, to make sure the coolest side was always on my forehead.
This is a kind of love that doesn’t Instagram well. There isn’t some styled shot of a cold washcloth and a dark room that I could do that would get a lot of “hearts.” And yet it’s exactly that way- the way you love and serve me when no one else is even looking, the way you do it without show, without agenda, without the promise of attention. It’s the dark rooms and the dark moments and your hand finding mine. It’s quietly and fearlessly and without question. It’s a cold a washcloth and a sleepless night when yours didn’t have to be. And that right there is the reason why when it comes to hearts….you will always have mine.