Two days ago, I sat on our bed and I cried.
Silent, stinging tears. The kind that roll down your cheek and base jump to your knees. The ones that somehow swell and get fatter as they gain momentum. So that when they land, they land more like a bomb than a ballerina. And the force of impact sends shockwaves throughout the room.
And yet, as you sit crying these atomic tears, you can’t help but wonder at how they can somehow fall without ever making a sound.
Yea, they were those kind of tears.
In between scrunched faces and red, bleary eyes, I told you how I was feeling so lost. Not sure of the next step or the directions I was being pulled in. Overwhelmed with all there was to do, and defeated at all that had not yet been done. I talked about being afraid. And the soft suffocating pillow of playing it safe. And how I just wasn’t sure what my place was in this world anymore.
And then you sat down beside me, and said wherever it was….it was right beside you.
And as I crashed into you, and the rough, swollen edge of my blotchy cheek found its perfect fit in the safe curve of your neck….I knew you were right.
Five years ago on our wedding day, I cried big, happy tears because I had been lost…and you found me.
And five years later, you’re still finding me.
And you’re helping me to find myself, the real me, in the process.
What I’ve come to realize over these past few years together is that love isn’t always pretty. It isn’t always the flowers and the date nights and the getting the perfectly put together self portrait on the iPhone.
Sometimes it’s the sink full of dirty dishes that we’ve let pile up so long that we don’t know how we’ll ever dig ourselves out. But we start by tackling it together, one by one.
Sometimes it’s you driving in the car the whole way late at night when we really need to get somewhere, so that I can just fall asleep thirty seconds in.
It’s the staying up and downloading the cards when we get home from a wedding, so I can just hug Cooper and watch Everybody Loves Raymond.
It’s the sound of the garbage cans going up the driveway every Thursday night and back down every Friday morning like clockwork, because that’s just one of those things you always take care of.
It’s making me the egg in the hole breakfast when you really just want to pour cereal in a bowl and be done with it.
It’s the eternal paying of the bills.
It’s driving twenty minutes to Starbucks, when really if you’re being honest….you hate the smell of coffee.
It’s the glass of water you bring up every night just before bed.
It’s that time when I got the stomach flu and wouldn’t let you in the room, so you sat on the other side of the door and talked to me all night long.
No. Love isn’t always pretty.
But you know what, it is always beautiful.
And just so you know, our love- even the small, run-of-the-mill, day to day, what’s it matter, who’s to say, no big deal sort of love- will always be beautiful to me.
And all I can say is that if I can love you this much more just five years in, I can’t imagine what fifty will feel like.
Y’know, when we’re doing all of this with dentures. Just think about how not-pretty that will be. :)
I’d love you to the moon and back. But the moon just doesn’t seem far enough to go.