I’ve been sitting here staring at this blank page all day. Words don’t seem to work for me as well as they work for you. You always know the right thing to say. That’s just one of the many reasons why I love you. You’re an easy person to love. I know you think otherwise, but you are!
We’re cut from the same cloth, Henry. I’d dare say we practically came out of the same womb. But we didn’t…obviously…that would’ve been weird….if it were true…words…struggling….anyways, what I’m trying to say is, we’re made of the same STAR stuff. I’m Betelgeuse, of course, and you’re my North.
Everything about you seems to fill up those missing pieces in me, like God new exactly what I needed in a spouse, a partner, a friend:
You need someone to make you laugh to the brink of destroying every pair of pants you own? Heeeeere’s Henry! Your wit and humor has yet to be matched by anyone I’ve ever met. I’m in awe of the way your mind works, the sheer brilliance of it all. I mean, there has to be a reason for the size of your cranium…which is perfect, Jimmy Neutron. You have me on the edge of my seat, hanging on your every word – a season ticket holder to the greatest show on earth. Now…off to buy some new pants.
President of the A.C.O.D. Club
“Adult Children of Divorce.” You’re president and I’m a fellow club member. Yes, we’re a motley crew. We have trust issues, an all-too-familiar distaste for the “seemingly perfect.” But we also know the value of family. You have assured me that noone has it easy; that we are, in fact, the lucky ones. Because we know how to love, even when it’s hard. You know what else is hard? Taking all your used cups up from the bedroom to the kitchen, apparently. Also, losing an eyeball.
You’re the best arguer I know. I’m amazed you haven’t become a lawyer, you’re so good. But you fight for us, too. You told me before we got married that you would always fight for me, that you would never give up on our marriage and on us..that you would kill me before you divorced me (too far?). Well, you’ve more than lived up to your word (not the killing part). While I run away from every. single. argument., you swallow your pride and follow me into the next room. You pry every difficult thought and word out of me until we’re both satisfied. And then you say you’re sorry. Which I’m still learning how to master. Sorry about that.
What does Picasso, Oprah, and Mike Tyson have in common?
Adult A.D.D.? Nope…just a bunch of dreamers and creatives, like us! Yes, we envy couples who have, like, jobs and can afford rent and who have families and mortgages. #adulting. We’ve got our heads in the clouds instead of firmly planted on the ground. But Henry, every day is an adventure with you. Nothing (and I mean nothing) makes me more excited then planning for our future, dreaming big dreams with you and imagining what life has in store for us. Where are we gonna be next year? I DON’T KNOW?! And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Brave Little Henry
You’re the bravest person I know, Henry. You don’t care what anyone thinks (something I wish I could say for myself). I wish I had a dollar for every time you’ve said, “Who cares?!” or “So what?!” or “I want tacos!” or “Get your cold feet off of me!” I digress. If you’ve ever had an ounce of fear in you, I would never know it. You rarely ask for help because you have everything handled, all the time (for the record: it’s not a weakness to ask for help. So ask me…for help every once in awhile. Even if you don’t need it. Mostly because I’m bored. And I love you).
Aesthete: A Beauty Athlete
The Greeks considered an aisthētḗs as “one who feels.” It’s from this idea of emotional sensitivity that the word aesthete came about in the late 19th Century as a noun for someone who greatly appreciates beauty. Music, nature, dance, movies, books, clothing, art, tennis, figure skating – you see it everywhere and in everything and in everyone – a true renaissance man. And when I find myself staring at the woman looking back at me from the mirror, and not an ounce of me recognizes her as the girl I once knew, you assure me that she is all that and more. That she was, and is beautiful in all her forms. In sickness and in health.
Passion of the Geist
I have to be careful lighting a candle around all that passion. Seriously. Sometimes it’s hard to keep up! Sure, your passions are influenced by whatever show you seem to be binge watching at the time, but it’s inspiring (and informative) nonetheless. Whether it’s politics, tiny homes, or hand-made leather arm chairs, you’ve got it covered. And for some reason, that passion manifests itself in extremely animated conversations that always begin at 11 o’clock at night. If only I could be awake for them. I know I’m missing out on some really great material.
“I’m not crying. It’s just been raining on my face.”
Don’t turn on the Mormon Tabernacle Choir while you’re driving, cuz unless you have windshield wipers fo’ yo’ eyeballzzzz, we go’n git in an accident! Not only do you have a tender heart and sensitive spirit for all things gospel related, but you’re a champion for the underdog and for the unheard. Maybe you see some of yourself in them. Maybe it’s an act of redemption for anyone you might have hurt in the past. But whatever the reason, it makes you a rare gem of a man. A man so in tune with my needs that you’ve managed to anticipate my every deficit and seamlessly transition me from a life limited by illness to a life empowered by it.
I love you, Henry. I love your brown eyes and freckles. I love your laugh. I love how you sing at the top of your lungs whenever you get the chance. I love your unwavering testimony. I love your resilience. I love how you change your shirt three times before you settle on one to wear. I love when you dance for me. I love your family. I love how you’re terrible at directions. I love how your face squishes together. I love how critical we are of movies together mostly because you wish you had written them and I wish I were in them. I love how you love Utah. I love your Johnny Bravo hair. I love how you’re great in the kitchen. I love your hands. I love how hard you work. I love how selfless you are. I love kissing you. I love that you laugh so hard you almost pass out. I love how you cover your mouth whenever you tell me something you’re ashamed of. I love how you cry in movies. I love how you have two moods: 1. worry about everything and 2. yolo. I love how you are with children. I love how your brow furrows when you’re concentrating. I love how your voice changes when you talk about something serious. I love when you call me Bunny. I love how you love me.
I could go on and on and on. The thing is Henry, marrying you was the best decision I’ve ever made. These past two years have gone by so fast and yet they’ve felt so much longer. We’ve already been through a lot – to Heaven and Hell and back. We’ve felt what it would mean to lose each other and were taught by the grace of God that death is not the end, diets are really hard to stick to and love is more powerful than any illness.
11pm pillow talk:
Henry: “I coud live with you in a cabin. I could live with you in a high-rise in the city. I could live with you in the suburbs.”
Me (half asleep): “That’s the great thing about our love Henry, it travels well.”
Here’s to the next two years and forever more.