My Rock

I think I love him.  The thought surprised me a little.  Shocked me a bit that I hadn't really noticed the new feeling creeping into my heart.  But there it was... a glimmer of something that closely resembled other kinds of love in my heart, but spun in a different, unique, new and welcome pattern.  I suppose this is where it all started.  Really started, anyway.  There in the passenger seat of my boyfriend's old, red Honda civic, traveling south on I15 after meeting his family for the first time.

Over the months the glimmer grew stronger until all doubt had been erased and I confidently whispered yes through the lump in my throat and the glowing smile on my face to the most important question ever posed in my life. 

As we drove away from our reception in a golf cart, small wisps of curled hair fell from my bun and tickled my cheeks.  I scooted closer to Brian, my new husband, and he grabbed my hand with an eager excitement as he let out a laugh.  Our eyes locked, and I'm sure the excitement in my eyes mirrored his as we laughed at nothing, or was it everything?, on our way up the hill.   Excitement, of course, for the days and nights to follow, but also for the years and decades after that.  I'd heard what they said, that we could love each other more in ten years than we did in that moment, but it seemed impossible.  My heart was already overwhelmed and overflowing... there was simply no more room.

Yet here we are.

A decade of life behind us.  Or, maybe more accurately, a decade of life under us, around us, in us and with us... enclosing us in a cushion of security and love truly unimaginable to our newlywed hearts.

A decade of discovering each other; of discovering ourselves while with each other.  And still occasionally being surprised by both.

A decade of compromising and, in so doing, realizing that the middle ground is actually often a better choice than was yours anyway.

A decade of building trust.

A decade of sharing hopes and secrets, dreams and insecurities, laughs, tears, responsibilities, ice cream cartons, toothbrush holders and closet space.

A decade of mistakes.  Of forgiving and of being forgiven over and over again.  Of coming to realize that, though the mistakes can hurt, the simple act of forgiveness (on either side) heals you stronger than you were before.  And you begin to trust in the security that - though you wish you didn't need it - you will be forgiven next time, too.   

A decade of looking, every day a little deeper, into the soul of another human being.  Of loving and learning to love every new layer discovered.  And of learning to let another look deeply into you.  This is where the trust comes, for me.  Knowing that my ugliest, rawest side has been exposed, and being met with open, loving arms in response. 

Oh, how this man loves me.  And he is a master at showing me.  There is a phrase sung by Faith Hill in a song called The Way You Love Me that says It's not right, it's not fair what you're missing over there.  Someday I'll find a way to show you just how lucky I am to know you.  Ooooh I love the way you, love the way you love me...  (Now you're singing it in your head, aren't you...)  Brian never seems to tire of offering the same compliment just when I need to hear it; of folding the laundry or doing the dishes without a prompt because he sees that it needs done; of sensing my emotional stability and sending me to my room for a break just before I snap.  If only I were better at offering these traits back to him.

He is my best friend.  Sometimes my only friend.  Always standing by with a gentle hug, a simple solution, a dose of reality, a goofy joke... always.

  Happy tenth anniversary, love.  Thank you for being my rock.  I truly am the luckiest.