I’ve watched her wish for it while staring dreamily out her bedroom window.
But Mom, why won’t it ever snow here? Why? It’s winter. Winter means snow.
I’ve heard her bemoan sunny Southern California for its palm trees and sunshine, begging for just a tiny bit of white powder.
I’ve even caught her wishing on the first evening star.
Last night, she and her brother threw snowballs at each other in their own yard.
Tonight I just might have her wish for a few other things.
Today my husband taught me how to live again.
Having spent 2010 in and out of the hospital has left me in a constant state of fear. Fear the kids are suffering. Fear he is suffering. Fear of being a burden. Fear of dying. Fear of living as a sick person. Fear of not being able to work. Fear of not being able to … fill-in-the-blank…
So, as he does, our patriarch made an example of himself and jumped out of an airplane.
If you know him, and know us, this works perfectly. Despite my usual bravado, I rely on my best friend and partner in life to keep me grounded. He knew this terrified me, despite the two of us having jumped together before. He knew I was terrified something would go wrong. And why wouldn’t it? EVERYTHING has gone wrong in 2010. Tempting fate with a skydive seemed like asking for trouble.
But he stood firm. And I stood tall. Gifting him the jump for his birthday to show I would support him, even if I was against it. That I would make sure he got his jump, even if it was the last thing I wanted him to do. After all, we do things for those we love that we might not do otherwise. We want to make them happy. We want to give them everything their heart desires. We want them to have it all- regardless of our own feelings.
I have proof of that laying next to me right now. My sweet puppy that came into our lives this year during the worst of times. The dog he swore I’d never have. The dog I so desperately wanted but knew I’d never get, because he really did not want one. The dog that sits here now, snuggled against my side, wet nose on my knee.
I’d do anything to make this man happy. He’d do anything to make me happy.
So off to the airport we went. And out of the plane he fell. On the ground I fretted. And fussed. And fidgeted.
And then…nothing went wrong.
His words?
We Win.
2010-
You took my organs. You took my confidence. You took my livlihood. You took my sanity. You took my normalcy. You nearly took my life.
It’s over. You are done.
I’m still here. I’m taking everything back…keep the organs. Think of them as my parting gift of a bloodied year that tested us in every way imaginable. But it’s ok…
We Win.
I am going to live again.
Thank you, Aaron, for reminding me how to live. How to live with meaning, with fun, and without fear.
Tomorrow is my husband’s birthday.
Last year at this time I was dragging him to Vegas for an epic birthday party, complete with a suite and lots of booze. It was as if we knew the upcoming year would test us in so many ways and be so hard that we needed to let off some steam.
This year is different though. I will struggle to bake him a cake, as Lupus has made lifting my arms tough. The kids will make him home-made cards, and he’ll attend a work party for something totally unrelated and I’ll wait up for him to get home so I can kiss him goodnight.
Since his birthday last year he has taken the reigns of this household and become a superman of sorts. Juggling kids, work, and a very sick wife.
He’s managed it not just with ease, but with what he likes to call ‘style and grace.’ He has brought me bags to the hospital of mismatched socks, the wrong underwear, and lotion I didn’t even know we had under the cabinet. But damn if he didn’t try to get it right. He’s made sure the kids were properly dressed for school, even if the kindergartener insisted on wearing two different shoes and the 2nd grader refused to have his hair brushed.
He’s cooked us all dinner while playing silly games. Clucked like a chicken at the table to make us all laugh while Mom was in pain. And read, and read, and read out loud to us all as we cuddled in yet another hospital bed.
In this year I have seen many things. I have seen friends step up to aid my family, I have seen others retreat from the fierce reality that was our lives. But more than anything I have seen this man I married, this scruffy, once long-haired, punk rock boy… be the man he is destined to be.
He’s the guy that gives his wife airplane rides.
And then tells her how beautiful she is with an orange spa mask on her face, meant to calm the zits popping up from steroids and too much medication.
He’s the guy that insists we all cluck like chickens at the dinner table, and eyes me mischievously when he announces the Icelandic chicken goes BJORKBJORKBJORK.
He’s the guy that promises to spoon feed me pudding in my invalid-ness and whisper how much he still loves me, no matter what. And then write me this:
I will love you in a house.
And I will love you with a mouse.
And in a box.
And with a fox.
and when your funky.
and when I’m drunky.
If I get nothing else this awful year, if I get nothing else ever in this lifetime… I want my husband to get his wishes and dreams. No one deserves them more. And I am grateful every day for the amazing man by my side. Who I’ve watched come into his own over these past 15 years.
It’s sort of lame to say I’m proud of him…because I’m not sure pride is the right word.
I feel like I am witness to a great man. A good man. A man who values his family, and his friends, and his wife. And lives up to expectations where so many others fail. So many times we are disappointed by people. He’s not one of them. And I can confidently say after a year of hell, he never will be one of them.
So many times he could have easily and rightfully buckled under the pressure that was our year. Not only did he stand tall, but he rocked it. He managed to take care of the kids, the house, his job, and his very sick wife with laughter. Lots and lots of laughter. And love. Lots and lots of love.
When people come to visit our home, many of them leave saying the same thing:
There is a lot of love in that house
And they are right.
And it’s because of him.
Happy Birthday Aaron. My love. My hero. My husband. My Superman. My everything. May this next year bring back booze and parties and fun and even more laughter. And I’ll try to throw in hookers and donkeys and blow…but in the meantime I’ve arranged for you to go skydiving on December 31st, 2010. Because we’re ending this year by defying death.
Fitting.
The following conversation took place between myself and my two children on our way home from school this week. I was driving and singing Christmas songs (something my kids HATE) when I was asked to turn the volume down so we could ‘talk.’
Mom, why do we celebrate Easter?
Well, Easter is a time for renewal. And birth. And babies. And Spring and flowers and everything from winter that was dark and cold, turns to warm and light. So we celebrate the Spring, and in our house, the Easter Bunny- who brings eggs and chocolate and fun! Some other people celebrate Easter because they believe Jesus – remember him?
The Space Ghost guy…
Yes. Well they believe he rose from the dead on Easter.
You mean like a zombie?
Well, no…not exactly.
Because Jesus was nice.
Yes, he was very nice.
So really he was like one of those zombies, but he had a mind control helmet.
And he doesn’t eat brains!
No, he doesn’t eat brains, and I’m pretty sure he didn’t wear a helmet.
So there are nice zombies?
Well no honey, there aren’t really zombies. Remember, zombies are not real.
So Jesus isn’t real either, like you said. Zombies aren’t real and Jesus isn’t real.
Well some people think he’s real, and some don’t.
Well if zombies aren’t real then Jesus can’t be real.
Unless he had the helmet. Because the helmet could be controlled by anyone and that would make him real and like a remote control zombie.
Listen. We can’t talk about Jesus being a remote control zombie with a helmet when we’re not in the car, ok?
Why not?
Because I said so, ok?
You mean like we have to say ‘Gosh’ instead of ‘God’ … you mean like that?
Yes, like that exactly.
I bet you he did eat brains though, all zombies have to eat. Even if they have the mind control helmet.
But nice Jesus Zombies wouldn’t eat brains, they would eat fruit.
But I don’t like fruit Mom. Maybe he likes cheeseburgers instead of brains. Or sushi! Because I love sushi!
But I like fruit, so it’s ok if Jesus likes fruit. And zombies maybe like fruit too, but maybe not. I don’t think they can chew it good because they don’t have many teeth.
Did Jesus have a lot of teeth?
I… yes… no… I don’t know how many teeth Jesus had! Can we just sing more songs?
…sigh.
We’re going to hell.
I am alive.
We are employed (as of today).
We have a roof over our heads.
We have food on the table.
We have wonderful friends and family.
We are enveloped and consumed by love.
Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours.
There is just something about the tiny things that make me love so hard it hurts. One of them? When I watch my husband brush my daughter’s hair.
He’s just doing what we do every morning. Shuffling between the chaos and routine of getting ready for school, I grab my camera because we all have those moments. The ones where you stop and look around and see the man you love, carefully and almost with a bit of fright, trying to untangle the mess left by a night spent with too many teddy bears and puppies.
It’s so simple really, and so wonderful.
But there is something about that Dad-Daughter bond that I watch with my husband and little one, and I have with my father. It really is special and one-of-a-kind. The trust. The love. And just the way she patiently lets her Daddy brush and comb, a task that would have garnered shrieks had I been the one getting her ready.
I know their relationship will change. They will argue, they will be close and then not-so-close. And over time they will tangle and untangle and I will remember mornings. And brushes. And combs. And the loving hand of Dad.
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