June 8, 2012. I didn’t know what it meant to be a wife.
February 2, 2016. I still don’t know.
It’s changed. Me. Him. Our life.
I wish I would have tried harder at the beginning. Before it got so hard.
We take life as it comes though. We take love as it comes. And sometimes it all feels hard. And sometimes it all feels right. And sometimes both. And that’s alright too.
I’m still learning how to love my Chris. How to accept the love he gives. How to take his words as processing and not stupidity.
How to listen in a way that is yearning to hear and to learn and to take life together. Not solve a problem or get more sleep or be right.
There’s a lot about our wedding I didn’t want and didn’t enjoy. We didn’t have a song.
We chose one, you have to. You have to dance. I wanted to dance, but I wanted a song more. We did dance, to a pretty song.
But four homes and two kids later we have a song. I sing it to Bug and think of her daddy. Of the life I said yes to, of the life I keep choosing. I want to choose.
I’ll Be Seeing You.
I hate our lifestyle. Hate is a big word, but I use it when needed. I hate when he leaves. When work calls and everything is dropped.
I hate driving to the airport and driving away. I hate that Nici won’t FaceTime and that Bug cries when we hang up. I hate getting used to a solo bed every few weeks.
But I love him and I sing. I’ll Be Seeing You. And I fill my head with romantic notions lured by the lyrics.
And it’s all fuzzy romance, but it’s also all truth.
I see him in the old familiar places. I see him in the yard, running through the sprinkler. I see him practice dancing in his tux in our old apartment. I see him in every airplane Nici shows to me. I’m looking at the sky, but I’m seeing him.
God knows me, better than my Chris. And there’s something in him I desperately needed. In a week I’m desperately frustrated and tired and wanting him here, I’m reminded I love my Chris and God gave me him.
And I’m still learning how to love him. But we finally have a song.