It is not a rare day that I think about how glad I am to share my days with A. But the night before last, I was up through the early hours of the morning, sick and scared and vomiting. And he lay beside me and rubbed my back and did not sleep until I did, never minding that he needed to wake early for work the next day. I didn’t even have to ask. Of course I didn’t.
The longer I am married, the less I claim to knowledge of love. My life feels more like a gift and less like something I made or analyzed and chose. But the years go on, and the fruit is still fresh and good and sweet. Right to the heart.