So I’m going to take some time and gush a little, all in the name of being thankful.
Seventeen years ago today, my husband and I got married. Our church wedding was held in September of the following year, for reasons I won’t bother to go into, but today was when we legally became husband and wife.
I don’t think I completely realized exactly how lucky I was.
We’re Italian, I was born here in the US, and he was born in Italy, and passion and loud voices always made for quite a tumultuous ride. It still does, in fact. But as I got sick, I think it has only become clearer exactly how deep his love and commitment is to myself and our family.
That man, God bless him, tolerates a lot of crap. I can be loud and persnickety on a good day, and when my health began deteriorating, so did my attitude. But he stood by me. Stood by us, really, until we began getting some answers. And the cost of treatment? He continues to work so hard to support us all, and provide me with all the medicine and supplements I need to hopefully get better.
And I have improved.
And my newly reignited career plans continue to ask him to provide, with the promise that in a few years, he can retire, and I can provide for our materialistic needs, and he can have a little land, with a garden, a few chickens, maybe some rabbits, and he’s throwing the idea around of having a cow and a few hogs? *shakes head*
I want to be able to say thank you. Thank you for taking care of me when I was sick, thank you for tolerating my sometimes cranky self, thank you for supporting my academic and career goals. I want to be able to give him a quieter life, and I want him to know that I will always be around for him, the way he has for me. But until that day, I do my best to remember to show gratitude whenever it strikes me.
Now excuse me, I have a phone call to make, to tell the man I love exactly how much I love him.