Far smarter people than I, have said far more eloquent things about love. And I dare say, that it is unlikely I will have anything new to add to the conversation. Love is a well worn topic for the best of writers, of which I am not.
But, love was on my mind last night as my head hit the pillow and my husband was reaching for my hand, holding it gently as he fell asleep. There in that moment, in the dark quiet peacefulness of our bedroom, it occurred to me that love, real and lasting and pure, is exceptional. It occurred to me that probably very few people experience its truest grace from another human being.
Yet, as I laid there last night, listening to my husband’s breathing, I realized with the deepest sense of profound and utter gratitude, that I am one of those people. I am one of those people, in part, because my husband, appreciates my happiness. It’s what he wants for me no matter what and in every way.
Beyond this simplistic cliche though, is a feeling that is nearly impossible to describe but it is this feeling that tells me that I am one of the lucky ones. It’s a feeling of unadulterated tenderness, of penetrating warmth, of flawless endearment without expectation or want of anything.
The kind of love in my life, thanks to the wonderful man I call my husband, is unbroken by the burdens and worries of life. Its strength comes from the integrity of the man who gives it.
I am one of those people. I am one of the lucky ones.