A Wedding Anniversary

It’s our third wedding anniversary; for three years I’ve been married to this flirtatious and kind bearded man. I still feel butterflies when you wink at me, brushing your comb over to the side, and giving me your slow grin that is reserved for times when you’re teasing me mercilessly.

I’m sad to think about what we’ve been through together these past few years because it should have been our honeymoon stage, the first few blissful years of marriage where everything is simple and just two. Where nothing but your love can touch you. But for us, this wasn’t the case.

Instead we had a beautiful little girl, a perfect little girl. We spent two years of our life with her as our focus. There was nothing but love in our bubble of three. She was our only constant. Things that we thought we needed, our home and our life, were put on hold because she was sick. We were good parents. Watching you be a father to our daughter made me love you more, something I didn’t think was possible. I loved listening to you belt out "Piano Man" in a room full of doctors and nurses while knowing you only saw her, sharing our love of Billy Joel with our precious new family member.

I missed you in my bed many nights because you couldn’t leave her side, sitting up straight, trying not to sleep in Critical Care, while holding her little hand, so she would know her parents are always there. In some of the hardest times, it was still perfect because it was us facing it, together.

I walked down the isle to "She’s Got A Way." We celebrated our pregnancy news with "Just the Way You Are" and we welcomed our sweet girl to our family and the world with the sounds of "Piano Man." The hardest day, the day when we said goodbye, we sang it again, through broken voices and tears. She left as she arrived, her short life leaving a lasting scar on our marriage, a hurt that will never fully heal.

Then she was gone, and it’s just the two of us again. A second chance for a honeymoon stage, an opportunity to focus on our relationship and all those dreams we put on hold. In some ways it feels like she was the dream. I know you ache because I do too.

But, my husband, you’re still my favourite person, the one I want the most. Instead of taking care of her, you now take care of me. Driving me to hospital appointments because of my new fears of cars, crowded spaces, and of course the feeling of dread that comes from being around anything medical. Lasting panic and fear from a time where she was our world and hospitals our life. Your teasing still makes me laugh, even at times when I feel I may never smile again.

I know that no matter where I go or what I do, you will always be there, right beside me. I hope the years ahead are easy and smooth but if they aren’t I know we can do it because it’s me and you.