Ah, Jeremy. My Husband.

When Jeremy and I had our first big fight, I ran to my friend Lauren’s house. I cried and smoked cigarettes and called my mom. She was heartbroken for me. She was heartbroken for herself. She told me how she hated the lesson I had learned from her about relationships was, When things get rough, run.

I hated it too.

It wasn’t the only lesson I had learned from her, but it was one of them. Up until that point, it was all I had ever done. And I had sabotaged every relationship I ever had by running. Granted, I was a baby, barely 21, but relationships before 21 and relationships after 21 aren’t really that different. In fact, the ones when I was young were important. Those were the ones I needed to show me what love could feel like before it got steady. Before I learned to navigate fear and made my way to committed. Before I learned how not to run.

I cried and smoked some more and talked Lauren to death. Then, like I always do, I called Jeremy. We discussed things, in regular English. We talked and cried and yelled and talked and cried some more. We got through, got to the other side. The committed side. The beautiful side. The really, really good side of what relationships past 21 look like.

I asked him, “Can I come home now?”

He said, “I never asked you to leave.”

Ah, Jeremy.

My Husband.

He’s never asked me to leave, not once in all these years. He’s never said it loud or quietly. He’s never sent subliminal messages. He’s never pushed me away. He’s loved me so steady from the very beginning and it’s never scared him. He’s never had more important things to do. Oats to sow. Questions to answer. He never put me on the back burner to find himself first. He’s never doubted it. One day, after only a few weeks of dating, he introduced me as his girlfriend and that was it. He never thought about it again. Not once. That means something.

It means a lot of something.

We instantly and seamlessly fell in love. It was not the stuff regular fairytales are made of, but it was one to us. Not the stuff Nicholas Sparks’ books or Eminem’s love songs are written about. No questions. No turmoil, no confusion, no over thinking. He entered my life at a time where I had been let down and disappointed and neglected. He immediately made me feel safe, secure, wanted, adored.

He still does.  

I never had no one
I could count on
I've been let down so many times
I was tired of hurtin'
So tired of searchin'
'Til you walked into my life
It was a feelin'
I'd never known
And for the first time
I didn't feel alone

 

It was the most natural thing in the world to us, even though once or twice I pretended like I was going to run.

Blame my mother. I do.

I was never really going anywhere, I just get dramatic sometimes. He loves me anyway.

It has always been the kind that I knew was going to last 50 plus years. The kind that when you asked my grandma “How have you and grandpa been married so long?” Her answer was, “We just don’t get a divorce.”

Smart woman, my grandma.

Did she get aggravated? SURE! My grandpa was a pain in the butt. He was grouchy and bossy and always pronounced her name “’Viirra” instead of Elvira. He used to come down the hall in his underwear and yell at us to turn the TV off and go to bed. Of course she got aggravated. My grandparents had 11 kids. 11 KIDS!! She probably walked around in a constant state of aggravation. My grandma was a wonderful, feisty, funny, smart woman, but a saint she was not. She used to make fun of him when she thought he couldn’t see. It always cracked me up. When she wasn’t looking, he would often aim these googly eyes at her across the room and you could literally feel how much he loved her. He always held her hand. Always.

Do I get aggravated? SURE! My husband can be down right infuriating. He leaves newspapers EVERYWHERE. He still hasn’t finished the fort in the backyard. He falls asleep watching TV. He falls asleep eating dinner. He falls asleep when I’m having conversations with him. (So what if its one o’clock in the morning? That's when I feel like talking!) He always lets me have the first cup of coffee. He always kisses me goodnight. He tells me he loves me every. single. day.  He laughs at Cougar Town, pretends to be interested in Grey’s Anatomy and touches my butt every chance he gets. He talks about the game of football like he wants to see it naked. He talks about me like he wants to see me naked. He always looks stoned in pictures.

When I change my hair color, he notices. When I’ve spent all day cleaning the house, he notices and says thank you. When I’m still in my pajamas when he gets home from work and I haven’t done a single thing, he kisses me and asks me if I need a nap. When I need to write, he lets me. When I decide I want to take a cross-country road trip, he starts helping me dream about it. He looks at maps and figures out mileage. When I tell him I’m going back to school, he says “whatever you want, babe”. When I tell him I don’t want to go to school anymore, he says, “whatever you want, babe”.  He never calls in sick. He rarely complains about anything. He works on my car and sings the lyrics to most songs incorrectly. He is happiest when I am happiest. He always holds my hand. Always.    

Sometimes, I don’t understand steady. I. Am. Not. Steady. I don’t know how his brain works and how he never questions me. I’m nuts. I’m impossible. I’m selfish and self-centered and exhausting and I question everything. All the time. I’m never satisfied with an answer for very long.  I change my mind about which direction I’m taking my life every five minutes and he comes along for the ride. I’ve made his life a wooden, crackly roller-coaster and he puts his hands up in the air and pretends to be excited with every turn. I’m inconsistent and sometimes, kinda mean. He loves me anyway. He loves me so steady. He knows me better than I give him credit for. I like to pretend that I’m way complicated and mysterious. I’m really not. He knows that. He does joke, though, about not being able to get in my head because there are already too many people up there. He’s pretty funny, my husband.  

You stand by me
And you believe in me
Like nobody ever has
When my world goes crazy
You're right there to save me
You make me see how much I have

I wanted to get married in Vegas. I wanted to elope and ditch the whole wedding scene. I wanted to wear a trashy dress and fishnet stockings. I was anxious about all my family being in the same room. He knew that, but he told me no. He said, “Over the next few years, all your friends are going to get married and every time we go to a wedding, I don’t want to hear you say, ‘I wish we would have had a nice wedding, too’. So, no. We’re having a wedding. Like it or not.”

He was right, and our wedding was perfect.   

When I ask him why he loves me he says, “I just do.” He’s not much for a monologue. That’s okay. I talk enough for the both of us.

And I don't know where I'd be
Without you here with me
Life with you makes perfect sense
You're my best friend

I did, once, get him to give me a list of reasons why he loved me. He would kill me if I shared the whole thing but just know it contained phrases like: Groggy morning face, pajama pants & animal slippers, I LOVE YOU FOR YOU and Your smile, frown and Yahtzee cheer.

Followed by “…reasons I know without a shadow of a doubt that we WILL celebrate our 50^th anniversary together.  I already started planning it.”  

Good to know, babe. I’ll be there. But let’s renew our vows in Vegas, huh? It’s my turn. I’ll be the one down front in the trashed up wedding dress and fishnet stockings…