Twenty-Four

From the moment I met him, he seemed larger than life. I think it was initially his mind that impressed me. He was one of those golden boys who had always had straight A's and full-scholarships. His artistic abilities were considerable, as were his musical talents. He was earnest, hard-working, un-assuming, kind-hearted, deep-rooted.  The list of his admirable qualities (which wasn't just in my mind...I actually wrote it down) was long.  He was unassuming and liked by all...or at the very least disliked by none, which was a feat I was particularly positioned to appreciate given my tumultuous  teen years.  He was from a lovely, solid family and had four younger siblings that adored him. He was well-adjusted and happy.

And he liked me.

ME!

(?!)

That fact alone was usually all it took for me to fall for a guy based on my self-worthlessness at that time. But for some inexplicable reason, I just wanted to be friends.  I really liked him. I admired him. But more than that, I just wanted to be with him...and any guy I'd ever fallen for in the past was pretty much a flash-in-the-pan and then our friendship was over. 

So I told him I just want to be friends, and even though he liked me still, he said "that's fine."  

And so it began.  

That was twenty-four years ago this month.  

We hung out all the time.  We could talk for hours about everything.  We DID talk about everything that crossed our minds.  He became my best friend and every moment that we were together felt miraculous and wonderful. It was like landing on a whole new universe of possibility and joy, being with him.   Pretty soon I realized that I was totally in love. And I told him so.  He said he'd been in love with me from the start. I couldn't wrap my head around the fact that someone was actually in love with me. 

It was glorious.

Because of the difference in our self-esteem levels at that time in particular, it was easy to pedestalize him.  The sky was not a limit for him I secretly thought. I practically immortalized him, but he didn't let it go to his head or buy into it in any way.  Still, I knew we were going to be an amazingunstopableandchangetheworld couple, because he was more than enough to make up for my (believed) deficits. 

I had no real concept of what kind of pressure being highly-esteemed can create, to say nothing of the already internalized pressure of being a provider for a family when you're just barely done with childhood yourself.  He didn't seek my sky-high-opinion. He honestly didn't entertain thoughts of greatness. He has always been genuinely modest that way.  He treated me as though we were equals.

We wed early in the morning on a warm summer day in 1990. We were so young and undeveloped as individuals at the time, only twenty-one, but I felt confident about our ability to take on the entire world...every bit the legitimate grown-up that the law said we were (until the day we tried to rent a car and had an "under 25" policy apply.  But we've been married for three years! How am I not a full-fledged adult? I wondered.)  

I've come to think it takes most of your twenties to truly become an adult.

The pressure from without to be a certain way comes from all sectors: family, school, church, work, friends, country.  It is present in all our lives, but I think some individuals are more deeply affected by it than others...they internalize it.  The expectations inspire some, but anchor others, and not always in a place they wish to be. This can be a heavy responsibility. I think of young teenage boys who are drafted to fight older men's wars, and the heavy toll that is exacted of them in the name of duty, honor, responsibility to country.  Sometimes it's just way too much. But there are individuals who are really exceptional at carrying on, no matter what.

On this week of thanksgiving, I've been pondering the abundance of blessings in my life, and they are legion, but there was a moment when I sensed an awareness of gratitude for Doc, different than ever before.  

Perhaps it was the angle of weariness in his posture after a long, difficult day at the hospital, when he came home to a sick wife and neglected kids who needed nursing, food, homework help, and parenting, and he just took care of everything despite his own personal preferences and needs, that I became aware of this.

Of course this is just what we do, all of us, but I think it comes more naturally to some than others.  For some, it is actually a labor of love, a conscious choice made every time, rather than their natural way of being.  

Maybe it was as I lay upon my bed, home alone, head and body aching with fever, wishing for comfort and relief from any one, but realizing it was him that I would have especially liked to have near me.

No matter when it happened, there came a moment when I saw my sweet husband with new eyes. With a wash of appreciation for his steady, enduring, patient, endless presence and love in my life. For his forgiving nature, his long-suffering with things that he'd otherwise have not had to have in his life, were it not for the choice he made to just love me, loose ends and all, those many years ago. And the many years since.  

For how he does his very best to manage and meet the great number of different expectations so many people have of him in the best way he can, while still retaining a sense of who he is on his inside.   It's a hard juggling act, and one that many people would have just walked away from altogether.  But he stays, and keeps juggling.

Today I'm very grateful for my dear husband, whom I call Doc.  His name is Brad, and my name is Julia. He calls me silly nicknames more than my own name (today I'm "Jay-beepen-beeber"). He makes me laugh and makes me proud and makes me stretch and learn and grow by just journeying through the years with me.

He still believes in me and what I might accomplish in my life...calls me his "wild card". He encourages the best in me, but never tries to live my life for me, and even if I never do anything exceptional or amazing, he'll still be here for me. 

He hugs me goodbye every morning though I'm still in bed when he leaves for the hospital.  He reads what I write and gives me thoughtful, encouraging feedback. He puts up with my lack of consistent domesticity, my tendency for messes and clutter. 

He takes exceptionally good care of himself in terms of food and exercise and health. He gives his time and money and support to things that I believe in. He is diplomatic and tactful. He has never laid a finger on me no matter how infuriating I may be at times and I know I can trust him 100%. He appreciates the smallest things I do, like making a nice dinner, or folding his clean laundry.  

He fathers our sweet children in a gentle, kind way, and has a tender, beautiful relationship with each of them.  We aren't perfect and we've had our major ups and of course even more major downs because that's just how all relationships are, but he's on my team and is a constant I can hang my star on. 

For these reasons, and countless more, I am exceptionally grateful.  In fact, in the vast universe of things I count as blessings in my life--which includes all my dear friends, and you lovely readers of this blog, I think Doc, my Brad, is probably the what I'm MOST grateful for on this day of Thanksgiving.  And that's just how it should be.

I love you, Sweetest! And I'm grateful for twenty-four years of life with you! ♥

Match Moment. After years of schooling and applying to various residency programs all around the country, this envelope revealed what kind of doctor he would train to be during residency, and where that training would take place.
That was an incredible experience.