I said on my twitter page tonight that I have buckets of words.  And I really do.  I am a verbally expressive person, with an exception.  I struggle to express myself to those adults I love deeply.

With my children, it’s somehow simple for me.  They approach me with such love and innocence that I never seem to run short on words for them.  I tell them and show them all the time that I love.

With grown-ups, I find it harder.  Call it a hiccough, call it a wall.  All the words to express the feelings just seem to get stuck somewhere in my chest, and end up blocked.


I tell her that I love her.  I thank her for all those things she does for me.  We fight.  We laugh.  We talk constantly.  But if I were to die tomorrow, there are just so many things I would want to say.  Those are the words that get stuck for me.

So, I write them here.  Oddly enough, despite the fact that she often participates in the writing of this blog, Becky has never read it.  She will, in all likelihood, never read this.  But, what the heck, I’ll say it here anyway!

After a short time dating me, a brief time in which I knew she would be that one to stick with me, challenge me, accept me for exactly who I am, I was diagnosed with cancer.  I went through this phase during which I thought it would be better for her (oh, gee, what a selfless bastard I am) if I just let her off the proverbial hook until this pesky cancer nonsense was gone.  But she stuck.

She put up with the immense physical and emotional bullshit that was coming as part of my package.  She refused to walk away (even though she threatens to walk, quite often).  She looked me dead in the eye one day and told me that there was no way in Hell she would be letting me go through this alone.

Alone is a skill I have perfected.  Alone is a state in which I excel.  I have my children and myself, and need nothing more than that.  I resist more.  I refuse to make room.  But Becky is a bulldozer, and wouldn’t give up on me no matter how hard I pushed her away.

Stated simply, I love her.

Yet I often find that those three words don’t quite sum it all up.

I love her.  I would go to war for her.  I trust her completely with myself and with my children.  (I don’t trust myself with myself at all times, by the way.)  She took a situation that would send most people running for the hills, and rolled with the punches.

That’s not to say it never gets rough.  Becky often says that “we” have cancer.  And as much as my mind can rebel against that statement, it is true.  At 3 in the morning, when I have been so nervous and fidgety I cannot sleep, she is there – ready to talk.  Or, if I refuse to awaken her, some part of her subconscious knows that I am worrying, and she lays her hand on me and mumbles reassurances in her sleep.  She has kept my children steady, and helped them to stop thinking they have to take care of me.  They know that any promise Becky makes is something they can take to the bank.

This beautiful, amazing woman asked me to marry her: before she knew I had cancer, back in the early days.  And, crazily, luckily enough, she still wants to marry me.  I have been the girl who thought and felt that she wouldn’t get married again.

But, I was wrong.  Happy, blessed, most lucky me: I was wrong.

I will get married again.  To Becky — not a saint, just a woman.  Like me.  But one who expects nothing more of me than for me to be EXACTLY who I am.  Even if it makes her mad.

I never believed in fairy tales.  But I did end up with someone who loves me, warts and all.

Blessings to you all…

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