Love- Part ll

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I said in my last post that the love that Joe and I had was real. I spoke of the foundation of our love which was that we had a deep and genuine desire for each other to be happy.

By real I also mean that it was about and between him and I. Had he not died, you would never have read our words to each other in emails like you do here. You would never have seen the cards he gave me, or the thoughtful gifts, or any of the other meaningful items that were evidence of our love. That is because we did not need the attention or approval or validation of anyone, except each other. We did not try to have the appearance of a relationship to aspire to, in fact, due to the fact that I am a person who must get things off my chest immediately in order to be done with them quickly, many people witnessed our disagreements. Resolving conflict was part of our love. Our relationship was a constant work-in-progress and neither of us ever gave a thought to what anyone else thought of it. It was the tiny acts of kindness that we did for each other. The silly games we played. The teasing. The sacrifices. The working towards the same goals. The trust. The respect. The encouragement. The constant day-in day-out caring for each other. The US. The ONLY US.

I share the things I do here (emails, cards, etc) for two reasons. Neither of those reasons is because I need any praise or validation for my relationship with my husband. No part of it is contrived or written with the intention of creating something that was not, or rewriting history so to speak. I am 100% confident in that. I write this stuff here because I can't talk about love - or grief- without talking about what I am grieving, and talking about the the love I lost is part of that process.

One reason I share this personal stuff is because there is a basic sad fact that if I don't document it I will forget it. I have already forgotten so much, and it pains me. Other widows may relate to that feeling- the realization one day that you are forgetting things you thought you never would. It seems for every step forward in grief, the easing of the day-to-day pain for example, there is a realization of the price you pay for it. Forgetting brings relief in some sense but it also brings a new kind of sadness. I don't want my memories to be gone forever. If I write them down, my mind may forget but I can revisit them as I choose. I don't want to forget what a great relationship is like, and the specific parts that make it great. I don't want to forget what I had and what is possible in life. I don't want to forget what my marriage to Joe was like.

The other reason I share here is because I want my kids to know what their dad was like in many ways, including as a husband. I want them to see his words and have an insight into what kind of man he was in as many aspects as I can show them. I want my son and my daughter to see how a great man treats his wife and family so they can take that into their own lives. One of the biggest things I mourn is that I/we no longer show my young children what a happy, functional, loving husband/wife relationship looks like daily. Ugh. It hurts to even write. I will give my kids many examples of what their father was like and the bulk of that information is private. These posts also provide a slice.
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