Thursday, September 12, 2013

What Love Is

With Richard in the ICU due to a “pocket fill” of his intrathecal infusion pump device (causing an overdose of Fentanyl), we didn’t have much of a chance to celebrate our anniversary.  The best gift I received was Richard coming home the afternoon of our 16th anniversary.

Since Richard has been home, I have been unusually nice to him (you know, because of that whole near death experience).
Love is . . . having fun! 
It’s starting to freak him out.

My excessive niceness is no doubt due to the fact that this was so unexpected, so serious and so frightening. I had never even heard of a “pocket fill” with this pain pump device so always thought of his refills as routine. He has the larger pump (40 ml) so only has to get it refilled every 60 days or so.  It also means more medication to fill in the pump – or to accidentally fill into his abdomen.

So while I am in this lovey-dovey mood (and since I didn’t get Richard a present), I thought I would write about our own experience and what love means to us.

It just so happens today is his birthday so Happy Birthday, Richard and Happy (belated) Anniversary! 

What Love Is:

Love is . . . blending two families together and seeing three smart, funny, productive citizens come of it.

Love is . . . going to the pound to pick out a dog to add to the family and voting on his name.

Love is . . . going to bed mad. Even waking up mad and staying mad (sometimes for quite a while) but knowing eventually things will be better. Whoever said “don’t go to bed mad” wasn’t married.

Love is . . . not noticing the grey hairs or extra weight or a wrinkle or two.

Love is . . . giving me flowers once a week for a year as a first anniversary present (he’s a lot mushier than I am).

Love is . . . accepting that I won’t be near as mushy as he can be.

Love is . . . reassuring him that I am not going anywhere when his pain and various medications make him – well, awful - to the kids or me.

Love is . . . going with him to doctor appointments and advocating for a better pain solution (a decade ago and again now).

Love is . . . not getting too angry when Rachel and I brought home another cat.

Love is . . . making me a mocha every day – even if it’s because he knows how grumpy I am without my caffeine.

Love is . . . giving up our “empty nest” to take care of Robert.

Love is . . . walking on the beach hand in hand.

Love is . . . sitting in the emergency room with me when my appendix was ready to burst.

Love is . . . sitting in the ICU with you after your doctor gave you an accidental overdose of Fentanyl.

Love is . . . holding you when you didn’t think you could handle much more pain.

Love is . . . being there with me the night my mom died.

Love is . . . letting me pick out the paint colors for the house and me letting you think you had some say in it.

Love is . . . a glance.

Love is . . . watching all the seasons of NCIS – in about six months.

Love is . . .surprising me with an exercise bike just because I wanted one (but still not commenting about the extra weight).

Love is . . . being so angry at each other that you wonder how you will even make it one more day. But you do. And then you make it another day and then another. And pretty soon, you realize that love isn’t all about butterflies, roses and rainbows; it’s about commitment.

Love is . . . holding hands while falling asleep, even with a bed full of two dogs and a cat.

Love is . . . not knowing what will come next but knowing we will be together when it does.

Happy birthday & anniversary, Richard! 

Love you.

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