Love of a Husband

Shelly loves to talk about love, how it began, who convinced who, who was oblivious, the dates, the story and so on. I am not so inclined.

It is not that I don't like love, that I don't feel love or I don't show love, it is just talking about it always makes me feel awkward. Like taking a test I have no way to pass or peering into the cosmos and trying to describe what I see. Mushy without being good at being mushy doesn't do anything for anybody. Let me do something or buy something, but don't make me talk about it.

Of course, this highest hurdle is the one my wife most wants me to make. It would be close, but I think she would trade a diamond ring for a half hour of me just talking about love. One of her favorite, and my least favorite, games is the why game. The introduction lines to the why game look like this. Me: I love you. Shelly: Why do you love me?

Some of you might be thinking, what's wrong with that. Just tell her why. Heck, it might save you a diamond right one day.

The problem is, I can't. See, there is an incredible amount to love about my wife. She is loving and thoughtful, a loyal friend. She cut the grass when I was having a busy few days and it was getting long, so I didn't have to and loves to watch Sci-Fi. She is empathetic to the emotions of those around her and likes to please. She is a talented cook and crafty and smart, about to have deep conversation in a broad range of things. In nearly everyday, she engages and excites me. But, these are not why I love her.

I love her, because I love her. When we were two, before we were married, I could see what we would be like. I could see how she was the puzzle piece which so perfectly filled the gaps I had and I could do the same for her. Made for each other and drawn by a force stronger than gravity. A pure, divine, mystery of the universe kind of love, which made us not just two pieces which fit together, but one. I love her because more than even my hand or my legs, she is me.

See, all the things that I could tell her fall short, must fall short, of the full truth. I love her smile, but I would keep loving her if she couldn't smile anymore. I love that she cut the grass for me to help me out on a busy week, but if it was the last time that ever happened, I would still love her. If she gave up Sci-Fi and cooking and crafting, I would still love her.

It seems to me the best answers I could give in the why game are upside down. See, I say, I love that you love Star Trek. But the truth is, your love of Star Trek doesn't make me love Shelly more. Instead, whatever like I had for Star Trek is eclipsed and then grown by the love I have for Shelly. To put it more simply I love all those things more because they are attached to her.

I am not sure if that does an adequate job of explaining it, but this is why I can never get comfortable talking about love, at least the love I have as a husband for my wife.