Mood: grateful, in love
Jeff,
So, it's your birthday. And while I didn't forget it this year (or last year for that matter!), my knee managed to steal a lot of the thunder and fun from your birthday this year. Sorrrrrrrrrrrrrrrry.
Since we can't go out for your birthday, and I can't make you a cake on the actual day this year (but I will make one this week for you!), I figured I'd do what I can to acknowledge the day you were born. I won't sing to you, because that's painful for all involved, and I can't get up and do a dance. My talent is in words and since that is all I have to offer today, here goes:
I never imagined myself married to a person as incredible as you. Laughter has always been an important part of my life because if you can't have a bit of fun and laugh, then really, what have you got? And as we went into the surgery center this week or the doctor's office just yesterday, we heard several times how much fun it looks like we're having. Which is true. Nobody wants an ACL surgery or a biopsy or an orchiectomy, but we got through every single one smiling and laughing an making the people around us do the same.
You make every single day of my life fun. Honestly, even the day I had surgery was a fun day because I spent it with you.
It's not all just laughter and fun though, you love me in a way that I never thought possible for me. You leave me amazing little notes that make me feel like the luckiest girl in the world. You provide this family with everything and you work beyond hard to do so, yet you still find time to come home and play with Malcolm or help me fold the laundry. You give all of yourself to this family, and on your birthday this year you spent time doing all the tasks I cannot. You strive every day to be a better husband, a better father and a better man. You inspire me to do the same and to constantly better myself for my own as well as my family's benefit.
I could never have imagined having such a wonderful person in my life and I am constantly asking what on earth I did in my life to deserve you. I hope you know how much you are loved, appreciated and needed by our family. I know our first three anniversaries, and as such the time immediately before your birthday, have not been easy or fun. We've spent the last two undergoing major medical procedures.
Yet, I cannot help but remain optimistic. I know that you deserve so much more and infinite happiness. And I know that as long as we remain strong, keep laughing and have each other, things can only go up from here. I cannot wait to see what life has in store for us even if life's track record is pretty shitty at the moment. And I cannot wait to see where we are next year on your birthday. While we probably won't be sipping Bambarra in the Bahamas next year, I know we will be laughing and in love and next year, you won't have to fold an ass ton of laundry on your birthday. Promise.
I love you. More than any amount or combination of words could ever convey.
Happy birthday, husband.
Love,
Your Wifey
Showing posts with label birthday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label birthday. Show all posts
2014/09/21
2014/03/31
To Ashley, On Her 30th Birthday
Mood: humbled
I don't know how many of you have seen "To Gillian on Her 37th Birthday," and to be honest I would have to watch it again to fully remember the movie. Judging by the score on IMDB.com and Rotten Tomatoes, this was not a critic's choice, but, I watched it years and years ago with my mom and I remember the movie being sad but honest and I remember liking it.
Today, I turn 30. Less scary than 37. On one hand, it truly feels just like another birthday: a normal day that I will celebrate with Jeff and Malcolm and hot pink frosted cupcakes. Yet there is a part of me that can't help but think "this is a big deal." Maybe it's the way we're programmed as women? 30 is supposed to be old, or something? I don't really buy in to that, and I think that while there is an obsession with looking or feeling younger, the general mood is that age is a state of mind. In which case, some days I am 10.
I digress. The point is, I can't help but feel reflective as I come up on this milestone and I thought I would take the time to write myself a little letter.
So, here goes:
Ashley,
You definitely do not have your shit together. You are still a chaotic, mostly disorganized and impulsive person who has a bizarre love for organizers, to-do lists and routines (even though you bore of routine quickly). You still don't believe in yourself the way you should and more often than not you end up taking an easier, less scary route than risking complete failure.
But, you're still alive. And you get up each day with the sincere intent to be a better person. To be a more attentive and active (step) mother, to be a more compassionate and loving wife and to live a healthier life.
This past year has been nothing short of hell. Since Grandpa Bob's death in October of 2012, your life has seen loss of a large magnitude and serious health scares. You have spent the past year coping the very best you possibly could, even if at the time that consisted of eating pizza with sour cream and onion chips and binge playing Grand Theft Auto 5. You spent a year discovering how strong you really are, and how scary and fragile life really is.
Sure, you're still deciding what to be when you grow up and you certainly don't have anything figured out, but, Ashley, you're doing pretty awesome. You live with a simple purpose now: to live each day with the purpose of finding the wonder, the beauty and the simple moments that make life so amazing.
Ashley, you might not be where you thought you would be at 30. And while it is cliche, you are exactly where you are meant to be. Even when you feel like a total failure or a complete loser, you are doing the best you can with what you have and have a deep desire to continue to make life happier, healthier and more wonderful for all those around you.
Keep it up.
Happy 30th birthday!
I don't know how many of you have seen "To Gillian on Her 37th Birthday," and to be honest I would have to watch it again to fully remember the movie. Judging by the score on IMDB.com and Rotten Tomatoes, this was not a critic's choice, but, I watched it years and years ago with my mom and I remember the movie being sad but honest and I remember liking it.
Today, I turn 30. Less scary than 37. On one hand, it truly feels just like another birthday: a normal day that I will celebrate with Jeff and Malcolm and hot pink frosted cupcakes. Yet there is a part of me that can't help but think "this is a big deal." Maybe it's the way we're programmed as women? 30 is supposed to be old, or something? I don't really buy in to that, and I think that while there is an obsession with looking or feeling younger, the general mood is that age is a state of mind. In which case, some days I am 10.
I digress. The point is, I can't help but feel reflective as I come up on this milestone and I thought I would take the time to write myself a little letter.
So, here goes:
Ashley,
You definitely do not have your shit together. You are still a chaotic, mostly disorganized and impulsive person who has a bizarre love for organizers, to-do lists and routines (even though you bore of routine quickly). You still don't believe in yourself the way you should and more often than not you end up taking an easier, less scary route than risking complete failure.
But, you're still alive. And you get up each day with the sincere intent to be a better person. To be a more attentive and active (step) mother, to be a more compassionate and loving wife and to live a healthier life.
This past year has been nothing short of hell. Since Grandpa Bob's death in October of 2012, your life has seen loss of a large magnitude and serious health scares. You have spent the past year coping the very best you possibly could, even if at the time that consisted of eating pizza with sour cream and onion chips and binge playing Grand Theft Auto 5. You spent a year discovering how strong you really are, and how scary and fragile life really is.
Sure, you're still deciding what to be when you grow up and you certainly don't have anything figured out, but, Ashley, you're doing pretty awesome. You live with a simple purpose now: to live each day with the purpose of finding the wonder, the beauty and the simple moments that make life so amazing.
Ashley, you might not be where you thought you would be at 30. And while it is cliche, you are exactly where you are meant to be. Even when you feel like a total failure or a complete loser, you are doing the best you can with what you have and have a deep desire to continue to make life happier, healthier and more wonderful for all those around you.
Keep it up.
Happy 30th birthday!
2013/09/20
Storms
Mood: numb
It's been dark on and off all day and I have been patiently waiting for a thunderstorm.
The timing of the ominous thunder and lighting and dark sky is truly impressive. Really, very poetic. Sixteen minutes ago my husband called me from work. He never calls, we just text all day.
His cancer is back. The mass in his lung is cancerous.
And the heavens have opened up in response.
As I watch the trees whip back and forth and the rain pound the street outside, all I can think is that the current climate inside is what I should feel like on the inside.
But I don't. Where there should be tears, my face is dry. The sobs are not coming, but instead are stuck in my throat. I feel nothing. I want to feel pain or anger or hope, anything. But all I can manage is staring out the window in complete and utter shock. I am sure the tears will come, just as the rain is now. I know I will be angry as I watch my husband fight for his life. But right now, I feel nothing. My hands shake and my heart feels as heavy as the tree braving the storm outside, but I am numb. I am without words. I am without feeling.
I am not, however, without love. I am not without hope.
As Malcolm bounces on the couch next to me the knowledge that we must tell him how sick Daddy is soon weighs heavily upon me. But no, I am not without hope. He will have to watch as his Daddy fights and is sick and ceases to be the Daddy he is used to. But Jeff will recover. And Malcolm will bounce back. They're both resilient.
And I? I will stand with them. I will hold Jeff's hand and stroke his head and drive him to and from the hospital. I will play with Malcolm and get him to and from school and make cupcakes for Jeff's birthday on Saturday.
I will hope. And I will love. And I know that we will all be alright. The storm will pass, just as the one outside will as well. And when it has passed, there will be a rainbow and sunshine and a brighter tomorrow.
(I wrote this last night....update.....today we will go to the oncologist and discuss his treatment. We are all as okay as possible, and Malcolm is still blissfully unaware that there is anything wrong with his Daddy. The storm last night ended up being a small tornado in Ankeny....there are trees uprooted and split directly in two. The cupcakes I made are bright and colorful and cheerful and today we will all enjoy one together and celebrate Jeff's birthday. And next year, when I make Jeff birthday cupcakes again, we will celebrate the bravery, strength and courgae of Jeff and this small family in the face of cancer.)
It's been dark on and off all day and I have been patiently waiting for a thunderstorm.
The timing of the ominous thunder and lighting and dark sky is truly impressive. Really, very poetic. Sixteen minutes ago my husband called me from work. He never calls, we just text all day.
His cancer is back. The mass in his lung is cancerous.
And the heavens have opened up in response.
As I watch the trees whip back and forth and the rain pound the street outside, all I can think is that the current climate inside is what I should feel like on the inside.
But I don't. Where there should be tears, my face is dry. The sobs are not coming, but instead are stuck in my throat. I feel nothing. I want to feel pain or anger or hope, anything. But all I can manage is staring out the window in complete and utter shock. I am sure the tears will come, just as the rain is now. I know I will be angry as I watch my husband fight for his life. But right now, I feel nothing. My hands shake and my heart feels as heavy as the tree braving the storm outside, but I am numb. I am without words. I am without feeling.
I am not, however, without love. I am not without hope.
As Malcolm bounces on the couch next to me the knowledge that we must tell him how sick Daddy is soon weighs heavily upon me. But no, I am not without hope. He will have to watch as his Daddy fights and is sick and ceases to be the Daddy he is used to. But Jeff will recover. And Malcolm will bounce back. They're both resilient.
And I? I will stand with them. I will hold Jeff's hand and stroke his head and drive him to and from the hospital. I will play with Malcolm and get him to and from school and make cupcakes for Jeff's birthday on Saturday.
I will hope. And I will love. And I know that we will all be alright. The storm will pass, just as the one outside will as well. And when it has passed, there will be a rainbow and sunshine and a brighter tomorrow.
(I wrote this last night....update.....today we will go to the oncologist and discuss his treatment. We are all as okay as possible, and Malcolm is still blissfully unaware that there is anything wrong with his Daddy. The storm last night ended up being a small tornado in Ankeny....there are trees uprooted and split directly in two. The cupcakes I made are bright and colorful and cheerful and today we will all enjoy one together and celebrate Jeff's birthday. And next year, when I make Jeff birthday cupcakes again, we will celebrate the bravery, strength and courgae of Jeff and this small family in the face of cancer.)
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