Another old bit of a thing - This little combination of vowels and consonants

Late at night, I have the time to wander through my own thoughts. The children are sleeping, you are curled in your ludicrously expensive, high thread count sheets (which I always find funny for a man as rugged as you) and the only company I keep is with the cat and the dogs. I should be sleeping. I will pay the price at the office in the morning while I try to focus during the conference call and all I can focus in on is the ludicrously expensive, high thread count sheets and the scent of your body, still lingering on the warm depression you left on your pillow.
I am a grateful woman tonight, for all that I have and some things that I don’t have. Life has not always been an easy ride for us. What others see is only a snapshot and not an exhibit. It is easy to speak of the good times. To share with others the love and happiness (Al Green anyone?) that we have in our lives. It is harder to put into words the struggles, the pain, the sorrow and the troubles.

I ran my hands over the gash in the wall that we have laughingly patched just yesterday morning. The times when our tempers flared and gave us good reason to question why we continue to stick. The words said in the darkest moments of our relationship that are like ghosts that come back to haunt at the worst possible time. The disagreements, the arguments and the all out, nothing held back fights behind closed doors are not our best moments to present to the world.

I look around the room at the framed pictures of our little butterflies. I laugh to myself when I remember that lately I’ve had to carry a picture of our oldest when she was younger to remember why I love her so much. Nobody ever told us it would be easy, fulfilling, yes, but never easy.

It seems that life runs faster than I’ve ever been able to, meetings, travel, and all the mundane things that make up our life. There are bills to pay, ballet lessons, never enough time to sit through that recital practice or show up for the last concert of the year. Disappointment is not unknown to us.

I think, sometimes, when I’m in my late night reverie that it is the hard times that sink in and make the happy times so much more meaningful. When I lay next to you in bed and trace out the new creases on your forehead, touch my fingers to the grey that is starting to overtake the dark brown, I start to realize how far we’ve come down this path that is our life.

It seems whenever I do sit down to write it is always about you and the children. It makes me smile because you are so large in my life. You and our babies take up all the good stuff …and leave little room for the bad.

When it is quiet and you’re all dreaming the hours away, I can remember each step along the path we’ve walked. I remember those days, so long ago when we could sleep as late as we wanted on Saturday mornings, ignoring the clang of the phone. The weekends when we would make love all day and then come back for more that night are very infrequent these days. It is hard to make time for that intimacy with a houseful of teenagers and the young one who need our constant presence in their lives.

But I remember …and those stolen nights with no children around to look after …they are more than memories, they are real, tangible, the taste of them lingers in my mouth for days after.

This letter to you, this little combination of vowels and consonants …it is my vow to always remember. When we are old and our grandchildren are sitting around us, I want you to look at me and remember this path we’ve walked. The sweet and the sour, the days of love making and the days where we were too tired to even think of it. I want you to remember that girl you fell in love with and the woman you fell in friendship with. And I want you to hold my hand until the end.

I want to remember our life like we are reading a novel …chapter by sweet chapter …until we come to the end. Together.