As I sit--
watch the video from our wedding day,
I'm ashamed.
No, not in the deepest
most gut-wrenching way.
But, still,
there's pain in here somewhere.
Those words you say...
I promise to give you the best of myself--
and our 8-year old looks at me in disbelief,
like it's the puzzle piece that's out of place.
"No," he says.
Shakes his head.
"No."
It's a fact I know
all too well.
He, too, apparently.
We haven't been discreet.
1,000 lifetimes in these 10 years.
8 with him.
And, we haven't been discreet.
A day or two later
in her office,
she says it...
"Empathy. That's what you need. What you're lacking."
My mind races back,
tracking all the moments I said I want the best for you,
stoically supporting you in your quest for happiness.
Was it true?
What are you to me?
Husband, yes--by law.
Is there more?
What are you to me?
'Cause if I strip away all the shoulds,
the stuff I've been told is "good"
the times we fought like cats and dogs,
then showed up at the door with a smile.
Knowing there's more.
Not really knowing we can have it.
If all there is is you and me,
not the dream world we live in--
what would I give to you then?
And you to me?
Our best?
So naive, we were,
as the bride and groom are meant to be.
So naive.
But 10 years in, 1,000 lifetimes.
Weathered and jaded to such an extent,
and we've made it.
3 children later--
and the dog.
We've made it.
W hen she says that word,
empathy
and it causes the earth to tremble beneath our feet,
deeply shaken,
we hold to one another.
In those vows,
the words of a naive groom,
was the truth.
Only, at the time,
the truth
was in the wanting to.
And, as I watch you,
hear those words escape your lips,
the pit in my gut is there to tell me,
you know what.
Wanting, 10 years in
is no longer enough.
No longer enough.
It's here we cross the threshold.
This is what marriage is.
Where it begins.
-Jayme
