It would be impossible for me to make a comment on my life without first acknowledging the men who surround me. So many women like to think that they are who they are because they are woman; W-O-M-A-N, say it again, but the truth be told we are who we are because our fathers, grandfathers, boyfriends, husbands and sons have made their mark on us. Sure we have women in our lives and for those of us that are blessed we have strong independent women, but women are shaped by the love or lack of love by the men who intertwine their souls with ours. Having said that it works the other way too, that is to say men are men in part because of the women in their lives. It seems a cruel joke at times. Little boys abandoned by wayward mommies or smothered by overprotective well meaning matriarchs trying to raise a gentleman, yet making a boy too soft and the brunt of the school yard jokes and little girls spending their days dreaming of the knight on the white horse when their only model is a man who beats their mom and love is a mere perversion of
insestual sex and secrets kept in closets and crumpled up shattered hearts. For me, I was blessed, raised by a man who was, in fear of being terrifically trite, one of a kind. he was strong and he was tough, yet he was gentle and never afraid to shed a tear over a fathers day card. He was and is the man I compare all others. He was a man of morals, a generous friend and neighbor, there when needed and left judgement to the Lord. He prayed, but never out loud. He lived the christian life without ever preaching. Like Jesus would like us to live I think. To do rather than talk and love without strings. He smoked from the age of thirteen. It is what killed him. I still cry at that thought. A man strong enough to withstand frostbite to pick up aluminum to sell for a pittance of money to put food on the table had not the strength to throw away the one thing that eventually killed him. I wasn't angry at him though. How could I be angry at him? He loved me more than life itself and I loved him. I long to feel his hand at rest on mine, to see him sit in his chair asleep with the T.V. on, fishing at the bay, puttering about the shop, stirring the soup I have simmering on the stove, or feeding the dog a loaf of bread. When I needed nurturing I turned to my dad, I turned to him for a hug, a chest to bury my face in, a simple I love you. He taught me love, love over anything else, love no matter what.
Next, there is Thomas, my husband, my lover, my friend. What can I say? I have learned more about what love really is and what true commitment is from this man than I could have from anyone else in my entire life. I was once told love is a choice, some days you just wont love each other you'll have to make a choice to love him. I can honestly say there have been times when I wish that were true. Times when I wished I could hate him, when I would have given anything to not love him. A choice to love him... I have never had to make that choice, I just do. I love him when I am angry, frustrated, in pain, when I don't want to, but mostly I love him when he speaks only to me, when his eyes meet mine and even though there are people everywhere around us time is suspended and we are alone in coversation. I love him on long road trips when we solve the problems of the world together, in the morning when he gets out of bed way too early and I roll over into that warm musky spot in the bed that smells like he smells when he is warm and asleep. I love him when he calls me every morning to check on me, as he calls it, but I know it's to see if
I am still asleep when he thinks I should be awake. I love him in the afternoon when he comes home all dirty, dusty and oily. He is so cute when he comes home from work. I know he is safe one more day. I love him when he sleeps on the couch and when he goes to bed too early for me. I love him when he laughs; when he laughs until he cries.. You haven't laughed until you laugh with Thomas sometimes at the wrong times (Omar) and at the right times. I love him when he is crotchety and grumpy. I wish I didn't love him when he is sarcastic, but I do. We have been through some stuff, big stuff, life changing stuff and through it all there has been love. Thomas is a man haunted by days gone by, yet living strong in the now. He is a man of faith and though he still tries to do too much on his own he knows where his help comes from. He is a man of integrity and it is important to him. He too is a good friend always there for whoever may need him. He is a music man and I tease him about his
mistresses; his
guitars. All in all I have learned much the same things
from Thomas that
I learned from my dad and that is love is more important than anything else and a prayer every day doesn't hurt either.
It would be impossible for me to make a comment on my life without first acknowledging the men who surround me. So many women like to think that they are who they are because they are woman; W-O-M-A-N, say it again, but the truth be told we are who we are because our fathers, grandfathers, boyfriends, husbands and sons have made their mark on us. Sure we have women in our lives and for those of us that are blessed we have strong independent women, but women are shaped by the love or lack of love by the men who intertwine their souls with ours. Having said that it works the other way too, that is to say men are men in part because of the women in their lives. It seems a cruel joke at times. Little boys abandoned by wayward mommies or smothered by overprotective well meaning matriarchs trying to raise a gentleman, yet making a boy too soft and the brunt of the school yard jokes and little girls spending their days dreaming of the knight on the white horse when their only model is a man who beats their mom and love is a mere perversion of insestual sex and secrets kept in closets and crumpled up shattered hearts. For me, I was blessed, raised by a man who was, in fear of being terrifically trite, one of a kind. he was strong and he was tough, yet he was gentle and never afraid to shed a tear over a fathers day card. He was and is the man I compare all others. He was a man of morals, a generous friend and neighbor, there when needed and left judgement to the Lord. He prayed, but never out loud. He lived the christian life without ever preaching. Like Jesus would like us to live I think. To do rather than talk and love without strings. He smoked from the age of thirteen. It is what killed him. I still cry at that thought. A man strong enough to withstand frostbite to pick up aluminum to sell for a pittance of money to put food on the table had not the strength to throw away the one thing that eventually killed him. I wasn't angry at him though. How could I be angry at him? He loved me more than life itself and I loved him. I long to feel his hand at rest on mine, to see him sit in his chair asleep with the T.V. on, fishing at the bay, puttering about the shop, stirring the soup I have simmering on the stove, or feeding the dog a loaf of bread. When I needed nurturing I turned to my dad, I turned to him for a hug, a chest to bury my face in, a simple I love you. He taught me love, love over anything else, love no matter what.
Next, there is Thomas, my husband, my lover, my friend. What can I say? I have learned more about what love really is and what true commitment is from this man than I could have from anyone else in my entire life. I was once told love is a choice, some days you just wont love each other you'll have to make a choice to love him. I can honestly say there have been times when I wish that were true. Times when I wished I could hate him, when I would have given anything to not love him. A choice to love him... I have never had to make that choice, I just do. I love him when I am angry, frustrated, in pain, when I don't want to, but mostly I love him when he speaks only to me, when his eyes meet mine and even though there are people everywhere around us time is suspended and we are alone in coversation. I love him on long road trips when we solve the problems of the world together, in the morning when he gets out of bed way too early and I roll over into that warm musky spot in the bed that smells like he smells when he is warm and asleep. I love him when he calls me every morning to check on me, as he calls it, but I know it's to see if I am still asleep when he thinks I should be awake. I love him in the afternoon when he comes home all dirty, dusty and oily. He is so cute when he comes home from work. I know he is safe one more day. I love him when he sleeps on the couch and when he goes to bed too early for me. I love him when he laughs; when he laughs until he cries.. You haven't laughed until you laugh with Thomas sometimes at the wrong times (Omar) and at the right times. I love him when he is crotchety and grumpy. I wish I didn't love him when he is sarcastic, but I do. We have been through some stuff, big stuff, life changing stuff and through it all there has been love. Thomas is a man haunted by days gone by, yet living strong in the now. He is a man of faith and though he still tries to do too much on his own he knows where his help comes from. He is a man of integrity and it is important to him. He too is a good friend always there for whoever may need him. He is a music man and I tease him about his mistresses; his guitars. All in all I have learned much the same things from Thomas that I learned from my dad and that is love is more important than anything else and a prayer every day doesn't hurt either.
