Broken Record

Eric's wrist hurts constantly, although sometimes it's worse than others. He doesn't complain about it. He doesn't tell me every day, or every week, that it hurts. But I know, and I remember.

My mother-in-law once told me that it's unusual that I remember. She said that most people, even spouses, will assume that everything's okay if they're not regularly told that there's a problem.

That sounds like a lonely way to be married to me.

(As an aside: Eric remembers my complaints and preferances long after they've stopped being relevant. If I didn't like to wear the color in green in 1991, Eric will act surprised if I wear a moss green sweater in 2005.)

I recently asked Eric to remind me of the "statistics". His arm was broken into ten pieces, and now is held together by eight screws and two plates. He says that he's thankful to still have his arm, and I believe that's true.

Often I'll wrap my hand around his wrist and gently squeeze. If no one's around, I'll tell him that I'm sending him healing energy, but if there are folks nearby I don't say a word. He knows what's up. It makes his wrist feel better. Neither of us believe that I can heal him -- but it's nice to be loved up. It's good to know that someone in the universe is aware of your pain.

Loving Eric is the easiest thing in the world to do.

As I've said so many times... in the years that we've been married, there's not been a single time -- not a moment -- that I wouldn't have married Eric again in a heartbeat.

I know, I know... you've heard it all before.