*play this music while reading blog
write, write, write, write...
This song was dedicated to me this morning by my husband and I quote,
"Bri this is how I feel about you through the music of a piano. This song speaks words of love; not limited by speech. This is like the emotion I feel when I am with you.
I love you with all of my heart and all of my soul."
How do I compete with feelings like this?
Last night I sat for what seemed like hours in a dark, cold car sipping luke-warm coffee from my local coffee house wanting to drive my broken down Ford Taurus through the parking lot, into the middle of traffic, and collide with unsuspecting drivers in front of me. I played the scene out in my head. The sounds, the smells, the smoke, the reactions...what stopped me from turning the key forward and pumping the gas? His face. The look in his clear blue eyes. The sadness and desperation that would completely overtake him when he received the phone call.
As I type my blog and listen to the music, hearing my husband's expression of love for me, I'm overwhelmed and once again, I wonder...why?
I am nothing more than a broken, confused, and tragically lost soul. Everyday, when I'm not pumped up on anti-depressants cleaning corners of baseboards with Q-tips or trying to ignore my autistic children accusing me of one maternal crime or another, I find myself wandering from window pane to window pane looking out and beyond. What's out there? What have I missed? Where is it that I'm supposed to be?
My bed? Take me to my bed. Hide me deep beneath heavy, warm blankets where I can't hear anything but my own breathing - where I'm not expected to open my eyes and look beyond the what could ofs or should have beens.
No. No bed today. The baseboards will be cleaner than usual and the boys' sarcasm will go unheeded. Today I will bask in the music of my husband's love. I will avoid the sad, grease smeared window panes and instead hold steady to the notion that there is a wonderful man who cherishes my awkward, broken mind and finds it beautiful.
This evening, my husband - my best friend, will walk through the back door, take me by the hand, wrap his arms around me, and remind me once again the whys and what fors I ended up by his side.
I love you, Eric.