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Our Version of "This is Us"

An open letter to my husband

By Susana's WorldPublished 3 years ago Updated 11 months ago 9 min read
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We were probably the last people on the planet to begin watching the television series, This Is Us. We are 2 seasons in now and I'm sure I have cried over every single episode.

I don't want it to end.

Lying beside you on the bed, sprawled out in the summer heat with only a fan to cool our skin, we stare at the screen rolling out our story. A sideways glance without any words, your bare foot reaches for mine. I know you feel it too.

This is Us, is Us.

We've lived every generation of these lives acted out before us, a well-oiled duo.

And just like the show - somewhere through time - our thirties turned into our sixties where every “yes” we said to each other under that old California oak held more of a beautiful mess than our fresh love could ever imagine.

Somehow it is fitting that we began this show later after the rest of the world; to watch this story that is everybody’s story unfold on our own private stage. For it seems our journey has always been that way, a step behind the crowd, dancing to the tune of a simpler time.

I remember Jen telling us about an old man sharing the aftermath of his wife's passing.

How he walked down the hallway looking at their lifetime photos hanging on the wall.

How he said it felt like it had all been a dream.

I’ve thought about that a lot as June approaches, and we celebrate 29 years together. It almost feels like I can reach yesterday where we sat in the chill of a Northern California January, at Stevens Park, taking our first selfie on your old Nikon camera.

Dreaming of the unknown future.

Yet there's also the old VCR feeling of fast forwarding through the sweet times, sticking a bit longer on the hard and the agony of watching the film break altogether when nobody was looking.

But we painstakingly taped ourselves back together right in the middle of life's wake-up calls. Because we were us.

One day it will be you or I left with pictures on the wall, like that old man, and we'll feel the blur of life.

Whoever it is that sits with those photos ( I want us both to know now ) so later when we're alone we can hold these words I write carefully today, that we did our best to love our best.

In the end I think that has to be enough for anybody’s love story.

Tradition says that on your first anniversary you should gift paper. We have done that well every anniversary, birthday, holiday or just because “it’s Tuesday” in terms of cards.

They literally fill bags now tucked away in bedroom closets full of promises, apologies, flowers and couples sitting on sandy beaches or Adirondack chairs.

So many do-overs that layer the deepness of our love and commitment amidst a life that was never meant to be as perfect as the cards we chose.

But this year there will be no card. This year I will paint you a portrait through my own words, from pen and paper to black and white typed font in my favorite script style.

Crisp across a screen.

I pray they transfer gently to your heart. That you may take my gift within this letter as truth to answer your question which hung thick in the car as looming retirement occupied your soul meandering over the highway last Saturday between rolling hills and mountains still snowcapped.

Reminders that winters may come to an end but still leave remnants behind of harder times and how we dealt the blows. These lessons appear as lines upon our faces, telling quiet stories that only we will ever know.

Your voice broke through the silence, “Sometimes I wonder, what did I do with my life?”

Was it perhaps more of a statement than a question?

I listened to your thoughts in the empty spaces surrounding your words, staring at the little town’s we rolled through. Strangers living their lives without us while we passed by heading towards 29 years.

Reflecting on the pandemic of 2020, which held such great sadness for so many across the world, but somehow not us. Somehow, we were spared to receive a bounty of grace that I’ll never take lightly, for there were so many other years when we were not.

All three of our children married that year within 6 months of each other. And our first grandchild is entering this crazy, perfectly imperfect world by August. I look at the pictures of their weddings, consider their personal journeys and think to myself - a bit like the old man - this seems like a dream we are living.

Instead, it is the lifetime culmination of unanswered prayers that brought us here today.

Just look at us.

We've been gifted time to sit in this moment; to marvel at these photos together. To create more. Now, while we still can.

And I’ll always remember it this way. While life was busy threading, unraveling and rethreading again, there we stood.

A bit wobbly at times but firm enough to stand and still stand today.

Living out our photos.

My answer to you is “This.”

This portrait right here is what you did with your life.

You gave your family the greatest example of a life well lived.

And as you step into retirement it may not seem to you that you were important or that you did anything important, but you were bigger than life with your invisible wings covering us all.

It may not seem to you that you were even seen; that your contribution, your energy made a difference or that we felt your constant protection over our lives.

But that would be the greatest lie of all. For here we are, rooted together because of you.

So I stand here on the outside of us, telling you I see you.

Telling you that you’re by far, the best human I have ever known. A simple man with a simple purpose to always better himself; to live a life of faithful service to family and others.

For a man to only want one thing in life, to be humble enough to allow “the guy upstairs” to shape his soul, I know no sweeter gift to pay forward than that.

It is the only way to truly love another well.

Some never learn to lay down themselves at all; to trust their soul to be opened. But not you.

In all of your rawness you have loved well by purposing to be aware of when you were getting in your own way. And that is worth far more than any hefty paycheck or list of worldly pleasures you could check off of some list the world tells us is our measure.

You never were one for those bucket lists of life.

You never felt the need for wealth or higher ladders.

You never felt the need for more friends than you could count or to even be liked by so many that you were deemed popular.

No desires for the latest or greatest. You’ve lived strictly off of passion, honesty and loyalty. You are the rare one indeed, never needing center stage.

Living strong by allowing yourself to show your weakness, your hearty laughter is partnered with the beauty of a man who is never ashamed to cry.

You have put your own sadness aside - time and again - to be my greatest encourager when insecurities arose from childhood, rearing their ugly head.

And I am sorry for those clouded moments when I didn’t recognize you were in my corner, always.

The way you’ve been generous with your time and advice, challenging hearts that were lost along the way, has had a rippling effect you may never fully understand.

But I do, for it rippled through me.

You have loved and supported our children through all their years of trials and victories. Even when they did not appreciate your sacrifice.

Even when they closed their doors on wisdom.

Even when your patience broke.

You still woke up every morning to pull on a pair of paint splattered pants and I’ll forever hear your truck pulling away to the start of another day in blue collar America.

I hold you today. Running my fingers over calloused hands that held a paintbrush in and out of countless days, holding to promises. For me, for them, for us.

And I couldn’t love you more. Yet I always do.

You were there for your question.

Living it fully between all the tiredness and joy, it runs through the veins of your children - biological or not.

It runs through me.

It is Martin Luther Kings “content of heart and character” in the truest sense and will forever be your legacy flowing forward with every generation to come.

You were and are more than a husband, father, friend or painter. You are a man who stands out among men.

You’ve kept your knee bent and head bowed during fog and clarity that swept over our many seasons and I have clung to the surety that you are nearby, always willing to wait for the miracles.

For me, the miracle was you.

From the moment you handed me a cassette tape full of love songs by your favorite artists - not knowing they were also mine - I knew I wanted you around for every sunset and sunrise we were allowed.

Now change is on the horizon; seemingly coming in fast and swift. But really it is just the continuation of "This is Us" we’ve been living with the rest of this crazy but beautiful world all along.

So I’ll be your strength like you have always been for me. Standing here with you in this shadowed moment as you let go; until you can see what I see.

Take your time.

I’ll wait beside you for the light.

Thank you for reading!

If you enjoyed my last book "If I Saw You on Sunday" which was a fundraiser for a school in Mexico, I am currently working towards another book of my collective writings and have joined Vocal to help with the cost.

If you enjoyed the story enough to feel like adding to the "Tip" jar for my next endeavor, thank you & know I am ever grateful!

If you are here just simply enjoying a read, I am ever grateful for the support.

Please feel free to sign up for notifications on any new stories with your email. Safe & free!

Salud!

married
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About the Creator

Susana's World

It is here I write about things that matter to me, and perhaps to you.

My words journey backward, forward and in-between, musing at this crazy but still beautiful world I was placed in.

For now.

Time is precious, so thanks for joining me!

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