I want to say that it's been non-stop wonderfulness with exploding glitter hearts and violins and whistles--and to be sure, there have been bright moments when it feels just like that. But I couldn't help realizing the other day that for nearly half of those 18 months, Martin's leg has made things hard. And it's not just the big things like delayed surgery -> delayed life plans -> increasing angst. It's also little things, like how since all this started, I haven't been able to hold his hand while we walk. I can't stand close to him on an escalator. We can't even walk side-by-side through a crowd.
I can think of good things. Big things. How much his zeal for his work and his students inspires me to do better at everything. How he encourages all my creative attempts and lets them clutter up his room. How he's pulled me through awful emotional phases and helped me beat quarterlife and homesickness and stuff. (Also, how his mom is willing to feed me whenever I come over.)
But when I think of all that, I kind of feel bad that the most I seem to do is carry his stuff, proofread his documents, pay for the occasional cab or breakfast at the Gonzaga caf, and maybe make him laugh every now and then.
So, little things. He let me install my Sims games on his PC. He texts just when I'm feeling angry or insecure, and before I've told him. He plays with the dog he gave me for Christmas. He stops in the middle of work or a game to wave at me from his chair. Little things like that, they're little signs that life is happening, we're still moving, he really loves me, and the world will be okay.
I keep my eyes peeled, and I'm happy.
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