Sometimes husbands must be thanked aloud

I am not a pessimist, I don’t think. But then do pessimists ever think they are? Perhaps we ‘realists’ are simply pessimists in PC clothing. But when you have lived through many of the worst case scenarios others don’t even want to imagine, it’s hard to ever truly forget the sharp edges that do exist and that can try to cut the very hope from your heart.

I think I still have a halo of the hopeful about me. I rarely stay down long enough to get comfortable with the sadness. I just accept what is, and try to work with it. Still, I think God knew that even with all the residual hippie-love, and all the fighting faith and hope in my heart, to get through this crazy life, I needed more. I needed an optimist. A pure, happy, hopeful optimist, who doesn’t hope in a nebulous vacuum, but who actively hopes with the kind of energy most people reserve for running from wild beasts or towards anything marked ‘free’; the kind of optimist who is authentically surprised and a little sad on those occasions the very best does not occur. An optimist who is built for such automatic repelling of negativity that he doesn’t even register its presence, sometimes; an optimist who says “cheer up, don’t give up, look up, hold on, hang on, stay strong, you can do this!”  simply by sitting in silence or rubbing a back. Or smiling.

I don’t think many of those exist. But I found one. And I married him.

He taught me to remember that when the worst comes, the worst goes, and one day, you still find your way to okay.

This small note honors my daily proof that opposites do more than just ‘attract’, they align the hemispheres and poles and bring the  world into the kind of balance that makes it all okay.

Mr. Graham, sir. I did, I do, and I’d do it again.

I love you.
And thanks.

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