I love my husband…

I mentioned to him my incredulity for a friend, who recently had a baby, and had no family that would come to visit her in the hospital following an emergency c-section. Their explanation, she simply chose a hospital too far away from their house. Had she chosen one closer, they would have made the trip, but because she chose one halfway across town, they would wait until she went home to see the baby. I began explaining to my husband that I thought this was wrong, that as my sister had recently given birth as well, if she had given birth in the hospital completely on the other side of town, I would still have made the trip to see her and the baby. He interrupted and said, “If she had given birth in Calgary we still would have driven down to see her and the baby. There are just certain things in life that for family and close friends, you just show up for. You change your plans, you drive out of your way, you make sacrifices, and you just show up. There should be no question, and while we may get something out of the experience, you show up to support the person whose moment it is.” At that moment, I just couldn’t have loved him anymore. I loved him because he felt that way. I loved him because he so completely understood how I felt. After all these years no one can finish my sentences with his degree of accuracy, no one can understand my thoughts so absolutely or more fully agree with their sentiments, than the person I have shared my life with these dozen or more years. If luck is for the Irish, then I am very fortunate indeed.