Personal Note

As a child, the sounds I most feared were the pop of a balloon and the shattering of glass. They were loud, and they were associated with hurt or destruction—but more than anything, they were the sounds of things being broken that could never be put back together.

There’s a burning numbness that circles over my shoulders and the back of my head, moving down and resting just before my stomach. I both want and fear its departure—I hate feeling this way, but at the same time I’m afraid that if I stop it will mean that I’ve accepted what’s happening, and that will mean that it really is happening.

I wish that every family in the world could understand what a precious gift it is to be a family. That every person could appreciate that being fiercely loyal to their spouse and children is a more fulfilling ambition than any other. That actively loving the person they chose is an infinitely greater factor to make a marriage happy than being with someone who is their ideal.

I am uncommonly blessed, I guess, in that the person I chose several years ago also chose me, and given the choice again, I would gladly, anxiously, everlastingly make the same choice. Not because he’s perfect. But because we’re willing and wanting to live together, love each other, and be happy. While I generally don’t like to inflict my own decisions on other people, I can’t help but think that this is the way it’s supposed to be—and that it can be this way for everyone.