One year ago today, I was in a car accident. For the last 365 days my husband has tirelessly supported us in so many ways.
He has physically held me up during the never ending dizzy spells, held my hand during a hundred appointments, and paced waiting rooms during a dozen procedures. He managed all of the little yellow bottles (and their side effects) and been my memory, my balance, my reminder of hope.
He has played several thousand games of “I Spy” and “who am I” with our kids, learned to cook gluten free, dairy free, sugar free, preservative free, and managed balancing all of the nutritional needs of our household. At the end of a long day, he summons the energy for a walk to the park and adventure hike with the kids. For a solid year he has done all of the laundry, cleaned the house, paid the bills, mopped the floors, bought the groceries, while I laid in bed unable to help in any manner.
He does this while working a full time job, and spending many, many nights awake supporting our insomniac and nightmare ridden children.
Even as we think that my body is healing, I’m hit with sudden and overwhelming recurrence of symptoms which makes me bitter and angry and frustrated. But somehow deep down this amazing man finds patience and grace, even knowing this triples his workload, he has never resented it.