I used to bemoan the fact that the love of my life, my lover and best friend, my husband, the father of my beautiful daughters, didn't leave me love notes. I used to bemoan this LOUDLY, and often, and there are people you could call right now and verify this, because I forced them all to listen to my sad complaint. After all, I occasionally left him a heartfelt note; so it seemed only natural that he should reciprocate, right? That's how the logic played out in my mind. I mean, I was REALLY critical, harshly so, of this one colossal (perceived by me) fault. I admitted that he was indeed a wonderful husband, considerate and constant, the perfect willing companion to balance my own special brand of madness.
Naturally, I received little or no sympathy for my position.
But I still WANTED those love letters! I wanted to be able to hold them and read and re-read them, to hold in my very hands the many written declarations of my love's unrelenting affection for me.
And still no love letters...Love letters were not forthcoming, despite my self-centered pleas. Knowing in my mind all along that I was wrong, I still felt it as an acute loss when I made the conscious decision to concede this battle and accept that love letters from him to me were just not meant to be; I needed to appreciate him for all he WAS to me, and not hold against him what he wouldn't do (write me those love letters that I was basically demanding).
And then one morning, I came home from work to find the door to the bathroom from the entrance to the bedroom relocated to the entrance to the smaller area where the tub and toilet were, thus separating the sink and closet, creating privacy for the other area, thus fixing my least favorite detail in that particular house.
In that instant, I realized that he had been leaving me love letters everywhere...
I started finding love notes in the towels waiting by the tub when I got home from work, the patient way he let me work through so many of the things that are really hard for me, withholding judgement, understanding that changing my mind is just part of who I am, knowing that I don't mean it for EVER when I'm angry or sad or hurt, making sure I always know that troubles are temporary, and that our love will stand strong, no matter what.
Love letters on paper, I have only a few to cherish, and I DO cherish them, but they cannot compare at all to the love letters of a life shared and treasured and the support and constancy of daily life, and daily true, unquestionably true, enduring love.