Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Thirteen Reasons My Husband is Not Allowed to Die Yet
It always hits me when he travels ... the "what if" syndrome. You know, "what if" he dies and I am left with the weight of the world on my shoulders, the shoulders now stripped of any '80s power foam padding. Vulnerable shoulders.
Here are 13 reasons why my husband is NOT allowed to die yet.
1. This morning I tried to plunge our clogged toilet to freedom. No go. So I called Husband in, and down it went, tout de suite. Now, he may have plunged it in his underwear and splashed yicky water all over everything while he went at it like a jackhammer, but he got it done. Sometimes "effective" isn't pretty.
2. My daughter's homework notes say that our sun is the most powerful source of renewable energy. It is not. It is my husband. His radiating heat is vital for surviving December in Indiana when you first get in bed at night and you're freezing your Hoosiers off. He is the heat meister.
3. I don't do math past 10. Not 10:00; I mean the numeral ten. He was a math major. Someone has to count out our daughter's lunch money each week.
4. If he died, who would drop me off at the door when it's raining (or snowing, or windy, or crowded ...)?
5. He is the last remaining person on earth who can look me straight in the eye with a straight face and the conviction of Rhett to Scarlett about her drapery dress and say, "Linda, that meal was delicious."
6. Some people make such a fuss over three little words: "I love you." Yeah, they're OK, but I am also very fond of another set of three little words he expresses often and creatively: "You're not _____." [old], [crazy], [frumpy], [dumpy], [chubby], [Sneezy], [Doc].
7. He is the official turkey-lifter-outer of the oven at holidays. This is a significant cornerstone in the structure of our marriage. If he died, I just might have to re-marry to fill this void.
8. If he died before me, who would serve as the sounding board to all my great opinions, deep thoughts, questions about why people are dumb, the re-telling of my dreams, my fashion dilemmas and crying jags? He is the greatest listener. He just sits there quietly, always remaining calm no matter how agitated I am, breathing in, breathing out ... making that buzzing noise in his nose and head and reacting to my most exciting stories with sudden jerks as if he's falling or something, but really, he's in total "deep listening" mode.
9. Who would translate the garbled dialogue and convoluted plot structure of his British mystery movies for me? Who would wake me when they're over and tell me to go to bed?
10. There would be nobody around to reminisce about the time our high school vocab teacher, Mr. Wallace, went off on our mutual friend Mark and sent him to the Dean on the very first day of class. (An inextirpable 1980 vocab flashback.)
Reasons 11,12,and 13: I need help with these wild creatures who are not all the way raised up yit:
PS: He has returned home safe and sound. And ready to listen all about my day.