A Splash of Love….

On this day, 30 years ago, we said “I do,” and the officiating bishop, who had known me much longer than Tim, presented us to our guests as, “Mr. And Mrs. Tim Harder.” We had just started to walk out, but stopped and, in sync, swung around in surprise. The bishop corrected himself, and everyone erupted in laughter.

And so began the adventures of a lifetime.

Tim and I are different as day and night. The following pics illustrate this well. In the first pic we are both smiling and normal. Well, he’s outdoing himself a little for the pic. But you get the idea. In the second we are both being silly. you will note that his silly is less obvious than mine. That’s been life from the start.

Thirty years later, how does a person sum up what it means to do life with someone like Tim? His kindness. His gentleness. His complete acceptance of who I am. So much of my life, outside of this relationship, I have been “too much, too loud, too outspoken, too rebellious, too religious, too liberal, too too much.” With him, I am accepted. I am enough. I am honoured. I am cherished. So, so cherished. I am embraced. I am completely loved and graciously supported.

The past 4.5 years have thrown things at us that have tested every part of who we are individually and as a couple; emotionally, physically and spiritually. But, if it has accomplished anything at all in us, relationally, it has solidified our love even more. When the concussion changed my personality, he leaned in and got to know the new me and my new needs, adjusting to all the changes. Though I welcomed him into every part of my life and heart before the accident, and we made decisions together, I was also fiercely independent by nature, with his blessing. Suddenly I felt lost and uncertain. Before, physical touch was a strong love language and I was very affectionate. He knew me so well that he opened his arms to welcome me in his embrace before I made a move toward him. Somehow he just knew. Suddenly, physical affection wasn’t even on my radar. It didn’t occur to me to hug or kiss him, or to welcome him home. I had to retrain myself, and consciously remind myself of the importance of affection. He stepped out of character — physical touch is not his love language; acts of service is — and helped me learn again, initiating affection for my sake. Where I instinctively spoke encouragement and sincere admiration, I became wordless. He did not let his ego rule or take it personal. He walked gently with me and awakened that part of who I was, never commenting that he noticed. As I processed with my therapist the ways the concussion and the accident had changed me, I realized that it had been a long time since I told him how much I value him. This part of me is awakening again. Before that professional help in processing, it got pretty hard before it got better.

The day I told him that I feel lost in our relationship, but didn’t know how to put into words what it was. I acknowledge how kind he was and how much I appreciate it, but that I feel like nothing is normal and we are so far apart. He assured me his love had not changed; that he loved me just the same, and is in it with me. That began the process of unravelling the losses. When finally I was able to piece together what was happening, he went to the doctor with me to see what we can do. Soon after this is when I got the therapist to help process the accident and the aftermath. As they helped me walk through it, he supported me and learned with me.

As the harm to my spine invaded every part of our marriage, he took on things I can no longer do. When the pain leaves me shivering, and the tension is unbearable, he gets lotion and works out the tension and the knots so I can sleep. Sometimes night after night, and in between. When I cannot move myself in bed because of pain, he moves me. When I cannot walk alone, he takes my arm and supports my shoulder. When I lost much of my vision and especially the peripheral, he warned me when there was a step or elevation change. When we are in a new space, he still does this because I can’t always see (or process) elevation changes or things (like walls) in my peripheral.

Tim is not perfect. But he is perfect for me. Life with him is more than I ever dreamed marriage could be. He rolls with the punches and always holds me so that the punch lands on him.

*****

Tim, my Love,
I am so grateful God brought you into my life. Today, I honour you. And I thank you publicly for loving me so well. Life is hard at the moment, with many limitations, many unexpected changes, losses and expenses. We are not celebrating 30 years the way we hoped and dreamed. Still, I would rather suffer and be with you, than to be pain free anywhere else in the world without you. There is no one I would rather do life with. And there is no one whose life I would rather live than ours.

We have us. We have a loving and beautiful family; our children and grandchildren, and our unofficially adopted children and grandchildren. That is more than many will ever have. More than pain-free living can offer. Sometimes I lose sight of that when pain is at its worst and it all feels too hard. But I always come home to that truth. My heart is yours. Always. And in all ways.

Thank you for being my safe place.

Thank you to all who celebrated our wedding day with us 30 years ago. A special thank you to Florence Sauder who stepped into a ‘mom’/wedding organizer’ role and coordinated most of the wedding for us. We couldn’t have done it without you. (My event planning skills had not yet been discovered). And to all who have walked with us and supported, counselled and challenged us on the way, helping us to be the best that we can be.

As always…
Love,
~ T ~

© Trudy Metzger 2024