Carrying

hands effortlessly finding each other in the dark, this is a hallmark of our love. that i can trace words on his stomach only he knows and understands, this is testament to the bands on 3rd fingers. i used to joke that i had so much baggage he'd be a glorified bellboy, and he smiled but didn't laugh at what wasn't a joke. he's carried much, much more these last 5 years. grace in marriage is spellbinding, isn't it? and to parent, to grow as two-as-one into a family of almost 6 when we barely know what we're doing... well, we just grip fingers til white-knuckled those days.

yes, he's carried more.

our home is full of people love and animal love, and we lost some of those poor babies this weekend, lost, too, the first pet i ever got as an adult. there is sadness here and i turn into him at night in our bed, and i cry "i wish it weren't so" tears. that his cheek was wet, too, bespeaks how he knows--how he knows me and my heart and cries for and with me. hands find each other and cradle comfort.

there is a carrying that happens in both birth and letting go. it mirrors bodies intertwined in love and tears wiped away in grief and fingers interlocked in faith. we sleep just so: in love and grief and faith.