The Hero Of My Story

There is a hero in my story. My husband walked right into all the broken pieces of my life. He is bigger than life to me. I don’t know of another human being, much less a husband, who would do what he has done for me.

I wish you could have seen the song and dance over just starting this blog. He could see me imploding, bursting at the seams, the rage, pain, and sorrow needing somewhere to go. So he set up this blog and then told me what he did and asked me if I would please write.

I told him I couldn’t, I didn’t feel safe. So he said, “You can be anonymous, you can have total control over the comments, you can block anyone if they hurt you, and if it doesn’t work out, you can shut the whole thing down, but please, please write.”

I don’t think either of us knew it would save my life. I don’t have a clue what I am doing, this thing seems to have a life of its own. I think what I was afraid of is that everything inside of me would come flooding out.

And when I started blogging, he stood close enough to catch me if I fall, but back far enough so that I could keep my own power, so that I could find my own way to getting my life back, so that it would not come from him, but me. And I love him most of all for that. No one else has ever done that for me.

All of my pain, anguish, and sorrow he held in his arms and he has never let go of me, even when I wanted to run. Because it is so hard for me to accept his love, to take it in. He looks me in the eyes and says, “I am not going anywhere and I am going to keep telling you that until you believe it.”

He alone has looked into my heartache. He has been my rock, my saving grace. He never once got tired of all the fear or sorrow. I can’t count the number of times he held me as the anguish poured out. And when I need him to step back and not touch me, because sometimes touching me silences me, he does that too.

He is always listening, waiting intently for me to even hint at something I might like or want, and it appears (good thing for him I don’t want much).

His valour has been beyond that of princes or kings. He didn’t just marry me, he doesn’t just love me, he adores me, he likes me, and he wants to be with me. Through all my fears and anxiety, they were met with patience and care. In his countenance and in his face, I have seen the weight  of his utter helplessness for my pain and sorrow. And then my heart aches for him.

He can’t take away my pain, he can’t save me when I don’t even know how to save myself. I know it is very hard for him to walk that fine line of helping me, yet letting me keep my own power. Because once my power is taken away, I disappear.

I have come to realize that this is my journey, it is others who put me here, but I will have to fight with everything inside of me.

Disclaimer: My husband insisted that I state that he is not perfect, but how would I know, he has done too much for me. OK has he hurt me, yes. But it is not possible to rescue a burn victim without hurting them. When their entire body is burned, there is no where you can touch them without hurting them. That is why only kind words will do. The difference between him and them is that he doesn’t want to, and it hurts him when he hurts me.

NOTE: This post was written at the same time as He Is My Hero. They were originally written as one. But I realized that I ended up writing a poem in the middle, so I separated them.


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