Page 147 of We Drank the Dawn

Why did I say that?

Not only did it insinuate that I didn’t want him anymore, but it was so mean and degrading. They were the type of words that take root in a heart and stay for a long, long time.

Of course I wouldn’t have chosen Peter’s accident, but I still loved him. I still wanted to be his wife and grow old together. I still wanted to take care of him, but only to the degree that I didn’t lose my entire self in the process. Because I knew what loving someone too much looked like.

It looked like Mom.

And I had to protect myself from that…right?

Could I do what Martha was doing? Love Peter even if he couldn’t remember my name?

I never got personal with my clients due to legal reasons, but I wanted to talk to her. Maybe if I weren’t so lonely and desperate, I would’ve held it all in. “Can I tell you about my friend’s husband? She could use some advice.”

For a long time, I told Martha all about my “friend’s” blind husband. About my friend’s enabling mom and alcoholic dad. About how she separated from him. About how she realized every dream she had for her life was wrapped into her love for her husband. About how terrified she was that she’d become her mother—addicted to a man who wouldn’t love her back. About how all of life seemed meaningless without him. About how guilty she felt for walking away.

Almost finished with the massage, I said, “Does she love him too much, Martha?”

Martha was quiet for a long time—so long that I wondered if I’d put her to sleep with my story. Finally, she said, “I’m not sure I’m one to give advice without knowing the depths of the situation, but…from everything you’ve said, he seems like a good man in a bad place. Is that correct?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“And he seems like the type who loves her—maybe adores her—but he’s stuck. Is that correct, too?”

“Correct.”

“Has she been impatient with him?”

I slapped Peter for insinuating that I wasn’t patient. True, we’d spent years in limbo, waiting for the next stages of our lives. During those tumultuous times, I gave him a lot of grace. But after the accident, my patience vanished. I wanted him to get better and get better now so we could go about living the life we’d planned to live.

Pieces of memory surfaced in my heart. My irritation with his grief process and with his learning process. My irritation as he floundered in his passion, his work, and his hope for the future. I’d always considered my willingness to go to rehab and learn alongside him as a sign that I was being patient and gracious, but now I wondered about my true motives. Did I go as the cattle driver, to make sure we got to my intended destination? To make sure my grieving husband put in the work?

I couldn’t stop the tears that welled in my eyes.

“Yes.” My voice wavered as I answered her question. “She’s been impatient many, many times.”

She took a deep breath through her nose. “Then I’d say your friend doesn’t love him enough.”

My hands froze.

“Love is patient and kind and selfless. I understand why your friend would want to protect her dreams, but love puts the needs of others first. So, it sounds to me like she has plenty of room to grow.”

“But what about her mom?” I objected. “She loved her husband more than anyone and she’s a mess.”

Martha gave a thoughtful hum. “It sounds to me like her mom loved herself more than anyone. Love is not an unhealthy obsession. It is very brave and willing to do the hard things for the sake of another. If her mom truly loved her husband, she would’ve gotten him help. She wouldn’t have let her children grow up in a violent home. Does that make sense?”

“Yes, it does.”

“If love is healthy, I don’t think it’s possible to love too much. If he’s a good man, he won’t let her hopes and dreams disappear.”

Unable to stop myself, I sniffled.

She added, “It’s a beautiful way to spend a life—loving a good man with your whole entire heart.”

A beautiful way to spend a life.

I thought about my blank Google Sheet list at home. My two pathetic list items.

I shook my head in disbelief. That’s why my Live List had instantly lost meaning when we separated—it had always been about Peter. He made it all worth doing. Without our love, there was nothing left to treasure. And my stupid hair cut just proved I’d totally forgotten the point.