He really loves me

There are times when I doubt Army of Dad's love for me. He isn't one to bombard me with compliments. He doesn't always say what he feels. He isn't that kind of guy. He's big, hairy, scratches ... you get the idea ... a man's man. And, for that, I love him. He's tender at the right moments: helping me maintain my dignity when he has to clean my post-op wounds, holding my hand through painful medical procedures, teasing me when I am anxious and cry to try and get me to smile, brushing back my hair and holding my hand when I give birth to his children.

And, then, there are times when he conveys just how much he loves me without ever having to say it. It may be mentioning a song that makes him think of me or maybe it is a blog post.

This is one of those. Just a quick email with a link. Nothing more. But, it speaks volumes. As I sit here with tears in my eyes wondering why we were arguing for three days. Wondering why I let my pride interfere with my love for this man. I'm reading my Wil Wheaton book and he recalls the losses of people he loves in it and he encourages others to let go of petty things and play catch with your kids instead of watching the news, hug your spouse instead of playing poker online ... he's right.

Thanks to Mrs. DuToit for this lovely post about a husband's love and welcome to my blogroll.