I have written this article a couple of years ago…
With some re-touch, finally I can post it on my own site.
‘I felt I could die happily 13 years ago, hearing the
confession of the guy who for months was the object of
my affection. He was not the boy-next-door-type, he
was never predictable, he was not ordinary… and our
story neither was.
I have loved him from the very moment I saw him came
out of the fast-food chain that was our meeting place.
He was wearing a red-colored shirt, and so was I.
I thought I loved him more when all we did was spend
our money, mostly his, and do everything together.
I thought my love for him was far greater when all we
had was each other and a couple of bucks in our
pockets.
I thought it was my heart’s peak when he looked at my
eyes and told me that he’ll spend the rest of his life
with me, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in
health…
I thought I’ll have enough of this love… but enough
didn’t came. There was always growth, there was always
more.
More when I delivered our 7.8lbs son, more when he was
operated because of his tumor (praying and thanking
God that it was benign), more when our son is sick and
nobody but ourselves could understand the worry and
pain we feel, more when we learned that we were having
another baby and lost it after few weeks, more when I gave
birth again to another baby boy, more and more when we
laugh ourselves out joking around, and a lot more each
day when unknowingly we were getting strength from
each other by just being together.
I’m glad I didn’t die happily 13 years ago, I could
not have experienced life.’