We moved to this area the month before I turned 14. Shortly after, I met Ryan. He was in the same volunteer fire department as my dad. Pretty much, he was my dad's friend and I was nobody. I set my sights on him and the year and half of stalking began. =] In April of 1999 he came over to our house to hang out and things went from there. There wasn't much actual dating for a long time, he would just come over and hang out and we would do things with my sisters or cousins on the farm. We weren't in any particular hurry, I was 16 and he was 18, but I knew he was the one. We were together for over 8 months before we kissed and that was AFTER we both said we loved each other. We got engaged over valentines day weekend my freshman year of college and were married in September 2002, a year and half or so later. I gotta tell you, I got a good one. There are so many things I could brag on but the first few that come to mind are: he works hard to give us what we need AND I get to stay home like I've always wanted to, he helps with the house without being asked, he doesn't "babysit" my kids he is their father, he can have the kids alone for days at a time and everyone has a blast and usually the house is cleaner then when I left it. In September we had our 10th wedding anniversary. April of this year will be 14 years that we've been together. We've never had a major fight, we've hardly had what could qualify as a minor fight. We been together for a long time and I not only have enjoyed every moment, I want it to stay that way forever. He's held my heart for a long time.
In August of last year, almost 6 months ago, we went to an ultrasound that told us our baby girl had died. My husband began to hold my heart in a whole new way. In that room that day watching him with his head in his hands, knowing there was nothing I could do to fix it for him...there just aren't words to express the helplessness. He did not take many of those moments, though, soon my shock wore off and he was there helping me through my pain. He came right home with me that day, he made those phone calls I never could have made, made childcare arrangements. He was right beside me every moment in the hospital, I didn't get any breaks and he didn't take any for himself. In the days, weeks, and months that have followed he has been there even more, gone beyond what I would have asked of him. I can't tell you how many times I've sought him out or he's just found me curled up somewhere sobbing and he just holds me. Since August I've lost count of how many times he has had to have sandwiches or toaster waffles for supper, or stop at the store on the way home to pick up a few things because grocery shopping was just too much for me to think about. He's picked up more take out then we've probably had our whole married life combined. He's done countless loads of laundry and dishes. He even took over the kids school work for a time because I just couldn't handle it. He does his work then comes home and does mine too. Never once has he complained or even acted impatient. He has never questioned my grief, my need for time, my inability to do even simple things. Never once has he even suggested I should be "geting over it". He lost his daughter too and in some ways lost more then I did. He never heard her heartbeat, saw her move, or felt her kicks. I hate that. Being the father every one asks him how I am doing. Not many people ask him about himself. I'm sure he sometimes feels inadequate to help me because he can't fix this, there is no making it better. But, he should know he's done all he could, and even more then he should have had too. There aren't words to express my appreciation, I'm not even sure that what I'm trying to get across is what is being typed. I do know that my feelings concerning him haven't changed though, he's mine, forever.