my rock

There is almost a loss for words. Almost…

I, a nervous silhouette, squeezed Hollins closely this morning and prayed, “Come back home to me.”

He replied, “I will. Be safe too. Bye-bye baby,” he grinned as he rubbed my belly.

I left hastily before teardrops could escape my blinking eyes, shoving my worries behind the closed door. Once home again, I spotted a note.

“I’ll miss you,” scribbled Hollins. My heart softly smiled as I touched my fingers to the XO on the note. My hug and kiss to tide me through tomorrow’s solo celebration.

Hollins will be in Portland. I am here.

And tomorrow marks seven wedded years for us.

When I think back to that sweltering June day in Kansas, I think of our young and innocent and fresh bond with one another. No one imagined we’d almost fall so hard financially and emotionally when I landed in the hospital for five days without insurance to help. Or that we’d have such diverse opinions in our future abode to squabble over which home to buy. Or that we were never quite on the same page regarding whether to have children until a few months before we actually created our own tiny miracle.

And to all of the various tribulations sprouting from this marriage here and there, I could not imagine myself blooming and growing with anyone else. Hollins is my rock, a best friend and partner. He understands my quirks and my humor. My tears and my sensitivity. My nature and my being.

I love my sweet Hollins. He is my home sweet home…