I found out last Thursday that a friend’s husband had taken his own life the day before. I’ve never known someone who committed suicide, and never would have expected this person to be the first. I don’t have words for how broken my heart is for this family. I cannot imagine the pain that led him to do what he did, nor the pain she is feeling now.
Hearing about this rocked my perspective. Suddenly this massive awareness about how short life can be and how much every moment needs to be cherished settled upon me. I wanted to reach out my arms and gather every person I know to tell them that they are special and necessary and important. Tell them that nothing could matter more than having them in this world. And that they would always be okay and taken care of even if they lost everything they owned. I wish there was a way to ensure that everyone believed this.
This perspective got me thinking about my impatience with Mr. Wonderful and how ridiculous I was being, letting myself get down about our seeming relationship standstill. When every day here is so precious, I should be doing nothing other than enjoying him and celebrating what we have.
But Saturday night I found myself caught in another emotional discussion about why we haven’t moved forward. Kids, kids, kids. He’s waiting for the epiphany that will tell him he really does want kids. I’m not sure that epiphany will—or even can—come until he is holding his own child in his arms. To him, that’s too big of a risk. He said he wakes up every day with this on his mind. Every day, he wonders what to do.
And I wonder if there needs to be any wondering at all. It’s making me crazy that I can’t just keep Thursday’s perspective in my head all the time and know that what matters most is the joy we experience when we’re together. What matters most is that I have him in my life. I get so worked up about “having a life with him” when, in reality, it’s already here. And because no one knows what the future holds for any of us, I should really embrace that life.
It’s like there’s a knowing parent and a spoiled child fighting inside my head. And every time someone makes a remark about how I need to get married and have kids, that spoiled child grows louder.
I want to pay attention to the knowing voice. I want to make the most of every moment and believe that things will work out the way they are supposed to; when they are supposed to. I want to remember that things could change drastically in an instant.