You may not be able to tell; after all, I’m a picky bitch through and through. And it certainly isn’t in every aspect of life but, lately, when it comes to love, I can say that I’m happy.

The other day, we were sitting in our armchair (which is nice and big) and doing something related to cuddling. It suddenly struck me just how much that is exactly where I wanted to be, perhaps needed to be, and how glad I was to be there. Since then I’ve been thinking about all the little things and being more appreciative for him doing what he does for me and us. It doesn’t hurt that we haven’t argued in some weeks, either.

Sometimes I have issues recognizing my feelings. Sometimes I don’t even realize it until they’re long gone. His deployment took an emotional toll, of course. Yet, it wasn’t until the end that I realized how far down I’d sunk. I didn’t realize that my constant fears about mortality and my complete lack of motivation to do anything in life were so closely connected to my husband being gone. I just thought “I’m fine, not perfect, but I’m fine” until one day I realized that I wasn’t fine. I was worried about not being able to make anything of myself ever so much that I didn’t even want to try and I was worried that not doing anything would mean I would live a pointless life so death became a very real fear.

I guess I also didn’t notice those thoughts slipping away, too. Even if it’s only slowly happening. I hadn’t realize it’s been a day, two days, a week since I last focused on those thoughts. I hadn’t realized how much of a foundation he provides, how much direction he gives me. How much he makes me want to live and, for that, I am happy.

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