My husband is my Rock of Gibralter. My Pillar of Hercules.
He does the dishes without complaint.
He takes the dog to the dog park and keeps track of his Heartguard and Frontline.
He keeps complicated records of our car maintenance. He knows when an oil change is due.
He can fix the toilet.
He restores my soul.
He lets me choose the movie even if its something he might hate.
He keeps me in book lists.
He remembers when I wear the first pair of earrings he ever sent me.
He brings me coffee in the morning and a glass of wine at night.
He does my laundry.
He shaves my head gently and cleans the small hairs that fall to the rug.
He worries about my symptoms and examines my stitches and my rash.
He holds my hand as we walk into the clinic.
He has a hearty laugh.
He makes up words to songs to make me laugh.
He has a jukebox in his head. He sings and sometimes the songs are stuck in my head for days.
He lifts me up when I am down.
He carries the heavy things and tells me not to clean up after the dog. He will do it.
He is my Mount Everest. Tall, tough, and beautiful.
He picks me up at the sidewalk when the driveway is icy.
He lets me pick the restaurant and only says he would like it to have popcorn. He doesn't complain if I don't eat all my food.
He keeps me in batteries of every size and kind.
He fixes stuff. He knows about electrical things like outlets. He knows what to do when a car breaks down.
He cares about my welfare. He wants me to be happy.
He makes the best scrambled eggs.
He is my Lake Superior. Deep clear, and cool.
He will do anything so I get better. He takes me to appointments and wait for four hours while I have chemo. He goes down the hall to get me coffee and a scone.
He is my right hand. My best of everything. My only.
This is my ode to Regis.