Fear: A Love Letter

Image by firemedic58 via Flickr

This post probably will be the closest to a love letter or sentimental as I get, even around Valentine’s day. Anyway….

My entire life I have aimed to be self sufficient.  By age 2 or 3, I already was making my bed daily.  What toddler makes their bed?  Quickly other habits followed suit.  I think I behaved this way because I wanted to prove I could do everything the big kids could do.  I am the youngest of six children so I guess I wanted to show that I could do everything on my own.  This concept has been a fairly major personality trait for me, with varying levels of successes and failures.  Simply put, I want to be able to do everything on my own and never want to ask for help.

By high school, this notion had morphed into a fiscal self sufficiency.  I knew that I wanted to be in a position where I could earn money and that I wouldn’t be reliant on someone else.  Sure, people can definitely argue the earning potential of a political science degree but the belief that I would always be employable was a huge motivating factor for getting my master’s degree.

With every relationship I ever had, I always had a contingency plan in place.  If all goes wrong, I will do X, Y, or Z.  This plan did come into play once, in 2003, and I can proudly admit that the plan worked like a dream.  Even while dating Justin, possibly even at the beginning of our marriage, I still carried this mindset.  Sure, having a husband was nice to lift heavy objects, unscrew particularly tight pasta jar lids and the dual income didn’t hurt but I wouldn’t be crippled if something happened.

But I have to admit that something has happened and it terrifies me, more than anything else on the face of the earth.

I have realized that at one point, over the last three years of marriage, my being became more important and secure as a half of a whole than it ever has been or will be on its own. My own death does not scare me nearly as much as that of my husband.  I simply cannot fathom life without him anymore.  There is no contingency plan, just a low level fear and anxiety of the “what-if” variety.

Sure, I plan, hope and pray to grow old with Justin and then miraculously die together in the middle of the night at a ripe old age when we’ve decided we’ve seen it all and had enough.  Then, I remember the family I come from.  I come from a family of female widows.  My grandmother has outlived my grandfather already by a few years, but I view this as fairly normal.  My mother became a widow at age 59.  Not normal and definitely early.  My oldest sister became a widow at age 39.  Shocking.

I have come to realize that I rely and need my husband more than I ever thought I did or would need another human being and we don’t even have children yet.  When did this happen? I have no idea.  I am happy and pleased to have another person in my life that means so much, but I have to say the aspect of vulnerability that this creates is a bit troublesome.

Simply put, apparently I love and need my husband more than I would have ever believed.  Now here’s to a long and healthy life together.

To Smile.