I have not been well most of this week. This is on top of months of fatigue, migraines and chronic light-headedness. All of this has left me unable to be a good wife and mother. Most of this week my wonderful husband has done the cleaning and cooking. And he's not mad at me!
I don't get this. I don't understand his unconditional acceptance of my illness, of my inability to do much. I feel like he should be mad, annoyed, frustrated. I expect him to be. I don't trust love that forgives, that accepts, that shoulders the burdens that shouldn't have to be shouldered. I keep waiting for him to throw up his hands and walk away.
But he hasn't. He's stayed through so many rough times, through post-partum depression, through an unplanned and extremely challenging pregnancy, through the hell of this past year. We have both been broken, him because of me and still he stays. Still he loves me. I don't get it.
I am so blessed by his love, by his imperfect reflection of the Father. I don't deserve it, I feel bad about it, but oh am I ever grateful that my man loves me and won't give up.