Wednesday, December 21, 2011

you are loved by me.

I've known her for years
and him for years
and them for years

and in all that time
through the classes and jobs and weddings and relocations and drunktalks and everythings
I've never seen her eyes light up as much when she told me
that she was pregnant.

for the rest of our meal,
I watched the two of them across the table,
sharing chips and salsa and inside jokes and secret smiles
and wondered if I ever could ever again be unhappy,
knowing that the good guys won
that these two,
two of the best we've ever had,
not only found each other,
but found someone who didn't even exist yet
and
with their powers combined
conspired to bring that goodness into the world.

but the miscarriage changed it all
and, despite my almost impossibly irrevocable optimism,
a little bit of my hope went with it.

I didn't know what to tell her.
because "I'm sorry" seemed trite
and "I love you guys" wasn't enough
while the five hundred miles made "I'm here for you two" patently untrue
so I sat here, sipping Wild Turkey,
wondering how I could numb their pain.

I got a dog last week
and I didn't think he had any idea that I was writing this.
but right as I typed that "...how I could numb their pain" line,
he got up from next to my feet and climbed onto my shoulder
and kissed my ear
before putting his head on my chest
closing his eyes
and falling asleep.

And I remembered their inside jokes
the years that the two of them have known together
how they smiled at each other from across their wedding reception dance floor
all of the everythings

though the cities may burn around them
the fires won't ever take him
or her
or them

or anything but a tragic December night
where something beautiful had to start over.

I met somebody years ago
and went home and immediately wrote something
it wasn't really "about" her, I guess
but about capital-l Life
and how we fight for it

and I can't wait for the day when,
several years down the road,
I'll be an honorary uncle
to what will spring from this love
and I can tell that child:

"Your parents love you so much.
And I know that because I remember
the moment your mother told me that
I would have to wait just a little bit longer
before we would be blessed enough to have you."

So here's to the future,
the fights we face in bad times and bloody trenches
while we wait for the sun to rise
over our humble valleys.

5 comments:

Kels H. said...

oh, hope

Coby Gerstner said...

Hope is a beautiful thing. You did a great job writing this.

Birdy said...

This is beautiful.

Taren said...

where can I "like" this? because I like this.

martha said...

andy, i almost forgot how much i love your writing and how i really want you to be famous one day and how grateful i am to have met you and how many of my lonely nights you made bearable and how you introduced me to How I Met Your Mother and how if i could have that life, i'd want you to be in my booth.