Friday, October 14, 2011

In Sickness...

I was on the couch, crying crying crying.

Not a cute princess sniffly cry either. By the time we got to my pity party for one I was going on my fourth day with an over 102 degree fever, and that was the icing on a sore throated/nauseated/headached/bed-ridden cake. I had been to the doctor, who did little more than poke and prod me just enough to tell me that I wasn't nearly as sick as I thought I was, and that I really should get off her floor (where I was clearly about to pass out, rude!). That happened Thursday; now it was Sunday, my fever hadn't broken, I could barely use my voice, and I was desperate for another doctor visit. Tim was over, and I asked him to call my mom and tell her what was happening to me. She didn't pick up the house phone. Miffed, I had him call her cell. Still nothing. House phone again. Then my dad's cell phone. Then my aunt's cell phone and house phone. No one picked up.

Maybe it's a little pathetic, but as soon as I had even an inkling of a notion that I could be dead right then and my mommy wouldn't even know, I burst into tears.

Again, unattractive tears. Like, wet, puffy, snotty, wheezy, sweaty tears. And like most of those moments, the more I cried the more my life avalanched into a miserable heap. I was a total failure at everything, and how would I get through school, and why is everything going wrong at work, and I'd never get the wedding right, and where is my family, and how can I look this hideous in front of Tim, and the horrible feelings just snowballed until I was wailing. Yes. Wailing.

Then a pretty amazing thing happened: Through all of my hacking, I felt Tim give me a great big hug. I couldn't believe that he would even touch me with the way I looked, but he was holding me, telling me that everything would be fine, that I was doing a great job at work and school, that we would figure out how to make it all better, and that I was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. Did I mention my nose was running? This guy loves me.

Then he said, "I'm here. I'm supposed to take care of you now."

As he got me tissues, made me hot water with lemon and honey, and turned on some funny cartoons, I learned an important premarital lesson. I tucked myself in the crook of his arm and realized that when I'm sick and upset, I'm supposed to run and cry to him now. I'm entering a new chapter where my parents are too far away to catch me and comfort me. Tim will be next to me for the rest of forever, and it's time for him to step into the role of comforter permanently. At first when he was trying to comfort me it was hard to be satisfied, because obviously my parents have known me for 23 years, and sometimes it's hard for someone who's known me for just 3 years, even if he's my future husband, to compete. It sounds kind of weird, but I had to understand that Tim is enough now. I'd never fully thought of it that way before. When that really sunk in I was overwhelmed by an unspeakable peace. My mind audibly (to me) said, This is your life now; this is who can make you happy when you're sad. But you have to let him. So I did. Almost instantly my fever broke. Maybe it's lame to think that a good cry and my fiancĂ©'s TLC "healed" me, but I'm pretty convinced that he played a big part.

Lesson learned.


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