I can see it in your eyes; the way you watch me sitting on the floor, folding the piles of clothes; I am so weary. The life that was in this soul you married is.... somewhere. Just not here. I bet that nobody prepared you for the time when loving me is heavy.
You see the frustration on my face when life just gets to be too much. When the everyday things are like climbing a never-ending mountain and I begin to crumble right before your eyes. You pick up the baby and put him to bed for me. The other kids, too. When we first started having kids, I'm sure that nobody told you there could be a time when loving me is heavy.
We enter a room full of faces. My heart begins to race, it's so loud I'm sure that you can hear it, too. My face turns red, my body is hot. You see my eyes start to shift, I begin to shut down, one moment after the other. We pause. I start to back up. The door, and my mental freedom, is just a few feet away.
And then I feel it.
Your hand gently rests on my back, that one touch says so many things. "I see you. I'm here. We have this, together." That one touch is all I need. How do you know what to do when loving me is heavy?
I take a step forward. We take a step forward. Together.
Out of the darkness and into the light. My eyes start to squint. As the fog begins to lift, I look to my side and there you are; not pulling, not pushing, but guiding. All the while, that strong, gentle hand on my back. "I see you. I'm here. We have this, together." How do you know just what to do when loving me is heavy?
There you are, there you continue to be. Day by day, my ever faithful friend. I'm so glad that God chose you to be mine when loving me is heavy.
This post was originally published on From Blacktop to Dirt Road.