Answers

She's asked me for years.

"Why do you love me?"

I'm sure that some of my answers have become stale, but I always answered honestly, looking to see new ways that she has become important in my life.

We broke up during the first week we dated, because I felt things were "too physical." She's the only girl I've kissed since I returned from my mission so long ago. Three weeks later we began dating again. A few weeks thereafter, I called her Dad to ask permission for her hand in marriage. They showed up on her doorstep two days later.

I can't even begin to enumerate all the reasons I have listed over the years. Some were Great!; others inane; many inspired; all sincerely heartfelt.

The problem I have is that words are just words. They don't stack up against actions. Apparently my actions have always blasted away any words I have stated. Thus, her need for regular feedback.

Last night I arrived home two and a half hours late from work. I hadn't been able to warn her of my impending tardiness. I should have been more attuned to the depth of her hurt.

Midnight tears painted a picture of wounds inflicted, then barely scabbed over, before being ripped open again; scars building over a quarter century. My un-thinking, destructive actions weigh too heavily on the scales against my words and good intentions.

Early on, in my naivete', I figured I would bring joy and happiness into the life of the girl I married. I would be her hero.

All too often I'm just her chump.

She hasn't asked for a while. I figure that she probably doesn't care to know, right now. But here are a few weightless words rolling in my head this morning:

• She brings me broad perspective
• She helps me to consider more
• She adds spice to my days and nights
• She is spontaneous
• Her desire to learn is infectious
• She lets the Spirit guide her words
• She fills my empty life with meaning
• No one can believe she's a grandmother
• She doesn't know that she is beautiful
• She doesn't need anyone else's agreement to stand on her own
• Her insight cuts through to the center truths of the matter
• She likes mizithra cheese on her spaghetti