The “why?” came out as a sob last night. He choked the one word question out and then quickly took an intake of air, sharp and pointed. And he waited.

This isn’t the first time that he has asked me, “why?” But for some reason, last night, it was different. It sounded different. And it most certainly * felt * different.

Last night, the word was steeped in desperation, his voice cracking in an unusual way. Last night, the word was surrounded by forty two years of wondering the opposite…not “why” someone loved him….but rather, “why” someone didn’t.

Why someone couldn’t.

Last night’s one word question… toppling out almost accidentally… in the middle of a cry that’s been buried for over a week now… that’s been building for a few days while he maintained strength and support for my sake and tabled his own need until he almost convinced himself it wasn’t there…coming out as a last ditch attempt to figure out…to UNDERSTAND…what the fuck is wrong with this Canadian Girl that she hasn’t yet figured out the truth. Hasn’t yet discovered that he’s a waste of time and energy, better left alone with a stack of magazines and a grown up apartment full of silence.

I’d never heard his voice sound that desperate before. It took me by surprise. And my answer, “because you’re perfect”, fell short. His breathing calmed down tremendously and the quiet, “ows” subsided because, I * know *, it was the comfortable answer for him to hear. To hear the Reiki practicing, angel speaking, humanity loving girl say what she says about * everyone *…that inside of us all there lives perfection.


He was comfortable with the answer. It calmed him down. Because it meant that he was one and the same. Because it meant that I still saw him as that. Because it meant that I still hadn’t discovered the truth.

Janet can see that loving perfection inside of a fucking terrorist….so it’s okay for her to see it inside of him.

It made him feel comfortable because he is so used to never being something special. Never being something remarkable. Never being something desirable.

He is scared of telling me that he still feels that way. Still believes, if only just a little bit, that he is innately imperfect. Flawed. Damaged. Defective. Unworthy.

Unfuckable.

Unlovable.

The truth is that the desperate tone of his one word question took me by surprise last night. I wasn’t expecting it. And I summed up everything with my, “because you’re perfect”, answer.

This morning, as the sun shines brightly and the air finally begins to warm a bit. As the baby has his morning nap and I skip my date with a red friend, I don’t have to sum everything up. I can give it to him….and take away the shame by sharing it with all of you.

Why do I love him?

Because…

….he likes John Irving novels as much as I do. And he hates the movies made of the books as much as I do, too.

….because he stood at the deck door and stared at my Giving Tree and I know that he saw the same thing in that tree as I do.

….because I can say, “I just saw a fairy” and he doesn’t make a sound, doesn’t make a fuss, doesn’t EVER question the truth behind my statement.

….because he likes mayonnaise.

….because he was the first person to * not * say, “it’ll be fine” to me when I opened up a bit about my son. Because he yells, “YES!” whenever I share a milestone with him. Because he actually * listens * when I cry about how my body has failed and how my mind and heart is terrified of Michael’s scorn. Because when I told him, long ago, what my own truth about Michael was, he didn’t “tsk” me, didn’t try to talk me out of it, didn’t try to “make me feel better”. He allowed me that truth and has believed right along with me.

….because he sees the humour in J-Roc. Know what I’m sayin? Because he loves Bubbles and Ricky and Julian and he laughed at shirtless Randy. Because he’s going to love the Green Bastard and Conky and Trinity smoking and Sarah and her three dollar dress.

….Because he has never, as far as I can remember, told me to “shh.”

….Because he needs sleep, but loses a lot of it for me.

….Because I can put my feet onto his lap and he instinctively reaches down to rub them, without my asking him to.

….Because he liked my vegetarian spaghetti.

….Because he thinks I’m smart.

….Because there is nothing better than walking through a door accessible only with a key card to find him sitting on a bed, waiting for me.

….Because I just thought of something better. Because the only thing more wonderful is walking through a side door to find him * not * sitting at the kitchen table, but rather on the couch, with both of my girls, giggling right along with them and talking to them like they are the real people they are, never patronizing them, always listening and trying to understand, no matter how garbled the words are when mixed with laughter or a tied tongue.

….Because he woke up in the night to Michael’s cry.

….Because despite his dislike for the Black Eyed Peas, I couldn’t find a better musical match.

….Because he watched half of the documentary, “Living With Michael Jackson”, and he really tried. And if I had pushed him to watch the second half (and I will, my dear, I will!) he would have.

….Because I know that if I let him, he would give me anything I want.

….Because he thinks I’m a good driver.

….Because he gives me a turn, without me ever having to ask for it.

….Because when I rip him a new asshole over something, he never, EVER, tries to justify his words or actions and he never, EVER defends himself by making me feel wrong or stupid. Because when I rip him a new asshole, he apologizes. Right away.

….Because he’s not scared of me or the poison that lives inside of me. Because he’s not scared of me crying and not scared of what makes me happiest.

….Because he struggles to say four words to me in the heat of the moment and even then, he throws out healing words instead, always trying to change my mind, change my perception of myself, change what I believe to be true of myself.

….Because he does give in and does say the four words that I need to hear, WANT to hear, however damaging they are because he knows it takes time.

….Because he listens to me when I tell him to do something.

….Because he is the first person to actually follow through on one of my “terrific ideas”.

….Because he came to me, not once, but twice. Each time a new leap into the unknown. Each time an act of faith mixed with a belief in me. Each time a new level of his love.

….Because I am myself in his presence. And he likes me that way.

I could go on. And on. And maybe someday I will. Maybe someday I’ll fill page after page after page with more “becauses”.

But right now, the boiled water calls my name and the washing machine is feeling lonely and yes, the baby just woke up.