“Nothing prepared me for the privilege of being yours.” – Sleeping at Last, “Turning Page”2

What you have to understand about the way I love Evan is that I am desperate for him. I can’t shut up about him, and I don’t want to. People say that the sign of a strong relationship is that it doesn’t appear on social media because the couple has nothing to prove. That makes me laugh because I am not writing about Evan for you. The truth is, I’m obsessed with my husband.

He is my laughter and smile and safety. He is the oxygen filling my lungs, yet he snatches my breath when I catch sight of him unexpectedly. When I fell in love with him, I felt like my real life had finally begun. I understood everything, who I was and what I could be with him beside me.

It feels like this: my heart beats him out, and he saturates every river of my blood until he marinates each cell. That’s not pretty language. It’s science, a completely accurate description of a biological phenomenon that I live every single day.

He is absolutely brilliant, an avid reader of Russian literature and history books that dwarf encyclopedias, relaxing by cruising biology journals. He also does hilarious impressions. I especially love when he puts on my glasses and becomes John Lennon. He is, in my correct opinion, the best caregiver in the world. I will always remember him telling me, “Stop saying you’re sorry. You don’t need to add qualifiers. I love you, and I’ll do whatever you want.”

My mom once said to Evan, nodding towards me in my hospital bed, “I know how this would have gone without you. She wouldn’t be alive.”

He looked at the floor and said, “I don’t want to think about that.”

Evan, you are why I fight. Happy birthday, darling.

On our honeymoon in Rome.