to my husband, on our 2nd wedding anniversary

I love you.

I love your calm and steady ways, your wit and sense of humor. I love your Bradley Cooper hair, and the safety and solace I get from lying in your nook. I love your brilliant mind, the way you devour books, and the way you can still speak about them in great detail even years later. 

I love your joy, your light-hearted spirit, and your playful ways. And I love your devotion and have enormous gratitude for the sacrifices you make to create our best life, and our future family.

On this day last year, we found out we were expecting. I held that stick and danced around, crying, laughing. We jumped in the car and spent the weekend in Dana Point, a beautiful surprise weekend that you planned, where we spent the next few days coveting our own surprise. I took long naps, in that big luxurious bed, overlooking that big, expansive sea, with a hand on my belly. And we were filled with so much hope and expectation about the way it would go.

It hasn’t been an easy year since then, but I love you even more for it. Through the years I’ve thought I couldn’t possibly get any closer to you, and then I do. I’m closer to you now in ways I could never have fathomed one year ago today. I love you for how you’ve allowed yourself to be vulnerable, and I love you for how you’ve been strong. I love you for letting me swing wildly, at the whim of these tough emotions, without judging, before you help to steady me. 

I love that during the toughest journey of my life, I have you. 

We’ve faced so much uncertainty this past year, but this I know. I know I’ll always love you. I know that we’ll continue to create a beautiful, inspiring life together. I know that I will do everything I can to continue to be your rock and your biggest fan. 

And I know you’ll be an amazing dad; always up to dance or play or watch the latest Lego movie. To teach our kids about the best authors, about hip hop, about value propositions and how “you can’t beat the market.” You’ll teach them to be lifelong students and that it’s ok if “math is your life.” You’ll teach them how to treat others with kindness and compassion. And I know our children will look up to you, admire you, and want to be like you. 

We still have that to look forward to. 

This I know.  

You and Me. Always.



He’s felt it too. He’s been by my side, seen me on my darkest days, seen me get back up. Held me tight through countless nights, pulled me from my covers on countless mornings.  The bad news that came and pummeled us, stealing our hope and stealing our spirits. The tears and anger that lingered, day after day. He was there.

We didn’t leave each other’s side after our first loss. I needed him close to me, the warmth of his hold assurance that I hadn’t lost everything. He felt it too. He cried in the morning, on my shoulder, in my arms. Seeing his wife in the ER, watching her cry, watching her bleed. He wanted to be strong for his wife, but he felt it too.

We sat at the ocean, watching the waves, talking, then laying silent. We watched movies, played with our dog, took long afternoon naps. We hid from work, hid from friends. One week, to make sense of our loss, to try to get strong.

I still had him.

And then he started to move away. Busy with work, on an airplane every week for his job. He understood the hurt, but was moving on. No longer able to carry the weight of the pain. It was easier to have hope, to believe it was going to be ok. And so I was alone.

Another positive pregnancy test.

And then it was gone.

We tried to be strong. He took me to the hospital, waiting, while they emptied me. Held my hand before I went under, I opened my eyes and he was there.  He went back to work right away, believing he was fine, hoping I was too. He trusted the doctors, and we started to argue. They told me nothing was wrong, they told me to try again. He wanted to believe them, but I never did. And so we argued.

And then I was alone.

We got second opinions, third, fourth, fifth opinions. Found we needed to be fixed. More appointments, more doctors, surgeries and procedures. And more bad news. His work sent him to Germany, and we started to tumble. With 9 hours between us, it swallowed us whole. We cried and argued, feeling the weight, feeling overwhelmed. And then he came back and we held each other, reassured each other.

I still had him.

Time passed and we had no choice but to keep going. We got through. We healed, we got fixed. We hit our lowest low, and then got back up. Thrown again and again, but we got back up. And we got stronger. Strong enough to look ahead with hope in our hearts.

I still have him.