Possibility by Judith Parsley

Here was the man I thought I wanted to marry, but. . .
His stories of abuse frightened me. I came from a loving home. I had no reference points for what his childhood had been. No, he wasn’t the cause of his pain, but what if?
He was a troubled man, a damaged man, a good man. a kind man.
I said yes.
And sometimes it was so hard.
I had to learn that his flare-ups of tears, anger, and depression were not about me.
I had to teach him what families were supposed to be.
But, boy, he understood people.
I’ll never forget the time coming home from our tiny local church, with flowers that had come from the altar.
He handed each of our three boys flowers and told them to take them to old Mrs. Hatch.
“What? She’s always yelling at us when we play ball in the street. She’s an old witch.“
They trotted up to her door and gave her the flowers.
Two weeks later:
“Dad, mom, Mrs Hatch made cookies for us. We moved the game down the street a bit so the ball won’t keep hitting her hedges.”
That was the kind of wisdom I learned from my husband. I had to teach him about families, but he taught me about building community.
I married a sincere, funny, caring man whose hands will still start to shake, who sometimes goes deep into himself, who occasionally still bursts into tears.
A man who has been the love and support of my life . . for 36 years.