I just knew I loved you

But I just didn’t know. When you proposed. When you said, will you be mine… forever? When we sent out the invites and asked 700 of our nearest and dearest to party it up.

I didn’t know when I put on that white dress. When I walked down the aisle toward your reassuring, comforting, loving eyes, and your confident smile, I just didn’t know. 

I didn’t know about the jobs. The apartments. The house. The pregnancies. The babies. The memories. The traditions. The marriage. The years.
The life. 

I didn’t know that we would reach this point and it would still feel just right. Or that though our hands that hold each other have aged, it would feel like we simply closed our eyes for just a millisecond and ended up in this place. I didn’t know that we would still bicker about the same exact things now, as we did then — you, still somewhat unorganized, still somewhat late, me still somewhat {ahem} anxious, somewhat snippy. I didn’t know that we’d learn to know every little part of what makes each other tick and still choose to love each other every single day. Because the negatives are few. And the positives are worth their weight in gold. I didn’t know what it would be like when we were a family of our very own. And I didn’t know that you would still be the very first person I wanted to lay eyes on when the sun rises up and the very last face I would want to see before I fall asleep for the night. And the only person who I would want wrapped around me in between.

I didn’t know the first time I wore that dress, that we would have three beautiful boys. Who would look just like you. Or what a tremendous experience it would be to learn to be parents together. And how we would grow as a couple and as individuals through births, losses, joys, and sorrows.

I didn’t know about the 10 nephews and one niece that would make family times some of our favorite times. About how our siblings would become our friends. Or that our friendships would morph into extended family. And that we’d end up having a sort of kinship with our parents.

There were so many things I didn’t know then. While we certainly had thoughts, and dreams, and visions in our minds of what married life meant, we were taking a leap… on a hope and a prayer. Because there was so much that we just didn’t know. All of the things no one really knows when they say I do.

But I know today that I must have known the things I needed to. I needed to know you were my person. My honest to goodness companion. A loyal, honest, friend. A sweet, tender spirit. A devoted love. A brilliant mind. And a man who I would be proud to call the father of my children. The one I loved in a way that felt sturdy. And authentic. And genuine. The one that I felt I could laugh with. And at. And for. And the one that comforted me through many tears. I knew that you were even keel while I was more willy nilly. I knew that you were laid back while I was more uptight. I knew that you never worried about everything being okay because whatever ended up happening would always be okay. And I knew that with you by my side, even in times that seemed trying, it did always seem to end up being okay. And even better than. I knew that to kiss you felt like a thousand love stories rolled into one. And that if ever there was a definition for love, I felt as though, we were proof of its existence. It was my hope, my belief, that you would hold my hand, as long as we both should live.

I didn’t know everything. I just knew I loved the you I knew then. And gosh am I thankful I knew that.

I knew how much I loved you then. But I had no way of knowing how that love would feel today. That I would fall more in love, each day, with the person you’ve been becoming all along. And I feel so fortunate that it’s all so much more than I ever could have known.

I love you, Mr. Brehm.
Thank you for ten years of us. And for giving me all of our great unknowns.