A good husband uses a screwdriver, knows where the itty-bitty one is, for when something that’s supposed to offer backup crashes itself. He might have to hire people to hang things, or install light bulbs, but at least he admits it. Though, he changes batteries in their Fisher Price this, has a feel good song he likes to play for that (Don’t Touch Me Tomatoes by Josephine Baker). He’s asked for google alerts on things he doesn’t care for, but knows you do. Artists. Writers. He knows when that thing you’ve had your eye on goes on sale. He picks up the baby with the poopy diaper. Kisses us all before sleep, let’s his son play patty cake on his face, makes a family sandwich, and takes the early shift so you can sleep. He throws his arms around your world, fixes what he can, and listens to the rest. He puts up with a difficult wife, someone who demands a lot of those around her. Tivos shit you couldn’t pay him to watch, and watches it when you insist. Then starts to Tivo stuff he thinks you’ll like, even if he’ll hate it. Listens to that same song you’re enamored with, on repeat, the way you like to do things. Makes up new lyrics, gives you shit for it, and just maybe secretly loves every minute of it. He pulls off your shoes when you’re too tired. Undresses you. Still tells you you’re hot. He tries to be bad cop, but he breaks into a laugh and gives them their way. And let’s you scoop everyone up and teach them the way it’s done. He toasts you over dinner, “To the woman I married, just as amazing as you were when we first met.” And while he’d prefer you not be mean when you’re drunk, he knows you didn’t mean it. He works on trying to be patient when he’s frustrated, even though it doesn’t come easy and you kinda want to get a hotel room to get away from him. “I love you,” he laughs with tears in his eyes, “and we’re in this forever, so I’ll work on it.” And even though times like that don’t happen as often as you’d like, they still happen. And you know something (somewhere!) has sunk in. He’s worth it.

Massages you with lotion, despite the fact that he himself hates massages and hates even more than that to give them. He’s the one guy in the theater for that really bad movie you really, really want to see.Turns up the volume when he knows it’s something you want to hear, even if it’s some Smelly Clarkson or Fergie for the umpteenth time. He tells other people how in love he is with you, even when you’ve been rotten. Doesn’t care what you weigh or wear. He shuts all the lights, makes all the annoying customer service calls, and asks you to please make that thing again because you’re such a great cook. He gives you the sweatshirt off his back when you start to shiver, grabs your hand at the sappy part of the movie, and when the lights go on, he always shows you the way out. He looks at you across a room, tilting his head a little in that way that lets you know how in love he is. He has this song that always makes him think of you. He doesn’t kiss your eyelids or paint your toes, but he wears the cologne you like and lets you have the big piece. Of his heart and everything that comes with it.

And as I said once upon a time: I’ll always think of Philip when I hear Rhett Miller (click link to scroll through samples of his songs).  I remember when I had to take a train out to Long Island and sign the last divorce papers.  I felt sick and trembled about my life.  Philip, who then still commented on this blog as ‘The Suitor,’ had made a mix of cds for me.  “Your Nervous Heart” was on it, and on my train ride, on repeat, I listened to the words, imaging my suitor there beside me.  “Can I kiss your furrowed brow and calm your nervous heart?”  And in just that line, that’s the safety I felt with him.  I’ve been struggling to figure out what our song is, for the wedding.  And really, that’s it. Right there in a Rhett Miller song.  I will never think of anything but him coming into my life at that time, with that song, on that train, him beside me without being there.  In a song.  That night, my girlfriends met me for champagne, and we celebrated my new life.  And Philip met us, upon my insistence.  It was one of the best days of my life, a day I’d dreaded and lost sleep over.  That night, my life felt like a movie, where all the conversation was muted and a soundtrack played over the din of champagne glasses, stares, and lifelong memories on the make.