It was my usual response. My mother’s first husband was not a kind man and his verbal and physical abuse forced her and her two children to find a safe place. He showed up on her doorstep one day with roses. She let him in and he beat her with those roses and took advantage of her. Nine months later she gave birth to a 9 lb. 13 oz. baby girl —— me.
The harsh words we heard growing up took root. I had trouble seeing myself as someone of value. I had been married two years when I surprised myself. My husband wrapped his arms around me and told me I was beautiful.
I covered my mouth， trying to hide my morning breath. He reached down and kissed my face.
“What I do every morning，” he said.
He leaves in the early hours of the morning while I sleep. I miss our morning conversations， but I had not realized that he continued to tell me that he loved me even while I slept. When he left， I rolled over and hugged my pillow. I envisioned4 the picture of me lightly snoring5 with my mouth open and giggled.
This Anniversary Day I plan to wake early. I want to tell Richard how much I love him. He may look in the mirror and see an extra pound or two， or wish for the day when his hair was dark and curly8， but all I’ll see is the man who saw something in me when I couldn’t see it myself， and who leaves butterfly kisses， even after twenty-three years of marriage.