Serving the Queens

16 March 2009

HRH: The Lowdown

Yesterday was HRH's birthday.

All week long I was drafting a post in my head, a post to tell you about how awesome he was, how that post would be one of my gifts to him, how my words failed me when it came to describing what I felt for him.

Except that yesterday, it was beautiful out, and so we played with the Queens and the dogs and strolled the land around us and drank beer and he grilled our dinners while I whined about my shoulder and he didn't say one word about the fact that his birthday cake was actually a chocolate creme pie that I purchased instead of baked.

I was going to tell you about the first night that I met him; how I fell for him right away; how he commented on my Detroit Tigers shirt and my email address (gibby23roar84) and how I knew I was going to end up in bed with him as soon as he rattled off the 1984 Tigers team, in their batting order, but still made him work for it anyway.

I was going to tell you about this night:

When he met one of my dearest friends and we all laughed and danced until the beer tent closed.

I was going to tell you about that fall day when I snapped this picture:

How my heart then was no longer mine, but my pride was.

I was going to tell you about how during our first six months together, instead of being grateful for what I had there in front of me, beside me, laying on the couch with me, I was too busy chasing ghosts to acknowledge what I had until that rainy October day when he stood on my porch, telling me he was leaving--and even then, I just smiled and waved goodbye and then went inside to bawl my head off, all the while, beating back the truth that was already written on my heart.

I was going to tell you of pushing and pulling and coming together.

I was going to tell you about his hatred of politics and his endurance of my rantings about it.

I was going to tell you about vegetarian soup and shoveled driveways and folded laundry and wildflowers.

I was going to tell you about him holding me every single day when I sobbed for weeks over the death of my grandfather; how he would quietly skip the song on the c.d. that began, "Grandpa, what's this picture here, it's black and white and it ain't real clear" because he knew that I just couldn't bear to hear those words. I was going to tell you about him waking me up, tissues in hand, whispering, "You're crying again, babe. It's going to be OK," and me actually believing him.

I was going to tell you that he completely understands how I can lust after both Grady Sizemore and Jon Stewart, and how he gives me Grady's baseball cards and records The Daily Show for me.

I was going to tell you about how I love his hands and his heart and his smile and his mind and his batting stance and how he makes me laugh my ass off.

Mostly, I was going to tell you that I loved him. And I guess that was the important thing.

That, and the beer and the Queens and the dogs playing in the sun and his smile and the gift of having him to share those days with.

Written at 3/16/2009 03:40:00 PM by Jenn.

10 serving the queens

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