Miracle

Up early. 0530 before the alarm. Bathroom break, then back to bed. Awake in the dark. Thinking. Beside me, Willem is breathing. I reach out, touch his fingers. He responds, as he always does, with a happy murmur and sleepily snuggles up to me. I may snap and pull away, cringing from the intimacy because it feels like a hot shower after a sunburn, but this man never does - is never irritated by me. Its a wonder. I have to be careful with this. I am broken but he is not. I must not break him. The damage must not be allowed to spread beyond the boundaries of my own heart.

Up again at 0551. Brush teeth, take the trash out to the street. Put on the coffee to brew and the oatmeal to simmer. Choosing clothes for the day is always tricky. They go in the backpack and emerge in the locker room after the bike ride and shower, ready to wear. If I choose badly, I'm stuck with my decision for the rest of the day. I choose a long summer dress: one I used to wear in Africa during the graduation ceremonies in sweltering heat. It's supposed to be hot today.

There's enough time to wake Willem for breakfast and still make the train. So I prod him in the dark. I would be irritated to get up so early but he is not. He is happy to see me. Groggy, stretches his long arms around me, grins at my face. He is so pleased with the breakfast, he reaches across the table to touch my arm, hold my fingers.

He is tired. Not sleepy, but tired because he spends the small currency of his energy trying to improve the quality of my life. There is not much energy to spare. His disease is a bully, stalking behind him, shouting at him, shoving him down when he doesn't pay attention. I admire him; admire his strength of character, his stubborn tenacity, his courage. He came with me to the law office yesterday, insisted on answers. Loudly persistent when he needs to be.

Willem does my laundry while I'm at work. He fixes things. Climbs out on the roof to clean out the leaves. The broken window in the guest room (he put his elbow through last week, and we visited the ER for stitches) he wants to fix himself; won't let me call anyone else.

Willem is miraculous to me. His existence. And what he does for me. For my heart. He loves me with an open kindness that breaks me. I cannot love him like he deserves to be loved.  I know how I should love him. I should love him as I loved Sjors. But that is not possible. There is something wrong inside me that will not mend. I cannot look in mirrors. I cannot bear to have him look at me. He tells me I am beautiful and I find I hate the words, don't want him to say them. Look somewhere else, not at me. But he sees me in a way I have not been seen. After that first day together, he told me I reminded him of a statue in Florence by Donatello. Maria Magdalene. I have not seen the statue, but I have seen the photographs.