My wife, Jamie
The day before my infamous exam with the neuromuscular specialist, my wife, Jamie, broke down. I hadn’t seen this from her before. The cry ratio in our relationship is 20:1 in my favor. I’m the sensitive one. She’s the juggernaut. But on that day, she let me be the rock. And for that, I love her more than she knows.
I was scared too, but there’s something about being the “comforter” that gives you instant courage and conviction. As if the “comforted” can somehow sense your inauthenticity, you have to REALLY BELIEVE what you are saying. And so she got me through that brutal day of anticipation, by affording me the opportunity to insist that tomorrow was not going to be the beginning of the end for our dreams, rather, it would be “our finest hour.”
I had resigned myself to a death sentence. Jamie’s instinct, however, was to fight this. And for that, I love her more than she knows.
She saw us at the front lines of a war. A war that we never even knew existed. She saw us being leaders and motivating other newly diagnosed soldiers. She saw us living long lives with our two daughters and growing old together. She saw us living out a new dream, even greater than the one we had originally imagined. And then I started to believe. “Could that really be? Wouldn’t that be a great story!?”
I had been so focused on beating this disease and saying what needs to be said to those I love, that the person I love the most had been left to focus on everyone but herself.
I hate that about this part of the story. But it’s an important chapter because there would be zero chapters to read if it wasn’t for her optimism and hopeful attitude.
I’m he fighter you see before you BECAUSE of her. I love you, Jamie.