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Dear Caroline,

You said that to me yesterday. “In sickness and in health”. It’s funny. I’ve spent my whole life waiting. Waiting for the other person to figure out that I’m not good enough. Waiting for them to realize they can do better. Waiting for them to see me, realize I’m too much, I’m too emotional, I’m too dramatic, I’m too much of a handful. They always do. Sometimes it takes longer than others, but they always do.

You said it in such an offhand way. Like you’d considered any of those might be true, but they wouldn’t matter. You didn’t tell me that putting up with my daily injections or the inflammation in my joints and the pain I’m in almost constantly would be a burden to you. You never have.

Any of my unhealthy coping mechanisms, my emotional ledges, my internal organs that rebel and occasionally grow cells full of dysplasia and you just tell me it’s okay. Like it’s no big deal. In sickness and in health.

I wish I could really explain to you what those words mean to me.

I wish I could explain how hard it is to be here when I all want is to be next to you, taking care of you. Bringing you glasses of water, remembering when you’re due for your next dose of cold medicine, waking up in the middle of the night to rub more Vicks VaporRub on your back while you sleep.

I want to wash your face with a cool rag when you’re sick. I want to start a hot shower for you with those eucalyptus vapor tablets that you like. I want to bring you and feed you whatever food you feel like you can keep down, even if it’s nothing but unicorn bacon and sour WarHead cubes. I want to fuss over you and baby you.

You said in sickness and in health. Yeah. That’s what I want to sign up for. Every single day. For the rest of my life.