Cherished. I know. I am.
Even when I am out of sorts, or more than a little unpleasant.
Cherished when I rise early and look something less than human. Or at the end of a very long and difficult day when there are no words to say.
Cherished by the one who, after more than 30 years of not wearing his wedding ring because it was dangerous to wear while repairing computers, decided that it was time to have me place it on his left hand once again.
It was nestled way at the bottom of my red felt stocking, opened on Christmas Eve, in full view of our children. That big ring. Resized and reclaimed. Slipped back on to that finger. A wordless renewed promise of our future together.
And I never doubted that love, that commitment for a single moment along the way.
