The Days I Loved You Most

by Amy Neff

“If I had a flower for every time I thought of you... I could walk through my garden forever.” —Alfred, Lord Tennyson

“Most things end up back where they came from, honey,” Evelyn teases, bumping her hip against Jane’s. “But it’s still worth letting it find its way.”

She has never belonged to anyone but herself, and I have never belonged to anyone but her.

She tilts back, her smile etched with sadness. “Thank you for not letting me go.” I press my forehead to hers. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to.” “I love you, Joseph. I’m sorry it took me so long to tell you, but I do. I’ve always loved you.”

“Sometimes it’s easy to focus on what’s missing, instead of all of the things that are right.”

Real commitment requires cultivation. It’s not about the tingle in your belly and a rush of adrenaline. It’s not magic, or fairy dust, that sustains a spark. Steadiness over time is what makes it beautiful.

No way out of this new reality, this all-consuming motherhood. Demanding more of me than I could have imagined, the saddest happiness I’ve ever felt, because she’s already bigger today than yesterday, already a little less mine. I’m already missing the baby she is, desperate to remember moments I’m certain to forget.

“The choice to leave is not one you can take back. You need to be sure there isn’t a more important reason to stay.”

“Sometimes things happen, and there isn’t anything we can do but live the best life we can, and hope that we’re ready for them.”

“The best way I can think to say goodbye is to revisit it all...falling in love, having our children, the grandchildren, all of it...even the days we were lost. It’s not only the happiest days, though they’re a part of it.” Her lower lip begins to tremble. “But it was also the hardest days. The days I was lost, the days I thought I’d lose you. When everything fell apart but you were all I needed.” A tear falls down her cheek, her hand clasped in mine, a hold so tender I never want to let go. “Those are the days I loved you most.”

I love her so much, and today I’m bursting to tell her over and over. But I don’t, because I love you has become routine, the period at the end of a sentence rather than the explosion of affection that erupts the first time it’s said. I need words stronger than I love you. I need a whole new emotion to describe the depths of which I care for the woman to whom I’ve given my life, and who in turn, has given her life to me.