It's your anniversary, happy anniversary

Yesterday was our third wedding anniversary. While it's safe to say that neither of us could possibly have imagined where we'd be at this point in time...well, I'm happy, is what I'd like to say. Happy with her, anyway, Me, not so much, but I'm trying. I'd imagine she feels this is a fairly accurate assessment of things. I've asked a lot of her since this started, asked her to forgive the drinking, asked her to forgive nearly getting myself killed. She, too, is trying. That's enough, more than I deserve. I do know that I love her more with each passing year, as cheesy as that sounds. I still think it's amazing that we even met (at a wedding reception for one of my cousins in Delaware, because we were the only ones there who knew how to do the Time Warp from The Rocky Horror Picture Show). To the extent I believe in things being meant to be at all, a notion which has certainly received quite a challenge to it if you ask me over the past few months, I believe I was meant to be with her. I'm lucky.

I think the most stressful thing is knowing that each night is a crap shoot. The other night I had a laryngospasm and woke up suffocating for a few seconds before I could breathe. My laryngospasms were always fewer and farther between and less severe than my dad's, but it scared the shit out of me this time. I don't want to die in the middle of the night; I don't want the last time Amy wakes up to be to me killing her. I don't want the last time I wake up to be to Amy killing me. I don't want Lucy to die either, the little mushpants that she is. I honestly think that this may have been harder on her than either of us simply because we couldn't find her usual cat food anymore, and are constantly giving her new brands. She gets sick all the time. But she's resilient, which is good. If she had snuck out the night when I blacked out and jumped off the deck, I never would have forgiven myself.

Right. Happy anniversary, honey. I love you.