love letters to my wife

Love letters to my wife cause it's never too early to tell her I love her.

Name:
Location: Chicago, Illinois, United States

I have taught school for over thirty years always in the inner city and for the most part always upper grade students. I have two children and I have been married for twenty years.

Tuesday, May 23, 2006

The Love of My Life

The love of my life, dearest Deborah, the one person I always need, have you looked outside today?

The sun is out with every bit of all of its brilliance and the trees are in full bud and the grass is green and dancing as if there is no reason at all not to enjoy the perfect days of spring.

I hope you slept well and had good dreams. I hope you find time to smile and have a laugh or ten. I hope you walk in the sunlight and feel the warmth of God against your skin.

Some days are just this perfect, this grand, this full of love and compassion and everything that makes this world the perfect place to be.

My perfect place is with you. Always with you.

Love forever and always, Michael

Tuesday, May 16, 2006

Green Grass, Blue Skies

Dearest Deborah,

Sometimes the best love letter in the world is right outside the door, in the park, past the perimeter of trees, where the grass shines with that perfect gloss of green and the sun and the skies work together to create the perfect blue.

When I see this, walking through the grass, feeling the sunlight on my shoulders, I think to you, my special one, my love, my best friend.

Love forever and always, Michael

Tuesday, May 09, 2006

Another love letter to my husband

Dear Michael,

Love can be a poison, a shroud of gray. It can rip through a soul and tear at the fabric of one's peace. Do you remember our walk one morning early, the sun already up and rising, bright and yellow, the sky so blue it could hurt your eyes, everything that day sharp and crisp and perfect.

Every day cannot be like that one. Sometimes the day is just as perfect, and we have a memory, and suddenly a gray cloud seeps into us, and we no longer see the clear blue sky, the bright yellow sun, the sharp crispness of a perfect day.

We want to be safe and we want to know we're safe. We want to be loved and we want to feel loved. We want to feel alive and we want to know what living truly is.

Thank you for your suggestions on where I can find a piece of sunshine in the house. The vacant room on the second floor with the great big windows seems like a good fit. I will try it. Thank you for your prayer that I may find my creative self and do creative things. And though you don't always listen, thank you for listening.

Deborah

Monday, May 08, 2006

To My Husband

Dearest Michael,

I need to write a love letter to you, my husband. Sometimes love is very difficult. It is challenging and a roller coaster of ups and downs. Sort of like a blossom seeking sunlight at dawn only to stay closed because the cloud cover is so dark and forboding. Love, too, can hurt, but it can also fill us with memories and smiles. There is a lot of negitivity in this world. Too much. There need be none in my heart.

I remember the time we woke early and went to the concrete out walls at Loyola Beach. We sat and waited for the sun to rise, and when it did, we noticed thin gray clouds blocking it. It didn't matter. The day was calm and the waves were clam and we were calm, sitting together, listening to the herring gulls and the splash of the water on the sand. Do you remember when it became light enough, how you noticed your pants were filthy and we had to go back home so you could change to go to work?

I can remember when we were in the forest and you yelled for me to come back to where you were standing because there was something too beautiful to miss in the plants along the path's edge. Again and again you tricked me with this ploy, but I loved it. Each time I came running, you pointed out the photograph of me. You still carry it in your paper wallet. I know it's worn out and curling at the edge, but I remember.

I remember holding hands with you on the veranda at Montserrat Island as the sun settled into the ocean. I can still see the pinks and oranges and blues and grays as the sun slipped away. I can still feel your hand against mine. And do you remember when we decided to go lyming? It really was lame, but I was with you and I enjoyed the evening air, the atmosphere we created, silences between us and the conversation.

Who can forget the break wall at the lake near the university. We had blankets and we settled down the two of us and made love under them in the night, the moon watching, the waves touching the huge rocks, the herring gulls singing around us. Some college boys walked past, almost stepped on us, and this too added to the thrill of being with you.

One recent morning you joined me in bed curling your arms around me resting your hands gently below by breasts. I had my back to you and I felt your heart beating, your breath in my hair, your skin with my skin.

I'll never forget the night you named our new wall I designed and we put up together, "Our Wall of Love." That was something. And yes, even though it lays incomplete, the shelving not in place yet, the moulding not surrounding it, it gives me hope that everything does not need a completion date, but an opening for more and more and even more.

I loved the arrangment we created with the song, "Look Through the Window." I can feel the excitement of that song even now, not singing it, not even near the CD player to listen to it. There is an urgency in that song, a bit of romance, a prayer to god.

And I like that, too, how we pray together at night. You listen to me and you sometimes break in and I don't care because it always adds to everything good in our life--our children, our health, our interwining creativity.

There were moments we annoyed each other and injured each other and you did this badly--more than once. The flower blossom seeks the sun to open and I, too, look for guidance. You were there in the room letting me break your hand with all of my strength when both of our children were born. You sat with me after the second, me on a gurney bleeding and weak, but I remember you there.

We have the 45's Unit now and I'm hopeful. We have the beginnings of a blog and I'm hopeful. We have the memoirs you began for me and I'm hopeful. We have the fight against stupidity next door and for that I am very hopeful.

Go home and listen to "Manchild." Think of me. I will listen to "Look Past the Window," and I'll think of you. Somewhere we will meet and think of each other.

I had to write you this love letter, dear husband. I just needed you to know this.

Deborah

Wednesday, May 03, 2006

It's a Beautiful Day

The sky is brilliant blue moving happiness across everything. You are the wind caressing my hair, touching my back, easing the work of sweat from my face. You're just that cool.

Thought you should know this.

Love forever and always, Michael