I heard a cover of the old Stones song “Wild Horses” the other day in Barnes & Noble. I’ve been singing it in my head ever since . . . “No sweeping exits or off stage lines could make me feel bitter or treat you unkind. Wild horses couldn’t drag me away. Wild, wild horses couldn’t drag me away.”
This is love.
This is Aaron.
I am loved by a man who is so steady in his devotion to me that I marvel. He is simply incapable of hurting me. He stands with me; he walks with me; he kneels with me; he cries with me. And then he tells me it’s going to be alright, even when I can’t see it.
We have five children, Aaron and I, three of his from his first marriage who we call our “bigs” and two of our own who we call our “littles.” Our bigs and littles and us, holding hands, we are a family. An unorthodox family, to be sure. A family that has walked through fire, admittedly, and suffered greatly, but still a family. And for that, we have one person to thank.
Lesser men, weaker men, would have given up on me – and have – but not Aaron. His love is too strong. “They’re just clouds, Amanda,” he tells me. “And now that they’re passed, I can see your sunshine again.”
This is a love letter, I guess. An awkward one, I know. But it’s his birthday, my husband, and I wanted to share with you what a beautiful man he is, what a blessed woman I am, when wild horses are no match.