Seven Years

Seven years ago, I married Keshia Vinson. We were married in a temple as we knelt across an alter, our eyes locked on each other and our hands held tight. It was the beginning of forever. Literally, the initiation of a relationship that will last longer than the universe. Worlds will come and go and still, I will be her husband. We will only be together.

Part of me wants to tell you a story of adversity and struggle. The storyteller in me wants there to be conflict and resolution, hardship and suffering before an eventual reward beyond description. I can’t tell you that story though. For reasons I don’t understand, I was blessed to spend my days with someone more than special. She’s more than anything I could ever tell you. And the only people who really get this, what I’m trying to explain, are her family. Her Mum and Dad get it and I know her siblings do, too. Kesh is a peacemaker. She’s soft, kind and beautiful beyond anything I’ve ever seen on this earth.

Almost seven years ago, we moved out of my parent’s home and into our very own house. Our first ever house. These were exciting times, mainly because I didn’t live with Kesh before I married her.

One night, only a few months into our marriage, Kesh was super sick. She’d eaten something and had food poisoning, I think. And while I felt terrible for her and wanted to help, I didn’t. I haven’t thrown up since I was 14 and the sight, sound or smell of it makes me feel like I’m going to throw up myself. While offering some initial support from the bed as Kesh hugged the toilet in the ensuite, I stood up, walked over to the bathroom door and pulled it shut! I have never lived this down and I can’t believe I did it.

I was more concerned about how I felt than I was for how Kesh felt.

The past few weeks have been tough. Zion got sick on the cruise. He spewed on Kesh at a black tie dinner and we left in a spewy mess. Roo got sick on the cruise as well and spewed more times than I can count. Zion got sick again when we returned home and there was more vomit. Then Kesh fell down the stairs while holding Zion and broke her ribs, before having a reaction to her pain killers and you guessed it – she threw up as well.

This time though, I ran to her with a bucket, held her hair and patted her back. Not because my tolerance has increased – I still hate being around vomit more than almost anything. I realised that I was selfish the first time around and that Kesh needs to come first. The reality is that were it not for Kesh, I would never know what real love is. And that’s what she’s taught me – love is real. Posting this to Instagram doesn’t make it any more or less so. Kesh couldn’t care less if I wrote about her or us, or anything. It’s one of the million reasons I love you, Keshy. My happiness is your happiness. And yours is mine.

I will always be yours. I was created to love you, and to love our boys. I always will.