It was the summer of 1983, and I was thinking about moving in with my boyfriend. It made a lot of sense: I was beginning law school that fall, and I needed to save money. But it was more than economic, as I viewed co-habitation the next logical step in our relationship.
As expected, Don was agreeable, and even happy, with the idea. But I held a vestige of hesitancy. My Queen Anne apartment was calm and orderly, and I had fashioned a content and peaceful existence there. I shopped at the local market, swam at the neighborhood pool, and rode a quick and convenient bus into Seattle for work.
I mentioned my reluctance to give up swimming to Don, as it was my preferred type of exercise at the time. Soon after, that sweet fellow presented me with a swim schedule for a pool in his neighborhood – and the deal was sealed. I don’t just mean a living arrangement; in that moment, I knew he was the fellow for me. Other men would have simply mentioned that there was a pool nearby and encouraged their girlfriend to check it out. Not this guy. He drove to the pool, asked questions, and brought me a copy of the public lap swim calendar.
This man’s thoughtfulness has never stopped. Soon after I moved in with him, he converted his laundry room into a study for me. Through three painful years of law school, he never questioned how much I needed to study or hinted that I should spend more time with him. These days, if I catch a cold, I’ll come home from work to find a helpful plethora of cold medications on the bathroom counter. Just recently, he left work mid-day to install an articulating television wall-mount in our house in response to my casual comment that it was hard to watch TV from the living room. As the temperature drops close to freezing, all-weather tires are generously and mysteriously installed on my car. His obliging warm hands never flinch when I tuck my icy hands in them.
His support of my exercise commitment is unflagging. He good-naturedly stayed home with our oldest son years ago when I flew to the east coast with two male buddies to run the 100th Boston Marathon. Lolling around in bed on Saturday mornings is non-existent; he knows I have a running group to meet. He supportively advertises my road-race finish outcomes to our family as though they are triumphant and significant achievements.
I’m not certain what Don’s considerate treatment of me gets him in return, but I won’t question the delicate enigma of matrimonial consideration. Most women are content to have a better half, but I hit the life-partner jackpot with this guy. My hubby is a comforting combination of warmhearted companion, protective family man, and reassuring partner. He’s not just my better half – he’s the best half.