The anxiety of being only two out of 68,000 sent him to dry heave in the bathroom.
The inability to regulate his body temperature sent him shopping in Christmas crowds for the perfect cold weather gear.
The knowledge of loud PA music and musket shots prompted him to find ear protection.
Being by my side when I finally saw my first Patriots game at Gillette Stadium made all of his extra preparation worth it.
He double checked my layers, my gloves my hat. He made sure we had a ride there and back to avoid traffic. When walking by parking lots he put himself between me and oncoming cars so I wouldn’t be the one to be hit if someone wasn’t paying attention. In a crowd he grabbed my hand and took charge making sure we stayed together, showing no signs of anxiety being around so many people.
Every big play made on the field brought his eyes to me, he didn’t miss a moment of my excitement. A blocked field goal for a touchdown, me; interception, me; Brady scrambling for a first down, me. Was I warm enough? Had I had enough hot chocolate? Did I want to take a picture? Everything in his power to make my day perfect he did.
No he didn’t feel guilty. He didn’t think he owed me something because I got such amazing tickets from work. We hadn’t fought over something stupid that he was trying to make up for he was just happy to see me happy.
He is not the same man I married and he isn’t cured in fact, it is taking him a few days to recover from using all of that strength and self-control on Sunday. For an afternoon I came first. Not to the kids, not to my cat, not at work but when it was just me and my husband it wasn’t about TBIs or PTSD or anything other than the two of us enjoying an afternoon of football and being together.
Last year I didn’t know if he even liked me, this year there is no question that he loves me, really truly lay-him-self-down-in-traffic-for-me loves me. How about that?