My love is patient and kind, but most of all, it is fierce.
Here’s what is different about this love, makes it harder and sweeter and better than any other: Aaron is a part of me I would defend to the death. And because I can’t fight his cancer, and because life is not an episode of Game of Thrones, the closest thing I have to satisfy this urge is to rail against any perceived injustice I see him suffering.
A teenage girl texting while driving and drifting into our lane. A disappointing display from a friend. A waitress who gets his order wrong. An email from a family member who is known for emotional e-terrorism.
These aren’t just small facts of life, the typical examples of “life isn’t fair” that your father uses to toughen you up as a child. These are the blood-boiling, knuckle-cracking crimes against his perfect humanity that cannot go unanswered. These are the things I obsess over, things that raise my blood pressure and generally get my Irish up.
It’s not enough to love him. Not when I could be systematically ridding his life of all imperfections.
For me, this ferocity has doubled since Aaron’s seizure, tripled since his brain surgery, then quadrupled since my pregnancy.
The world can be cruel and thoughtless, but it is no match for the ire of this Tiger Wife.