This morning I read this beautiful piece, written by Malcolm Turnbull, to his wife, Lucy.
And I loved every line. It’s about real love; the kind that is enduring and somewhat rare. It’s about honest love; love that has grown, with people that have grown.
My favourite lines are these:
Yet, truthfully, we have been so lucky in so many ways. To meet the love of your life at all, let alone at such a young age, is such a blessing.
Over the years, we have grown together. It is almost impossible to imagine, let alone remember, what it was like not to be together, so much so that I have a much clearer sense of “Lucy and me” than I do of “me”.
I think I love this piece so much because it reminds me of my great love.
I met my husband when I was 17. He was 19. We have grown and evolved and changed but we did it together, teetering a fine line between growing and thriving personally and staying together, on the same path, walking beside each other but never for each other.
We did it, truthfully, without great effort. Without trying too hard. Or being too conscious of it.
I know people, couples, that have been wonderful but they met and then grew and then grew apart.
I’m not sure why we didn’t grow apart. Life has pulled us in different directions, it has sometimes even chewed one of us up and spat us out, somewhere far away, but together we have stayed.
I also don’t remember what it’s like to not be with Kaz. Even though we both have separate interests, and do things together, but often apart, I know he is always there, somewhere, metaphorically hovering around.
Perhaps that’s where our strength has been; being together whilst also remaining ourselves, pursuing our own interests, whilst supporting and fiercely defending each other.
Perhaps it’s because, before anything else, he is my best friend. And that has never waivered.
Perhaps we are lucky, but I don’t particularly believe in luck. Perhaps we have worked hard at it, but I know that hasn’t been the case, at least not most of the time. Or perhaps it’s because it just works, without too much effort, and maybe that’s the most important part.
On our wedding day
There are so many reasons as to why I love Kaz; because he is kind and caring. Because he is funny and witty. Because he is talented and modest. Because he is fair and clever.
But maybe, and maybe somewhat selfishly, I love him because of how he makes me feel and how he improves my life.
Because he makes me laugh, when I need it most. Because he finds humour, and beauty, in things I would sometimes ignore.
Because he pushes me to be better, when I think I am, or have done, enough.
Because he makes me happy.
Because when I was in labour with O, he was brave, when I needed to be brave, even though he was more frightened than me.
Because he teaches me things, all the time, probably without even knowing it.
Because he makes me more capable than I already am.
Because he is my greatest cheerleader.
Because he usually makes me see the other side of an argument, or issue, and even though I usually fight the point, or disagree, I am later thankful. Sometimes I even change my mind.
I don’t remember ever thinking, or believing, that we’d never end up together, forever. I never saw my life without him in it. I still don’t. It’s unimaginable.
I know what we have is special. Sometimes people tell us that, and it’s a nice reminder. Sometimes we recognise it ourselves. Sometimes, I see a film, or read a piece like I did this morning, and I think, ‘I have that. We have that.’
And it’s all kinds of wonderful.