To Doug…Love Sarah

 Did I remember to thank you?

By Sarah Fisk

 My husband Doug has never been known for remembering things.  We have been married for over 35 years and he still thinks I like mints (HE likes mints) and swears that I love roses (I love TULIPS).  Doug has even forgotten Valentine’s Day several times. And so I have learned to tell him when February 14^th is nearing and why he should care.  Last year on Valentine’s Day (he remembered because I circled the date on his calendar) we went out to dinner.  But first, we stopped at a Diamond Shamrock to fill the car with gasoline. 

In a cold drizzle, Doug got out of the car and started to fill the gas tank in my car, a chore he has done almost every week of our married life.  I sat inside the warm car, hungry, tired, and impatient.  But, as I watched him clean my windows with a squeegee, leaving no streaks, my attitude began to change.  I thought of all the things Doug does well.  When our children were growing up he managed a successful business, but never lost sight of his family.  He coached soccer teams, cheered at water polo matches, fished, camped, hunted, and played with our son and daughter. I can’t remember the last time I thanked him for always working so hard and caring about his family so much. 

As Doug moved to my side of the car to clean the window and side-mirror, he pressed his nose up against the glass and looked in at me with a wide-eyed stare to make me laugh.  Doug’s sense of humor always cheers me.  In fact, through the years we have been known to joke about broken windows, lost luggage, roof leaks, and lightning strikes…eventually.  I don’t think I have ever thanked him for making me laugh even at times when I wanted to cry. 

When Doug opened the car door on the driver’s side I thought that he was ready to go to the restaurant, but instead, he took out the floor mats and began to shake the dirt off.  I never glance down at my car mats because I know that if they are dirty, Doug will clean them. While I am a slob at heart, Doug loves order. He notices dents, dings, and scrapes even in a darkened garage. I think he has special radar to detect any flaw in his universe.  I am not particularly fond of his ability to see defects, but I have learned to live with his need for neat because he tolerates my pleasure in messy.  Have I ever thought to thank him for accepting me for who I am, no matter what I do? 

Next Doug started inspecting my car’s tires.  As he walked around the car, I thought back to the first time I saw him walking down the hallway in high school.  With his broad shoulders and quick smile he took my breath away, he still does. And he

still makes me feel special even with my graying hair and middle-aged spread.  I wonder when I last thanked him for being such a loving husband. I realized that instead of worrying about the once-a-year holidays he sometimes misses, that I should thank him for the special things he does every day.     

Finally Doug sat down behind the steering wheel and started the engine.  I glanced over at him and patted his arm, “Thanks for everything, Honey.”