Just after we got married 35 years ago, I held you and wiped tears from your cheeks when you woke up from nightmares—remnants of a decade of horrific physical, emotional, and sexual abuse perpetrated by your family. I told you it would be okay, that you’d survived, and that the pain would eventually subside. I told you that you’d do incredible things, but I don’t think you quite believed me.
When your school became shorthand for gun violence 26 years ago— “Columbine”—I watched you rapidly transform from a mom into an activist, to a writer, to a board member. It was all so impressive. You seemed so strong, and I didn’t understand why you didn’t feel that way. You were doing incredible things.
When you were diagnosed with breast cancer 13 years ago, I held you again and wiped tears from your cheeks as you struggled with the fear and uncertainty. I told you it would be okay, that you’d survive, and that the pain would eventually subside. You felt weak, so I don’t think you quite believed me. But I saw your strength, your determination, and your zest to thrive.
And thrive is exactly what you did. You wrote a book. You directed a movie. You continued to be an activist, a mom, a wife.
In 2019, when you had both knees replaced, I wiped tears from your cheeks as you endured a brutal recovery. I told you it would be okay, that you’d heal, and that the pain would eventually subside. You were frustrated, so I don’t think you quite believed me. But sure enough, after a lot of rehab, you walked all over Europe—and still somehow routinely beat me at tennis.
I’ve seen you down, and I’ve seen you rise. You’ve survived nightmares and the insidious ripples of a childhood full of abuse. I could not be prouder of you. I once described you to someone as “a badass who’s been through some shit.” I stand by that 🙂
You often tell me I saved you. But what you don’t realize is that you saved me. You taught me empathy, patience, and how to be a better human. You taught me what love looks like. I’m a better version of myself because of you.
And now your memoir is almost out. Soon the world will see what I’ve seen for 35 years: not just a badass who’s been through some shit, but a woman brave enough to tell the truth about the most painful parts of her life—not to dwell, but to examine them, write about them, and transform them. You faced what so many run from. You didn’t just survive—you faced your trauma head-on and shaped it into something that might help someone else survive, too. That kind of courage leaves me in awe.
I told you you’d do incredible things. I think you might believe me now.
I love you, honey. Happy anniversary.
