Bundled in warmth against the July chill of San Francisco, my husband, Bernie strolls along a pier. He's the Best. After 31 years together, he still can make me roar with laughter -- no way will I go to lunch with him without wearing waterproof mascara for my eyelashes. My eyes squirt tears from the mirth; he has an altogether too-ready and surprising wit.
I love him.
When I put my head against his chest and hear his heart beating, Life makes sense again. When I awaken in the wee hours of the morning, with a middle-aged woman's fears for the future and guilt about the past, I hear him breathing, and all is well.
He is my heart, and without him, I would have no existence.