bram ... the now

this is me ... as i am

04 January 2009

22 December 2007
Bram was my husband

He was my world

He was my life, my sanity, my hope.
He was my ears. He was my voice. He was my shield against the world.
He was my comfort, my peace, my common sense.
He was every thing good and smart and creative and kind in my soul.

Bram's family doesn’t say “I love you” out loud to one another very often. They love each other very much and this is apparent to anyone who sees them together. They laugh and tease and make a lot of noise, and sometimes they pause and perhaps Aili would say to Bram, “You’re my brother.” And Bram would tell Aili, “You’re my sister.” Or Bram would say to Karen, “You’re my mum.” And she would smile back at him and say, “You’re my son.” Witnessing this, at first I was puzzled. But I soon came to realize this was their way of saying “I love you.”

Bram and I told each other “I love you” hundreds of times every day. We never parted without saying it. We never got off the phone without saying it. We said it during conversations, during meals, during moments of quiet. It was the last thing we said before going to sleep, after saying good night. It was the last thing we said to each other before the trouble started the night he died.

Bram and I didn’t give each other gifts on gift days. Whenever we saw something the other wanted, we got it for them and then couldn’t wait for the birthday, or Christmas, or Valentine’s, or anniversary, or whatever, and presented it as soon as possible. There was really no need for a special gift on gift days. But last Christmas, Bram gave me a bunch of coupons he had made. For example: This coupon entitles bearer to ‘Computer Discipline, allowing the husband to talk to the computer because it hates you.’ This coupon entitles bearer to ‘Have the husband reach high crap with the desired effect of having the item at a more attainable level.’ This coupon entitles bearer to ‘Fancy Schmancy Coffee from coffee joint of choice including a trip to town if not already there.’ The card the coupons came in (a father’s day card, because Bram loved giving inappropriate cards) said, “I love you more than I ever have before … and that’s a lot.” We could never touch each other enough, and we could never say I love you enough.

Sometimes Bram would tell me, “You’re my wife.” I knew what he meant, but I am not a Davidson by blood, so the correct response of “You’re my husband” seemed wrong to me—not mine, if you see what I mean. So Bram would say, “You’re my wife.” And I would reply, “And I adore you.” And he would say, “Yes, but do you love me?” And I would tell him, “There are no words to express how much I love you.” And he would say, “I know.”

I know I am not a beautiful woman, but Bram told me I was. He told me I was beautiful, smart, sexy. He told me I was the best costume designer and seamstress in the world. He told me I was the world’s best mom and a fantastic teacher. He told me the world wasn’t out to get me and I was worthy of being loved. He told me I was safe with him and he would never leave me. Never a very trusting type, always doubtful of my own worth, I believed every word he said. Because when Bram loved someone, they were better for it.

I loved Bram with all my heart, and I know he loved me with all of his.

Bram, you are my husband.

thought by Bram Davidson around 11:57 PM
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