Journal for Christa— (December 31, 2009)
During the dark time, I’ve always thought it was Jay who saved me. I don’t know how he knew how. I don’t know what he thought the night I crumpled to the kitchen floor and sobbed. I don’t know how long I cried, but I do remember thinking something was terribly wrong with me. From that day on, after working nine and ten hour days, he came home and played with the kids, keeping them entertained while I made supper in the kitchen alone. Joy recalls those times of playing “Skin the Cat” as fun. I can’t imagine how tiring it was for Jay. I’ve often thought of how much I appreciated it; but through all these years, it hadn’t occurred to me how selfless it was of him.
People talk much of what it means for a man to be a leader in his home, but there’s always something that it seems to me they leave out, yet I don’t know exactly how to articulate it either. I do know it’s what Jay did and does in a quiet kind of way—
For Jay it’s often been assessing and making adjustments. It’s rarely talking—but doing. It’s being steadfast and reassuring—steady and dependable. It’s a pillar that steadies me.
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