A Love Letter to My Neurotypical Wife

Angela, my precious wife, friend, partner, and soulmate,

I sit here, looking back over our life, together, having known you for literally half of my own lifetime. I am in awe.

I remember your head poking out of the window of that van, and your goofy, funny, amazing, beautiful smile, the day we met. You waved to me, as your ride was parking. I felt a kind of burst, in that moment. I knew I could do this. I knew I could meet you and your companion, and I would be able to make it work. You, like me, were a goofball nerd. Boy, was I right, and thank goodness too. You laughed so much, that night. I started loving your company, then.

You were so safe. You let me be me, and you understood, somehow. You got it, whatever it happened to be.

That was new, to me. I knew I wanted to be your friend. Thank you.

As I got to know you, I found, in you, a kindred spirit, but more than that, I found someone who could comfortably occupy the same space as me, mentally, intellectually, socially, and more. We didn’t just enjoy the same things, and all of that. You didn’t shy away from anything. You engaged everything. Your brilliance was this amazing thing, so perfectly described by that word. It was bright, and I could bask in it. You thought things that no one else did, and could follow me anywhere, in a conversation.

I don’t know if I can properly verbalize what that meant, to me.

When life changed, we kissed, in front of a sliding door, soaked with rain. I looked into your eyes, and I didn’t have to look away. I wanted to keep looking. I wish it was always like that, but I will always be so thankful that it was like that, on that day. I still have the clearest vision, in my head, of you laughing, splashing me, standing in that deep puddle, with your cuffs hiked up. It’s easy to see that memory in a cinematic way, with beautiful, orchestral music, or some slow Rock & Roll playing in the background.

That day, that kiss, that moment, changed my life, forever.

Six years ago, in July, we learned our life was going to change again. Jack came into our lives.

I never doubted your ability to be an amazing mom. I have never expected to have cause, and I never have had cause. You are the mother that every child deserves, and too few have. My awe, and pure joy, when I watch you and Jack, together, reading, playing, learning… I often do have cause to find a tissue. I love watching you two.

Thank you for being the mom that you are. Thank you for giving our son the gift of your love, care, and support. Thank you for taking the time to understand him, and for listening to my opinions, based on my own experiences, being autistic. Thank you for everything you have given to our family, and everything you do for us, and everything you’ve allowed yourself to be, to us.

People always say “to be young again”.

I would only take that if I could keep my wisdom. I have learned so much, and I would have given the world to have had this understanding when we were young.

I have placed so much on you. In many ways, no matter the cause, I have been horrible to you. I have apologized so many times. I know it wouldn’t be meaningless, and I’ve meant it every time, with my whole being. It’s just that that’s not the point of this.
The point of this is to thank you.

You have stuck with me through all of this, giving me the opportunity to learn how to be a better husband, father, friend, and person. You have given me a world of patience, as I learned to understand you, myself, the world, society, and more. Thank you.

You were the one who first suggested I am autistic. I was a stubborn fool, and didn’t believe it. You made me see it. You took the time, the care, and the effort to make me see it. Thank you.

You tolerated me being angry and upset at the things I couldn’t understand, didn’t understand, and, in a few cases, I now realize, wouldn’t understand. Thank you.

You had the wisdom to realize that none of it was malicious, selfish, or inconsiderate. At least, not intentionally. Thank you.

You have allowed me to grow, and develop into who I am, instead of making me conform into something I can’t be. Thank you.

You let me have this time, spent in your company, as my wife, partner, and friend. You let me in, and allowed me to know you, completely, intimately, fully, and without restraint. The most precious of gifts. The most valued treasure in the trove of our life, to my mind. Thank you.

You’ve done all of this, while dealing with being legally blind, hearing impaired, and while suffering from depression, anxiety, and two chronic pain disorders. Thank you, from the inner most core of my being.

Now, it’s time for me to help you to bear the burden you’ve been having to carry.

I have harmed our marriage, in the past, whether I meant to, or not. I have harmed you, whether I meant to, or not. I cannot ever tell you the hurt that knowing that inflicts on my heart and soul.

There aren’t words.

I can’t tell you the fear I feel, not knowing what is to come.

Know that it seems beyond tolerance, and comprehension, but that I will learn to make it a part of me, and I will be OK.

You are worth every effort, every feeling, every thought, and every rule I set for myself. You are worth more than I can give, without giving you my life, so we must make due with these things that I can do.

It is time, though, that I take my part of this burden from you. “Come Mr. Frodo. I can’t carry it for you, but I can carry you.”

That’s pretty much spot-on. I want to give you the time, space, and opportunity to do whatever you need to do, so that you can heal, and we can make the most of this wonderful life, and give Jack the happiest home we can realistically manage.

There may have been reasons, and even good ones, that things went the way they did, both by choice, and not, but, whatever they are, I want you to have what you deserve, and I want to have the opportunity to help you to find it.

You, as the wife of an autistic husband, shine so brightly.

If fame was determined by merit, and achievement, you’d be known that deep cave, on the other side of the that big mountain, way over there, where the hermit with no signal lives. You deserve rest. You deserve to heal.

I love you. I love more than words. More than actions. I love you with my every breath, and my every thought. When my cells divide, the offspring love you twice as much.

I will share, with you, my words, and my actions, and hope you are able to glimpse the scale of the love they represent.

I love you so, so much!

Your loving husband, friend, partner, and soulmate,

David

Finding Cooper’s Voice is a safe, humorous, caring and honest place where you can celebrate the unique challenges of parenting a special needs child. Because you’re never alone in the struggles you face. And once you find your people, your allies, your village….all the challenges and struggles will seem just a little bit easier. Welcome to our journey. Follow us on Facebook, Instagram, and join our supporter page, Coop’s Troops, for an amazing community full of support and understanding.