A Love Letter To Joe From Becky

To celebrate Valentine's Day, we asked Patch readers to write a love letter to that special someone and let us deliver it. This is Becky's love letter to her husband, Joe:

Dear Joe,

I remember that you decided on our third date together that I was to be the woman you’d spend your life with. When I finally figured out that you were the one for me, it wasn’t the fireworks, “Eureka!” moment that we all think we should expect. It was something that just felt right. Natural.

Nobody ever told me that love should feel as comfortable as an old shoe. We’re taught to expect sparks! Passion! Excitement! Caught up in a fiery blaze of light!

When I think of those sparks, I think of the campfires that my family used to build. We camped in Cape May, NJ, every year when my sisters and I were growing up. An essential part of these camping trips was building a bonfire at our campsite, along with roasting marshmallows and singing old folk songs.

My sisters and I knew about the essential parts of the bonfire. We needed firestarters, kindling and some bigger sticks and logs. At a very early age, we learned that pine needles were fun to burn. We dropped them into the fire ring and watched them blaze up quickly, sparking and popping. So much light and noise as the fire consumed them! But then, just as quickly as the needles lit, they burnt out and we had to pile on more of them. Pine needles, while showy, didn’t work well as kindling and didn’t ignite the wood. Despite the beauty, they were poor fire material.

As the years went on, my parents discovered Duraflame logs. All that we did was light one end and watch it burn in pretty colors. One night in a state forest in Massachusetts, we lit the Duraflame log. Mom pulled out her guitar, but she only sang one chorus of “Where Have All The Flowers Gone” before a whisper of wind sighed through the campsite — followed quickly by fat drops of rain. More and more drops fell, faster and faster. My sisters and I took refuge in the tent from a heavy downpour.

We emerged into a dripping wet campsite. We looked sadly at the fire ring, expecting to see the Duraflame log sodden and dead. To our surprise, Mom poked it with a stick, and it burst back into life, burning as if the rain had never touched it.

I’ve been thinking that love is really more like those Duraflame logs. You said once that while we didn’t have fireworks, we had a nice slow burn going. True love isn’t like those sparkly pine needles, that blaze up in one glorious instant and disappear without a trace. Instead, a relationship should be like a Duraflame log. That log wasn’t glittery or glamorous, just a long, slow flame. The raindrops totally extinguished the pine needles, but they were unable to kill the Duraflame log.

It’s been nearly two years since we promised to love and cherish each other. And the rains have come. Illness, the stress of buying a home and the loss of a much-wanted pregnancy. Yet the flames still burn, slow and steady, sometimes low, but always ready to leap back into light and warmth.

Forever your flame,
Becky

—Rebecca Marzec-Young

See all Patch love letters here.