My wife and I are settled on the couch watching Milk. Well, my wife is standing in front of the TV as if it were a football game. This is a special, and emotionally charged movie for us. We live in San Francisco, she grew up oppressively Catholic.
I can see the hairs stand up on her arms at certain pivotal moments. Every time there is a scene with city hall, she looks over at me, urging me to acknowledge with her, that we were married there just over a year ago. The judge who married us (also a lesbian), insisted that we take a photo next to the bust of Harvey Milk. It was the happiest day of my life.
So, flipping through papers, I found a letter she wrote me nearly a year ago. I remember finding it folded up and placed delicately on the keyboard at my computer.
I am so glad I found this. It is hands down, my favorite piece by L. C. Baker
I want to share this, not to boast about my talented wife, (although yes, that) but to share with whomever, the depth of feeling we have in our marriage. Women can, and do love each other this much. Men love other men this much. Lauren and I are partners, soul mates, and wives. It is real, just like any other marriage. It means something.
I am extremely lucky to have this as my day to day (she just wrote this, randomly, I don’t recall anything happening in particular to cause such a outpouring). I am so fortunate to be with someone who not only loves me more than I could ever imagine, but someone who can also express it in a way that resonates so strongly with me, and is so beautiful.
It’s been a strange week, month, and an intense year. I really couldn’t let something so true, and really, and beautiful go unnoticed.
My wife, folks…
(L. C. Baker)