Which is why I love Luther. He is calm. Zen. Unshakeable. Even now, in the face of this ugly terminal illness, he's funny, loving, horny and still calm. I have fits of rage and sadness and complete fright and I wonder how we'll ever make out again with this thing taking him away from me and he puts the weight of all that on his ever-degenerating shoulders, allowing me to vomit out the negativity.
He's like my superman. That's not really right. He never changes from mild-mannered computer geek to a superhero. He's consistent. He's mild-mannered in the most excellent superhero way.
When I met him, I was hoping for a cave-man, drag me by the hair, boss me around kind of a guy. I thought I needed someone who'd make me do stuff because I wasn't getting stuff done. I realized, while this is a hot image, his mellow attitude centers me.
At times, I rail against the zen. I try to create a little drama. I think my past relationships have been filled with drama and uncertainty. Now, with Luther, things are for sure. He's here. When I call from work to tell him I'm on my way home, his reply is always "I'll be here!"
He has his moments, sure. Like when I decide at 10 on a Sunday night to rearrange the living room furniture. He lets me do my thing and then flees to the basement man cave where I'm sure he's wondering what the fuck? But he took that in stride. I couldn't finish the chaotic rearranging. He let it go on another day and then asked if I needed help. He didn't yell at me for the mess or give me the disapproving dad eyes or actually say what the fuck? Instead, he helped me move a chair in to the exact right spot, sat down in it and said he liked the new look.
In the face of knowing I'll be a caretaker for someone I've known less than two years, I get pissed off. I think, why me? I've waited a million years to find someone to spend my twilight years and now he's going to die. My turn to say what the fuck?
But I look at Luther and he has the best sparkly blue eyes and for god's sake, they're still all twinkly and happy and he's always smiling, especially when I'm having a fit over the fact I tried to rearrange furniture as a way to avoid cleaning the house or thinking about his terminal illness -- he's putting his arms around me, letting me rest my head on his chest when he's the one with this illness.
Luther is a really, really good man and I am a lucky, lucky girl.