“That’s what I’m Supposed To Do!”

These words have been haunting me the past couple of days.  They were said to me by Kevin Henderson, my wonderful boyfriend.  I was having a moment when I was feeling a little out of sorts about something, and I thanked him for working so hard to take care of our little family, (our six children, and our furry children).  He drives two hours down to Atlanta every morning, getting out of bed at 4:30 am and working sometimes 10 to 12 hours a day just to drive back those two hours (three if there’s traffic) to our little yellow cabin in the mountains, to eat dinner, say a few words of hello, relax a short time in front of the TV and then go to sleep and wake up six hours later to do the whole cycle again.

I can’t tell you how much I appreciated those words, when I said thank you.  “That’s what I’m supposed to do!” he replied.

Part of my life has been spent taking care of everyone else.  I’ve been the one working two jobs, doing things like washing cars or selling Tupperware on the side just to make ends meet, especially when it was just me and my three children.  I’ve not had a man tell me “That’s what I’m supposed to do,” because those who have come and gone in my life have thought about themselves first and foremost, and that was usually my line.

Kevin has been there through thick and thin, crazy fights, tears, cold nights, flat tires, broke down cars (which he can usually get running in short order) a time when neither one of us had a job and peanut butter sandwiches were looking pretty good, the beginning of Legends of Green Isle and its birth into the literary world,  my schooling (and he’s my biggest supporter along with my parents in Texas), the hopes and dreams of a fledging History professor, and the fear that I’ll make a “F.”  I don’t think I could ever do justice to the emotions I felt when he simply said “That’s what I’m suppose to do.”

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