Saturday, 6 October 2012

Davey Gravy.

I always used to get mad when he brought home broken things.

He does it all the time ... chairs, cabinets, light fittings, an old table from the tip. Drove me nuts, until I realised that he brought me home. I used to be pretty broken.


He is the hottest, most compassionate, capable, and generous man I have ever known. I've leant on him heavily these past few months, and he just digs deep every time.


Whatever we go through in our relationship, we just keep coming back to each other. Stronger and wiser. I only ever thought I could feel this kind of love for my children, but I feel it for him, too.

I don't know how I can show him what he means to me, how much I love him and how he's made me be a better person.

What an absolute pile of soppy shit!

But it's true ..... I adore this arsehole so much. He's my arsehole, and I am his, forever. We have deepened and grown together so much, this year.

He was the only man who ever broke through to my heart. No mean feat.


We drive past the boys home on Parramatta Road, and I ask him to tell me stories about what it was like there. He's a walking miracle. It's a wonder he's still alive.



When we first met, he thought nobody would want to be with him because he already had children. I told him it didn't matter, I loved kids and I love him.

He's the single most grounding influence in my life. He's so strong, so clever and manly and old-school cool. To this day, he teaches me how to look after myself properly. He made me get out of the car on the day of Jim's funeral when I felt the worst panic of my life and didn't think I could get out of the car.

"Hon, I KNOW you can do this."

He was right.

Told me one of the best things I taught him is to stop caring so much about what other people think.

He brought home a whole cabinet, just for my plates. We hung our masks next to each other.


Mine is from Africa and his is from Mexico and they both have shadows and they both don't care.



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