Saturday, December 3, 4:45 PM. Brewer.

I need to find a way to love Amy better.

I feel like our relationship has been improving all fall. “Time heals all wounds.” Maybe not, but time has helped heal these wounds. Our talk during the hiking trip that one night began to staunch the bleeding. The crisis of losing everybody drew us together in a whole new way. Building a new home for ourselves, a new way of life, has given Amy and me shared purpose. We are shoulder to shoulder in life like we haven’t been in a long time, and our eyes are looking in the same direction. The wounds have been slowly closing.

And I thought I was investing in the relationship. I try to say nice things to her every day. I try to show her affection. I’ll kiss her, when she’ll let me, as I go out for morning chores. At suppertime I’ll ask how she’s doing. I’m ready to listen, but she usually doesn’t have much to say. We make love at least once every week or two, which is a big upgrade from a year ago. We’d do it more except that a lot of nights when we’re in the mood, we’re too worn out from the day to stay awake.

I think that’s the problem in a nutshell. We’re working together, but it’s still work. When we talk, it’s usually about the kids or the animals or the food. When I ask her how she’s doing, she’s cooking or we’re sitting at the table with all the kids around. We have wonderful “quality time” every night—all of us together, not just Amy and me.

She came to me at lunchtime today and asked if we could talk. I said, of course. She said, alone? So we went down to the river and sat on a fallen tree and I skipped rocks and we talked. She talked, mostly.

She said she was starting to believe in “us” again, but didn’t know if I could truly love her.

I stopped skipping rocks.

She said she felt like I was avoiding her. She’d felt like that for years. “It’s better now,” she said, “because at least now we’re in the same rooms together every day.” But that’s not the same as being truly together.

She says she feels like I love everybody. I take care of everybody. I serve everybody. I lead everybody. But she needs me to love her, to take care of her, to focus on her as my wife, sometimes, and not just a member of the family.

She reminded me how Trevor felt last week. I’d let Trevor get lost in the shuffle. She told me he needed my attention. Since then I’ve been working hard to give him special time. That’s been going great.

She said that’s how she feels. Lost in the shuffle. She said that’s how she’s felt for a long time, but she was scared to tell me. She’s afraid I’ll brush it off.

The look on her face broke my heart. Her eyes were fixed on mine, vulnerable and needy. Her shoulders were slumped, her hands were folded close to her body, close to the baby. I could tell she was sharing her soul with me. I felt sad to have brought her to that place, but thankful she gave me this chance.

I can’t believe the ways I fail, how blind I am to things.

I have to do better. I have to show Amy that I love her and make her see that’s never going to change.