15 years later, it's a pretty decent scar. I ran my finger over it, and Hubby stopped his fantasy football stuff for a second. 'I definitely should have gotten stitches, huh?' I laughed and rolled my eyes.
My eyes were carried down to the big scar under his chin. For this one, the dumbass got into a car with a drunk guy to make a beer run (a car, I must add in here, that for some reason I had a random fit of psychic-ness and told him not to get into before I went home that night, even though that guy hadn't been around in weeks; did he listen to my random psychic episode? No...), which ended in said drunk guy passing out behind the wheel and taking out a light pole with the car. This scar was about 14 years old, and because the accident happened at like 5 in the morning, I'll never forget my phone (and by 'my phone' I mean the landline at my parents' house because I was still in high school) ringing at 6 in the morning, my mom barging into my room with "Telephone for you... at 6 in the morning. This is ridiculous, don't you think?" and me hearing, 'Hey, girl, how are you?' on the other end... one of my best friends at the time. 'Sleeping, that's how I am... It's 6 in the morning, you know that, right?' 'Yeah, I know. Look, something's happened. He's okay, but there's been an accident. You should probably get to the hospital.'
For that scar, I sat in the ER with him and picked glass out of his forehead (his chin had hit the dashboard, so no glass there). Nothing says true love like picking glass out of your loved one's head... seriously.
I got up off of the bed, and my eyes saw the big scar that runs down the top of Hubby's head. For this scar,
his tall ass stood up too quickly under a massive jet at work and split the top of his head wide open. We were separated at the time, but when he texted me to just give me a heads up of what had happened and that he would be at the hospital, I left work to go sit with him at the ER... and watch the doctor staple his head back together. That's one of the grossest things I've ever seen, by the way... grossest and most awesome. Even though we were separated, I still rushed to his side... just wish I would have known then what I know now, because we could have saved ourselves a few more years of heartache before getting back together. Sheesh.
I started thinking about my physical scars. I don't have too many, but of the few I do have, Hubby was there. For one, our huge dog Beefcake jumped up and scratched me on the arm about 12 years or so ago. You can still see the faint white scar below one of my tattoos, and Beefcake was our first pet as a couple.
Most moms bear the scars of pregnancy... stretchmarks. Hubby was there with me as each section of skin stretched beyond it's capacity and left me looking like a tiger. Because the marks were from me carrying each of his kids, they are scars he doesn't mind seeing.
That's when it hit me... Love means knowing scars. Yes, Hubby and I are high school sweethearts, so when you've known someone for that long, of course you'll know the stories behind their scars or were there when they happened. But, when we were separated and dating other people, those girls looked at his scars and wondered what happened; they weren't there when the scars were made. They didn't get the phone call to rush to the hospital. They didn't pick glass out of the open wounds. They had to be told the story instead of just knowing what happened.
I'm sure one of them made up some amazing story in her head of where she thought the scars came from; motorcycle accident, gang fight, shrapnel from a mortar that went off during an overseas tour, bungee jumping accident. Little did she know the stories involved dumbass-ery and alcohol... lots of alcohol (except the split at the top of his head at work; no alcohol there, just a really tall guy and a really short plane).
I climbed back into bed next to him, his eyes glued to the computer screen as he tried to figure out whether or not to draft Aaron Rodgers in the first round of his fantasy football leagues. I ran my fingers over each of his scars, smiled, and shared my epiphany with him...
Love means knowing scars. Knowing how they got there and when they happened, and loving the person regardless of their dumbass-ery, if that's the case. We laugh now about his scars, though back when they occurred they were no laughing matter. I'm thankful now that I know the stories of his scars and that we are together again so I'll never miss a future scar for as long as we live.
I mean, fingers crossed he won't have any more scars, of course. He is way past his dumbass stage now, so that's always a good thing. And I hope y'all know when I call him a 'dumbass' I mean 'the love of my life'. Those are synonyms, right?