A Real, Honest-to-God Class Act.

An ode to Mr. Bill on his day of days

I wanted to take a minute to appreciate my husband here. Today is his 69th birthday. It’s also his last day of work forever. He is retiring from HEB after nearly 20 years. My husband does not like presents. He doesn’t like to be lauded or feted. That said, he is literally a man who has spent the bulk of his life taking care of other people.

His mother, Dorothy, lost her first husband in WWII. He was a tanker who died in battle in Italy. When she got married the second time, she was a little older, and at first, it didn’t seem like she could have children. Then his brother Charles arrived, and at 40 years old, Dorthy gave birth to Bill. Man, did she dote on those boys. She was an accomplished home chef who made two different meals, pancakes for Charles/waffles for Bill, every single morning. She painted model airplane kits and made embroidered shirts for her sons and all their friends. She painted paintings. She made things. She cared for her sons and husband in a way that, although I never knew her, I see reflected in Bill every time I see him taking care of people, which is every day and often. She cared, and from that caring came a man who has built his life on it.

He lived next door to his grandparents growing up and renovated their home on a break from college. He spent afternoons on the front porch listening to their stories, even though they were the age of what should have been his great-grandparents. Boy, did he love them. But man, not as much as he loved Dorothy. The love that emanates from my husband every time he breathes a word about her is a joy to witness. He cared for her when she died of breast cancer when he was in her twenties and sat with her when she took her last breath. He cared for his first wife and her son, Joby, after he was paralyzed in a freak swimming accident. He cared for his New York love, Elizabeth, when she was diagnosed with leukemia, and he cared for her with compassion, beauty, and grace until the day she died. He continued to care for Elizabeth’s mother, Ruby, on a pilgrimage to her apartment in New York every year to sit shiva and remember. He cared for his father, a father who he loved but who had a hard time showing that love back. Albert was a good man, but boy, oh, boy, was he hard to love. And all the way, kicking and screaming and bitching to his final hours, Bill cared for him. Bill was holding his hand when that old lovely bastard died at nearly 100, raising a Lone Star at his bedside in his honor. He cared for his sweet, dear aunt, managing her life and care until she passed away late into her 90s. He’s cared for his lifelong friend, George, and fed him so many tacos that you’d be disgusted at the number. He’s cared for his uncle with time by listening and sharing life, and done the same with friends miles and states apart. He’s cared for our son in ways that most fathers and sons never experience, with curiosity and interest and homemaking and genuine physical affection. August is a lucky man to have a father who shows that care in the kind of ways Bill does.

Lastly, he has cared for me. We came into each other's lives at the right time as friends, and years later, the moment I kissed him, I knew it was forever. He has cared for me in ways no one ever cared for me before. He teaches. And he listens. And he learns. He supports. He supported me in trying to take care of my mother. He’s dug physical trenches through poison ivy for my sister and found a place for her to feel safe. He’s driven moving trucks across the country again and again so that I could save worthless things that mean everything to me. He’s talked me off a thousand ledges and supported me in my worst moments. And he’s uplifted me emotionally and logistically in my finest.

Together, we have built a beautiful life that I am thankful for every single day. Bill is the best thing that ever happened to me, and I feel lucky and honored to know I’m not the only person who ever uttered those words.

In a world where worth is measured in a million ways, caring is one that matters most to Bill, and he is a virtuoso. A real, honest-to-God class act.

Happy birthday, my love. I never get enough of you, but I’m always satisfied.