Gratitude Letter #5
To My Better Half
Dear Sruthi Ann,
I’ve written about you many times. But seldom to you; not in a meaningful way — not in a way that truly captures how proud of you and thankful for you I am. I’m afraid, even as I write this, that my words will fail me as I try to describe everything you mean to me. Ours is a complicated, intense, deep connection. Our relationship is different — much different — than my other friendships. Not better or worse, just different. I know you understand what that means. Maybe you’re not my best friend, and I’m not yours, but we’re something else — somewhere between sisters, soulmates, confidantes.
I’ve felt so protective of you since I met you. You’ve always seemed so innocent and chaste, a stark contrast to my crass, rough personality. However, you were also a beautiful compliment to me. Sweet and sour. Hot and cold. We’re like two sides of the same coin. Completely different, but also, one.
We’re something else — somewhere between sisters, soulmates, confidantes.
The thing is, even though I’ve always felt the need to protect you, shield you from the harsh realities of the world, soften any blow headed your way, you didn’t need that. In fact, you’re much stronger than I initially gave you credit for. And, in so many moments when I’ve tried to be strong for you, not wanting to show how hurt or sad or upset I was, you told me it was OK. You let me be hurt, or sad, or upset. I never wanted to cry in front of you. I felt like I had to stick to my role as the older and stoic one in our pair. But I let you know how I was struggling, and you comforted me. I wondered why I resisted being the soft one before.
And in the past year and a half, I’ve watched you exhibit strength that is beyond my comprehension. You amaze me with your grace, patience and ability to take things in stride. Even when life throws you a curve ball (or ten curve balls at once), you keep swinging. And you knock shit out of the park, every time. (These are baseball metaphors, Srutes. I barely get them either, it’s OK.)
You sent me a note on Whatsapp the other day, in response to me complaining that our selfies always include you doing something amazing (i.e. visiting the first Marie Stopes clinic) and mine are me doing lame shit like walking the dog. Again.
Your note said that you never do anything cool and I always doing cool things. I beg to differ. I think back now about all the truly amazing things you’ve done, just in the past seven months, and it makes my heart swell with pride. I imagine this is what parents must feel like when their child does something cool like say their first word or get elected as President of the United States. I am so freakin proud of you, Sruthi. How eloquently you spoke at Women Deliver, the work you do every day, the fact that you’re getting married in a few short months (!!). Thank you for being the sort of woman I am proud to know, to love, to call to a friend.
I am so thankful for every encouraging word you’ve ever spoken to me, every hug you’ve given me.
Today is your birthday, and I know you’d balk at the idea of me sending you a gift, because I’ve been too generous to you already, you’d say. But I couldn’t let this day pass without letting you know how grateful I am that this universe connected us in such a crazy way, and that our bond has withstood being separated by thousands of miles and a 13.5 hour time difference. I am so thankful for every encouraging word you’ve ever spoken to me, every hug you’ve given me. Hell, I’m even grateful that you worry so much about me (probably more than my own mother!), even though sometimes it stresses me the fuck out. (Only because I don’t want you to worry, don’t want to disappoint you.)
I am so thankful that you have such a wonderful partner in Vinay to spend the rest of your life with, and mostly, I am grateful that I have you to spend the rest of my life with, because you’re never escaping me. Once a co-fellow, always a co-fellow.
I love you.
