The bathtub is one of my happy places. That’s not true. The bathtub is my happy place.
At the end of long day, more often than not, I find myself soaking in water so hot I can hardly stand it. Letting the pressures of the day be washed away. Sitting in the quiet and reflecting. Sometimes with a book, more often with an audiobook or a podcast. It’s my “me time.”
I struggled with migraines for several years and sometimes a hot shower/bath was the only thing that helped. I’d use every bit of our hot water and still not be ready to get out. The dark, hot, quiet place provided much needed relief.
Vance liked to check in on me and would often come sit in the bathroom with me while I bathed. A little weird, maybe, but with four kids and only 1,500 square feet, we took our privacy where we could find it. He wanted to make sure I didn’t fall asleep and well…he liked to see me naked.
One such night he noticed I was out of hot water. Without me asking, he put two giant pots on the stove. A few minutes later he brought them to me, filling the tub with warmth. It became a thing. He’d come in, we’d talk, I’d get cold. He’d put a pot on the stove. I’d be warm again. He’d go to bed. I’d soak for another hour then join him.
I never really thought too much about it. It was just a thing he did. A way he showed his love for me. A way he saw what was important to me and met my need. It’s funny how it takes on so much more significance now that he’s gone. How I miss, but also how I am so much more grateful for, all the little, everyday acts of love.