Brilliant … But Bouncy

I Love Him.

We are the proud owners of a new … toilet.

My parents recommended a good brand, so I hopped up and ordered one online. Two days later, we had two enormous boxes on our front porch.

My husband, Bill, is an executive. He is president of his company, and very bright. He’s also cool enough to own a motorcycle, even though I now beg him not to ride it. And he’s musically gifted and funny, too.

But I gained an entirely new level of respect for Bill on Tuesday.

He opened up those boxes – which I couldn’t even lift off the porch – and went right to work. He brought in a bunch of tools from the garage. He removed the old toilet, which Dylan helped him carry out to the curb. Shane carried out the styrofoam-filled boxes. Bill covered up the hole in the floor with a towel, then went to Home Depot. He came back with some bolts and stuff, and kept working.

I helped carry the new toilet for about four feet. That’s all I did.

Bill worked for hours. When the toilet was finally in, we discovered that it was longer than our other toilet – which meant that it hit the water line in the back. The new toilet was tilted two inches to the right side.

So Bill went back to work. He moved the water line. I don’t know how he did it, but after another hour, the new toilet was no longer crooked.

And it totally works, too. It flushes. It doesn’t leak. And it fills up again, right after it flushes. It will even help us save water!

I gained a whole new respect for Bill on Tuesday.

Meanwhile, across the country, my cousin was experiencing the tragedy of watching her husband as he lost his battle with cancer.

She won’t have the opportunity now to watch him put in a new toilet – although he could have replaced every toilet in the house, and maybe rerouted the water line from the driveway. He was awesome like that. He was not only kind; he could do anything.

But her husband won’t go off to Home Depot anymore. He won’t be tinkering with his cars in the garage. He won’t be laughing at her jokes – or using his own beautifully dry wit.

They won’t be together anymore.

And when I went to tell Bill that my cousin’s husband was finally at peace, I saw my husband sprawled on the floor with small parts scattered all around him, making odd noises for no apparent reason, tugging at something behind a ceramic bowl.

I saw a man who works harder than anyone I know, just so he can make everyone happy.

And as sad as I am about my cousin’s – and our entire family’s – loss, maybe this otherwise pointless death can serve as a reminder – at least for me – of something I should remember every, single, valuable, glorious day.

I love him.

And I need to make sure he knows that.