"Your husband is the nicest guy I have ever met", "You are so lucky, you have the nicest husband in the world". These are only two of the sentiments I have been told since marrying my husband. I have heard many, many more. I would not disagree with any of those sentiments, it is just, well, and I live with him. Him, being my thirty eight year old husband, who at times, I would swear, is only nineteen.

He is the good one I am the evil one. That is how I feel a lot of the time. I am the hard ass that appears domineering at times, or a control freak. I am sure that my perceptions of myself are a little harsh, yet nine times out of ten, that is how I feel. You see, my husband at the young age of nineteen suffered a TBI, otherwise known as a Traumatic Brain Injury. He was in a horrible car accident that left him in a coma for weeks. He awoke to his new world with an injury to his brain that would require months of rehabilitation.

I met my husband at a party seven years ago. He was charming, handsome (gorgeous really), 6" 3, sweet, kind, funny. You name it that is what he was. The bluest eyes, the darkest hair, and single. We hit it off immediately, dancing to his cousin's band, laughing all night and into the next day. We were inseparable from the moment we met. I didn't know he had a brain injury, I didn't know that I would become his caretaker, I didn't know that my life would certainly become a wild ride of confusion, complacency and frustration. I do not mean to sound so negative; I also have had times of fun, adventure, love, and learning. After all, he is the nicest guy a girl could meet. He spoils me, agrees with me (come on, who wouldn't love that), rubs my back, makes dinner, works hard, loves to travel, plays the guitar, does the laundry, works on the car, did I mention agrees with me? I know, I know, dream husband you are thinking. Most of the time, I would agree.

I know there is no such thing as a "perfect" marriage. I grew up with a mother who married three times. Divorced three times. I know that the silly feeling in the pit of your stomach caused by being in love changes over the years. I know love is supposed to mature, we are supposed to mature. Yet, when one spouse has a TBI, maturity comes into question.

When I got married, my husband did not drive. Was scared to actually. Who could blame him? He miraculously survived an accident that had him dead on the ER gurney. The fact that he was not killed and survived to the extent that he has, is a miracle. Therefore, I became the schedule maker, the calendar watcher. I became responsible for getting both of us wherever we needed to go. I did not mind, I got used to it. I have gotten good at "getting used to it", whatever the "it" might be. Over time, I have become not only the schedule maker, but also the bill payer, the one who has to make most major decisions, the one who has to deal with everything that requires thoughtful deliberation. Moreover, sometimes, sometimes it drives me crazy.

In most relationships, there are two people who share these types of decisions. In my relationship, I carry that burden. Therefore, I appear as a control freak. To my friends, our families, acquaintances, and employers. It is not a title I relish. In fact, it is the opposite. I would love for it to be 50/50, but it never will be. My husband since his injury has come a long way. From what I have been told by my in-laws, he has made remarkable progress. Admittedly, I have seen progress since I have met him. He takes more responsibility now than he did seven years ago. It has just been such a slow process and at times, most frustrating for me.

When I decided to marry him, I thought I knew what I was getting into. I figured I had survived so much thus far, how hard could this be. Now, seven years later, battle scarred and weary at times, I cannot believe how naive I was back then. Traumatic Brain Injury remains a complex mystery to me. I have done my research, talked to specialists, read the books. Yet, I still am just as perplexed as if I had never asked my first question. My mother in-law says that her son could yes you to death. Her remarks and I whole-heartedly agree. I used to think, wow, he is so cool about stuff. So patient. Whereas I want my answers yesterday. Two complete opposites that should complement each other. At times, we do. Other times, I think to myself, why can't he once just disagree with me? Why can't he make a freaking decision? Why doesn't he ask questions? Doesn't he care? Then I have to remind myself, this is who he is. It is not going to change today or tomorrow.

His brain injury has manifested itself it many ways. My husband has a remarkable ability to remember the strangest of trivia. He can tell you the children's names of members of just about every band out there. He can recite word for word every line of every movie he has ever seen. Yet, he could not tell you what he and his dad talked about that morning. His short-term memory is screwy. It is not that he lost all short-term memory. It is just very selective. He is the calmest person on this planet. I, on the other hand, am not. Plain and simple, I am always ruminating over something. I have a checklist in my brain, and if there is no check, it will repeatedly swirl around until I have an answer. His ability to remain calm at all times can be unnerving. I am aware that this is an admirable personality trait yet it is all the time. There is no push and pull between the two of us. I am sure most people would love to have such a patient husband. It wears on me. I suppose I sound selfish. I am the evil one after all. I have had other women tell me they would kill to have such a great husband. That only serves to reinforce my doubts of my character. How can I complain? He is wonderful. His brain injury pisses me off. I have to remind myself that his inabilities to do certain things or to behave a certain way are because of it.

His progress over the years has come at a slow rate but they have come. He drives now. The curse of that is that it terrifies me. I worry about him out there. Is his reaction time going to prevent future accidents? Our state's local Department of Motor Vehicles thinks so, but it does not ease my worry. He owns his own business, although I do all the financial stuff. He is successful and likes what he does.

Over the last year, we have been separated, although still living together. We are best friends so that makes it easy. My frustrations over the years have built up. I am working on that. We talk about everything, and most of the time he remembers. I do not want my marriage to end and neither does he. Therefore, we are working it out. He has taught me that the end of the world is not going to happen today, even if I feel like it is. He has taught me how to be patient, although I have not got it mastered as he does. He is the most calming presence in my life, and the most frustrating. He puts up with me, which is not the easiest of tasks.

Traumatic Brain Injury is just that, traumatic. It is traumatic most certainly for the one who is injured. It is, if not equally, traumatic for family members. Many dreams are lost for mothers and fathers of children who suffer this type of injury. Dreams have to change and adjust for those who love the sufferer's of a TBI. I have adapted my dreams I still have them. Most of them include my husband and his support. One of them is to find a way to thank him for the world he has given me. Even with its frustration, complacency, and confusion. After all, he is a walking, talking miracle.