The Man I Love Is Still Here

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His name is Maceo.
And I love him.
Not just because he’s my husband.
But because even in silence, even in stillness, he is everything.

ALS didn’t make him more worthy.
It didn’t make me stronger.
It just revealed what was already there:
a love that holds,
a faith that endures,
and a man whose presence speaks even when his arms no longer can.

Maceo is not what the world sees.
He is deeper. Louder in spirit. Fierce in soul.
He is laughter that still finds a way.
He is eyes that say “thank you” and “I love you” in the same glance.
He is the quiet rhythm in our home — and the reason I keep showing up.

This disease has taken so much from him.
But it hasn’t taken him.
Not the man who gave me my children.
Not the man who taught me what it means to be loved fully — flaws, fury, faith, and all.

Maceo loves Carolina basketball and the sound of water.
He loves his boys — the way they’ve grown into protectors without ever being told.
He loves music. He feels music.
And he loves me.
Still. Always. Boldly.

We built a life. Not a perfect one — but a real one.
And every day I fight for that life.
For him. For us.
I advocate, I write, I build, I believe — not just because I’m strong.
But because I refuse to let his story fade in the noise.

Maceo is the reason for The Sweet Between.
The reason I know rest is resistance.
The reason I believe caregiving is sacred.
The reason I still believe in miracles — even when they come slowly, quietly, or not at all.

I love him.
I love him beyond vows, beyond diagnoses, beyond words.

He is still here.
And so am I.

Together, we are building something beautiful.
And that? That is legacy.

With everything in me,
Maya