|October 11th, 2003|
Had anyone told me, back in high school, that the boy with the gorgeous curly locks would one day be the father of my children, I'd have run away, laughing.
"I mean, yes, he's adorable," I might have said, "but marriage is not in my plans. Kids? No way. Besides, he drives me crazy and we argue too much."
A lifetime later, we are married with kids. He still drives me crazy and we still argue too much.
This man, who once drove his boxy Chevette so fast over back-country roads, I think I peed my pants a little, now sometimes steals my car and fills it up with gas and always leaves money in the cup holder so that I can fuel up with to-go coffee without scrambling for change.
This man, who can sometimes go days without speaking to me, will happily sing duets in the car, while in the back seat, our children laugh in delight, especially when he deliberately warbles off-key.
This man, whose temper is fierce, spent the week after my brother died soothing me with gentle words and tucking me into bed when I simply could not stand a moment longer.
On the anniversary of Andrew's passing, he knows to run a bath with bubbles and presses a tissue into my hand, even before my tears begin to fall. Of all the things he has said to me about the loss of my only sibling, this is the one that both breaks and soothes my heart the most:
"Your brother was mine for a little while too, Liz. I was proud of that. I loved him. Miss him, too."
We are not a perfect couple, despite 10 years of trying. Most of the time, we're not even close. Instead, we stagger through the lows and float through the highs and bring each other coffee in apology or affection, depending on the day.
We can have a conversation without words, make each other laugh with a single one, with a glance, with a memory.
He accepts - for the most part - that I will move the furniture around every month and I have resigned myself to planning for his habitual lateness and inability to notice that the toilet paper roll needs replacing.
Sometimes, he brings me a book for no reason, just because he can.
Sometimes, I shave my legs for no reason, just because I can.
And day by day, year by year, decade by decade we are muddling through.
We have just had the best summer of our marriage, despite the stress of preparing the house for sale and then the wrenching process of NOT moving.
We spent most of our evenings together on the porch, listening to our world settle into sleep and listening to each other. We spoke of things long-buried, we laughed at our own foolishness and shared hopeful dreams for our future.
One night, towards summer's end, I turned to my husband and said, simply: "This is the first year in a long time that on our anniversary, we'll have something to truly celebrate."
And this man, he got it. He knew it, too. And he took my hand and smiled. "I think you're right. It feels good, doesn't it?"
I snuggled closer and sighed. "Yep. Sure does."
|Sigh. Typical shot of the two of us...|
Happy 10th Anniversary, Husband!
I love you.