As you are probably aware, yesterday was my anniversary. Hubby and I have been married for 17 years. We dated for six years before getting married. So technically, we have been together for more than half of my life.
I like to joke with people about being married for so long. Sometimes I'll say, "Gee, if I would have killed him in the beginning, I'd be out of jail by now!"
But the reality is that I am lucky to have him.
What makes him so special? Well, the short list goes as follows:
* He is very kind and generous. I will always love that about him, even though I worry that someday he'll give away the deed to our house and I will have to live in a tent under a bridge.
* He loves my Mother. And on the days that I contemplate driving her over to Shady Pines, he won't let me.
* He works really hard but always makes time to help everybody else. Seriously. You need him to help you move? Fix your toilet? Build you a shed? Drop me a line. I'll let him know.
* He can fix ANYTHING.
* He will never say that something I cooked SUCKS....even when it tastes like ass.
* We act and think alike (scary). For example, today as we were taking a left at a stoplight and an ignorant masshole (asshole from Massachusetts) cut us off, we both flipped him the bird at the exact same time. That's called synchronization, people.
Honestly, I could go on and on. But, I'll save it for another day.
I will, however, leave you with a quick story.
My husband had an aunt, Mary, who was at our wedding back in 1992. I always had a soft spot for Mary and once every summer, I would take her out for lunch and for ice cream. She would always tell me the same stories about her kids and grand kids and I would listen intently because it was clear that she was thrilled to have a captive audience.
Every year, sometime during the week of our anniversary, Paul and I would receive an anniversary card from Mary. They always made me smile because it was just so nice to be remembered.
On Christmas Eve, Mary died at the age of 80.....and we were so very sad.
This Friday, as we were pulling up to our driveway after work, Paul stopped at the mailbox to retrieve the day's mail. He opened the box, grabbed the pile, and handed it to me in the passengers seat. Like I do everyday as he drives into the garage, I flipped through the junk mail, letters, and bills.
And then I came across a card. I recognized the handwriting immediately, let out a gasp, and said, "Oh my God."
Hubby asked, "What's the matter?"
My response, "Oh my God. It's a card from Mary."
And it was:
When I got into the house, I was so freaked out, that I called Paul's Mom to tell her about Mary's card. She told me that Mary's husband, Al, was mailing out the cards for Mary according to the dates she had written on her calendar (she'd signed and addressed the card the week before she died).
She also told me that Al is so, so sad.
And every time she speaks with him, he tells her that when he goes to bed at night, the only thing he prays for is that he will die in his sleep so he can be with Mary.
If you ask me, that is what you call true love.