Today marks the ninth anniversary of that glorious day that we can only just barely remember with the help of the wedding pictures. Where are those things, anyway? Hmmm... I guess I won't be remembering that day anytime soon.
Growing up, I moved a lot. I mean, a lot. Thirteen houses, eleven cities and three countries by the time I graduated highschool. When you move that much, the relationship you have with your family becomes that much stronger. Those are the only folks who really know where you're coming from. Regardless of how much my crazy sister drives me crazy, I know I can mention climbing trees to harvest coconuts or Mrs. Noyd or eating yellow wood sorrel when we pretended to run away from home, and she knows exactly what I'm talking about. No long story needed -- she gets it, because she experienced it, too.
Now, my life has changed such that my husband is the person with whom I have the most shared experiences that come in handy. I have friends that I've known longer than him, but a friendship is different than the spousal relationship. This man and I know more about each other than we'd probably care to admit (regardless of how often his mother tries to explain to me what he's like -- I think I get it). Reflecting on how long we've been together, I feel like I'm mere minutes from being one of those old ladies who puts her teeth in a glass before going to bed. And then I remember that one of the benefits of getting married *really* young is that we are here at the 9-year point in the prime of our life. Obviously, our relationship is different now than it was then, but we've gotten here together, and that is the stuff that other people can't really understand, regardless of how many stories one tells.
So, excuse me while I go get ready to go out and enjoy some time with the man who continue to makes me smile (most days) this far from that wedding day bliss that now seems silly and almost foolish. I have a very important date, and I can't be late.
The Life We Bury
1 week ago