Forty years is a long time, especially, if you are living with me. Then, they’re like dog years. Somehow, Patty has put up with me all of these years. I don’t know how she has done it (You will have to ask her about that.) Anyway, tomorrow, we celebrate our fortieth anniversary.
Patty should get some kind of fabulous award for her faithfulness, endurance, patience, and forgiveness for dealing with the likes of me for so long. She won’t, but, she should. Instead, we are going to Florida for two weeks. The consistently warm weather on a Gulf beach will be a significant improvement over our still cool, rainy, and generally dicey weather here in the upper Midwest. Patty likes warmth.
Our wedding picture hangs in the hall right outside my office door. I am looking at it now. We were well-dressed children of the seventies at the ages of eighteen (Patty) and twenty (me).
We grew up together, and now we are growing old together.
There’s something about statement that just caused a flush of emotion surge through my body and my eyes got a little damp.
A long-term marriage like ours is not boring. It’s only boring if we let it get boring. It is a wonderful privilege built on a solid commitment of unconditional love. And that we have.
Two children, three grandchildren, three great grandchildren, nine cats and dogs, nine different homes, at least twenty-one different jobs between us, countless joys and heartaches, and crazy, unforeseeable twists and turns on the journey; and we survived, and thrived. So can you.