Thursday, August 7, 2014

Ten Years

On this day ten years ago, I awoke in a downtown hotel room. My mother and sisters and soon-to-be-sister-in-law were with me, but I still managed to miss Brett, though we'd been apart for only one evening. I was nervous, jittery, peeking through the curtains at the cloudy sky and hoping it would not rain on our outdoor wedding.

The four of us, my sisters and I, left the hotel to wander the crest of the hill where the wedding would be. It was early, and quiet. I remember eating oatmeal, scooping it out of a paper cup very slowly, because it tasted that morning like warm glue. We roamed the hilltop in search of nail polish; I got my hair done. I probably drank some tea. And so the hours passed, skies growing bluer and bluer, as we readied for the day ahead.

The wedding began in the afternoon, in a tiny public garden nestled between grand mansions, adjacent to cobblestone streets and a sea wall with a marvelous view of the sound. Everything was bright and beautiful, flowers and green, not a trace of gray anywhere. And then the best part: seeing Brett again. My handsome groom, obviously as fluttery-feeling as I was, but happy. So, so, happy, the way he is. The way I am, with him.

We had been together for five years before that day. Which means that a large proportion of my life has been spent with him. And I am thankful everyday that he is here, thankful that we share the same vision of how to live, that we are still--and will always be--evolving together. That our personalities balance, that I can always rely on his easygoing optimism to counter my anxious tendencies. That we bring out the best in each other, always.

So on this day, we celebrate ten years of marriage. The skies are blue. And if it rains, we'll just huddle under an umbrella, together.

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