Cheers to 42 Years

I stood outside the church trying to keep my wedding dress out of the way as my cousin fed me a spoonful of Pepto-Bismol. We were hoping the medicine would help quell my nervous stomach, knowing any errant drips of pink would be hard to miss splashed against the stark white of my dress.

The organ music spewed out of the open church doors letting in the cold February air and my soon-to-be husband stood inside, waiting at the altar. I wasn’t nervous because I didn’t want to get married, in fact, that was all I wanted. What I didn’t want was all the pomp and circumstance that went along with a wedding. I didn’t care about the color scheme, the flowers, the seating charts, or the special dances. I would have rather been married on home plate of a softball field as we had joked about, but that’s a no-go during winter in the Northeast.

As it turns out, I didn’t pass out or throw up during the wedding ceremony, but just barely. We made it through that day, and through the next 42 years, side by side. We never could have imagined how our lives would unfold on that long ago day. The highs and lows, the joy and tragedy that lay ahead.

The odds were certainly stacked against us. We’d started dating in the fall, married in the winter and had our first baby in the summer. We planned our wedding in just six weeks. The reception was at the VFW, less than a mile down the road from the church. Food was brought by family and friends, spray-painted beer bottles held silk flowers for centerpieces and a one-man band supplied the music. People said we’d never make it. They didn’t say that directly to us, but the comments eventually reached our ears. We just ignored them. Perhaps we were an unlikely match, but love ignores such details.

We moved from our parent’s homes to a tiny mobile home we rented. We quickly learned how to shop for groceries, cook meals, and keep a household running. I’d followed my mother around with a notebook and pen jotting down recipes in the days before our wedding. I’d never had the responsibility of planning and cooking all meals and I didn’t want to screw it up. I still have those pages I’d jotted down back then, tucked away in my cookbook. They’re tattered and worn, and even though I no longer need them, I’ll never be able to throw them away.

Together we have navigated through whatever life has thrown at us. And man, has it thrown us some curveballs. But we have stood side by side, a united front, solid and unmoving as the tides of life (and sometimes near tsunamis) have washed over us. Somehow we’ve made it through mostly unscathed, stronger than ever. And don’t get me wrong, it certainly hasn’t been a cake walk, in fact some days have been more like walking over hot coals in bare feet, but we always make it to the other side.

So, this month’s blog post is dedicated to my husband and our marriage. Forty-two years together and I still laugh at his jokes, even when I don’t want to. Dammit, it’s hard to be mad when someone says something hysterical. He’s my rock, my safe harbor, and the other half of my heart. I simply couldn’t do this life without him and I look forward to having him by my side for whatever life throws at us in the years ahead. Happy Anniversary, my love.