Come Sunday, it's seven years. It's not a remarkable amount of time, but it feels like forever and a moment. Sometimes I amuse myself by reading all the columns that tell you what to look for in a partner, all the secrets to being happily married, to surviving kids.
The thing is, no two marriages are alike. No two anythings are. Even identical twins, mirror genetic images, are their own people from the moment they draw their first breath. Hell, probably before. So trying to pretend that there are a set of rules easily followed that lead to happily-ever-afters seems disingenuous at best.
The truth is, I ignored all the advice I give to other people. He met my kid too soon, we got engaged too soon, we got married before we'd asked all the difficult questions. Don't stay together for the kids, they say, and yet honestly? I'm not sure if we hadn't gotten pregnant practically on our wedding night that we would have survived a really tumultuous and hard first year.
We are both stubborn and headstrong and difficult in our own ways, and we gritted our teeth through that year and the next, and the next. Truth be told, I'm not sure we hit our stride til we did the unthinkable: abandoning everything and everyone we knew, the entirety of our support system, to take a leap of faith and move in search of a better life.
We've fought hard for it, and each other, and in between all the hard moments and desperate moments I found this man who is my partner, who is my straight man, who is my best friend, who I love a million times more than the day I pledged to spend the rest of this life with, and whatever’s after. I am whole on my own. I was never in search of another half. But the pieces of me that were stretched thin and worn in places, the parts that were broken and bruised - they are whole today because he's next to me.
I am many things, but mostly I am grateful. For today, and the day before it, the hard days and the plain days and the beautiful days and the best days. I don't believe anyone enters into a union believing it's going to end, that it's a passing thing, that this person they have pledged their life and love to is not the one they will grow old with. It happens, though.
I don't know what tomorrow holds. I am not in a position to predict the future and the adventure is in the unraveling so I'd just as soon not. So I hold on tightly to today, and the series of todays that led us to this one, that wrote our shared history in blood and sweat and tears and smiles and a whole lot of baby crap. Literally. Today is another day that is ours, together. That's a great day.
The one piece of advice I ever held onto has been repeated to me more than once by a good friend of ours, the priest who married us. Reflecting on the unique challenges that come to being partners and parents, especially of young children, he said that sometimes the only thing to do is put your head down and keep going, keep plowing through, until you get to the other side. And on those days when it all feels like too much, that's what I do. It's worked, so far.
Seven years. Gratitude for every moment that brought us to this one, for the family we've built and the love we have for each other. We are so lucky. Tomorrow may be another story. So thank you for today, and todays past. For super seven.
Here’s looking at you, eight.
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