The Absolute Love of My Life

I thwarted two wedding proposals before I met Rick. One would have ended in divorce either because he was cheating on me or I would finally get fed up with his bigoted, racist, redneck ways. I would probably still be married to the other, living a just-fine life that I’d fold myself into like blueberries in muffin mix, fitting into any form I was poured into, wondering what ingredient was missing in my life and feeling…blue.

But I was holding out for that perfect kind of love. That one you know in an instant is real and meant to be. When I met Rick, I felt that completeness pour over me like warm milk. He felt it too. A month after we started dating, we laid in each other’s arms and agreed we wanted to spend the rest of our lives together. Then Rick put on his Mr. Sensible hat and said we probably should date a year or so before we got engaged, just because. He had been through a previous engagement with the devil’s spawn that, had he actually married, would have ended in his imprisonment, he claims.

Twelve years ago today we were married. I could hardly stop kissing him that day and every day since. I love him and need him. Without him I’m worthless. I want to celebrate 100 anniversaries together, sitting side-by-side in the old-folks’ home with Truman spoon-feeding us chocolate cake and holding a glass of wine to our lips, because there had better be wine. I want us to smile at our son’s successes in life, and watch as his children’s children run rampant through the nursing home. And I will remember times like these, when we wondered if our son would ever sit still long enough to even get an education or learn to eat without getting food on his shirt. And then I will reach over and grab my husband’s warm hand, still basking in the glow of our lovely legacies, and we will slowly walk into the light together.

Happy anniversary, Sugar Bear.

(photo, JWJourney)