On this day in 2011, I donned a {beautiful, if I do say so myself} white dress, fitted my blue toenails into a pair of white flip flops, had my hair done, and got ready to face the day.
My wedding day.
Our wedding day.
And now ten years have passed.
It’s hard to believe, actually. Time flies when you’re having fun, as they say.
And apparently it also flies when you are sleep-deprived.
Thankfully, we’ve had a lot of both, for sleep-deprivation and fun are not mutually exclusive, though sometimes it might feel that way.
In our first seven years of marriage, we had four wonderful children. We’ve had jobs lost, homes unwillingly sold. We’ve had our share of travel nightmares. We’ve had successes, too, like that time we won our house at an auction. Or that time you published a book.
Etcetera.
It’s hard to know what to say, really, about a decade lived well together. There is a sort of satisfaction in it that I didn’t expect.
I think I also have a firm grasp of the reality that we almost didn’t get here. Almost exactly two years ago, I was hovering over a hospital bed, staring at you, sleeping soundly comatose, hoping that our eighth anniversary wasn’t our last.
Thankfully, God saw fit to restore you to our family.
I can’t say that we learned from this to “live each day as if it were our last.” People say these sorts of things after near-misses like ours, but frankly I think it’d be exhausting to try and pull that off. I know what it is like to face what seems like a last day, and it is horrifying and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.
But what I wish for, hope for, pray for…dream of…is a live lived well.
Together.
With you.
I’d do it all over again, blue toenails and all.
Happy tenth anniversary, Darling.
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