Happy anniversary to us

Moves, trips, gains, losses. It’s all just noise in the way of things that matter.

The times she does a favor for me matters not next to how she wrinkles her nose when she giggles. The times I’ve done something for her are inconsequential to the feeling of all of those times she’s fallen asleep in my arms.

You can count the big things. I would chart the shared knowing look, the now routine lunch, the still-excited feeling I get when our time apart has ended, sitting together and talking about absolutely nothing, all the many times she’s patiently sat with me while I thought through something out loud, the peaceful quiet when we read next to one another, the number of times a day I can think “This is one of those moments.” These things, and all of those like them, are what make people a pairing, anyway. I long ago learned to count the things that matter.

The only trouble is I lost count long ago. Or maybe I can’t count that high anyway. This is the number the calendar would tell you: 3,652 days married. Or, if you prefer a bigger number: 5,298 days together. The number of laughs and smiles and adventures is too high. The tally of memories, great hugs, silliness, seriousness and hot dates would stretch too far. The list of blessings is too extensive to know, probably, and would be deeply humbling to understand.

So let the number be this: ten years ago today, my uncle performed our wedding service. When he agreed to do the job he said, in as many words, that he would tie us in a knot we wouldn’t soon be able to unravel. It was his way to put me at ease, I’m sure. It did, and I still thank him for all of that. I’m grateful for that and all of the important parts that make up everything between then and now, and the simple thought of what still may come.

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