Did you know?
That the gift for 17 years of marriage is furniture? Or, alternatively, shell roses, which I didn’t even know was a thing, and I’m pretty sure my better half would laugh himself into an asthma attack (and he doesn’t even HAVE asthma), if I got him one of those.
17 years is a long time to be married, I think. We’ve been through moves, buying and selling properties, buying and selling cars. We’ve been through long distance and living together. We’ve been through joy and grief. Birth and death. Love and loss.
Long term love does not look or feel the same as new love, falling in love. It’s more settled, more sure, more dependable. It’s not necessarily fireworks, it’s falling asleep holding hands. It’s knowing that someone has your back, that someone knows you all the way through, and loves you because of that, not in spite of it. It’s getting up at 3 am because someone’s sick, and then going to work because you have to. It’s laughter and silence. It’s deep and profound friendship and learning new things that surprise you. It’s being able to do things independently, knowing who’s waiting for you at home. It’s doing things together because it’s just more fun. It’s divide and conquor and taking a walk in the summer evening, holding hands. It’s sitting in silence, listening to the rain storm. It’s exchanging glances when your kid takes the stage, and rolling your eyes when her sister says something idiotic that you just know is going to piss her off.
It’s knowing that, just as you vowed in your marriage ceremony 17 years ago, that wherever you are together, there is your home.
