Originally published July 20, 2011 when we were celebrating nine years. This year marked ten with the promise of many more.
Nine years ago, he held my hand and grinned at me when Dan pronounced us man and wife. Tonight he’s guiding little hands to put together a puzzle.
Nine years ago, the buffet was spread all over the halls of Rosabelle Manor. Tonight we had leftovers and he fed Amelia bits of hamburger.
Nine years ago, he wore a coat and tails. Today he opted for a shirt he never wears because everything else needs ironing.
Nine years ago, I’d have told you that yellow roses and blue delphinium, white satin and floaty chiffon, beautiful music and softly lit candles made the perfect marriage. Now I know they make a lovely wedding, but what makes a marriage is so much more.
What makes a marriage is how many times he got up with a new baby girl (now baby boy!) in the middle of the night. It’s all the many times he’s bought me exactly what I wanted and gone without. It’s the times I’ve heard him singing lullabies or reading for the hundredth time that book about the lost duckling that Annabelle loves so much.
What makes a marriage is all the times he’s taken over when I just can’t handle this messy, chaotic, amazing life we have.
What makes a marriage is all the dark times in the past nine years he’s continued to love me, to forgive me, to desire me when I’m sure no one else could. He’s seen my worst, yet everyday he finds ways to tell me that I’m the best thing that ever happened to him.
He’s certainly the best thing that ever happened to me.
Lindsey P. Brackett 