Loved

Seven years ago today, we vowed to love each other, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, until death do us part. I thought, then, that we'd go through poorer times, but I had no comprehension of the stress - panic - involved when jobs aren't available, there's still college to finish, and bills have to be paid.

We said, "in sickness," and I imagined us caring for each other in our 70s and 80s, but I didn't think about going through embarrassing infertility tests – and the emotional distress accompanying them - discovering endometriosis, and then recovering from surgery.

There were times I wondered if we'd make it together. If we'd make something of ourselves. So, if, seven years ago, I had looked down that aisle knowing then what I know now, would I still have walked?

With confidence.

I now laugh at the nervousness you can see in my face on our wedding video. Our lives haven't followed my expectations, yes. But I am loved. I know it every day. I am blessed. We have jobs and a home, even in this economy. If we never obtain parenthood, never acquire anything more that what we have right now, that’s ok. We have enough.

The man I married kisses our niece's head after she falls, cooks dinner and boasts about all the herbs he used from the garden, enjoys goofy dances, ocean vacations, and bragging about his financial genius.

I was 16 on our first date. 23 when we married. How could we have known, at those ages, how much we were meant for each other?

Or how happy we'd be 7 years later.

Thank you, God, for my husband. Happy Anniversary, hon. With love.