Forty-four years ago this evening, we were married. Two young kids. It was the 1970s, I was in a homemade muslin cotton wedding dress, he in a powder blue tux. We look so young in the photos, with our 70s hair styles but with so much hope and love in our eyes.
I remember meeting with him before the ceremony and we walked together along the side of the church. We just wanted it over. We just wanted to begin our lives together. We now look back and laugh at our horrible honeymoon but even that did not make us question our complete commitment to each other.
When I got sick and it looked really bleak, it was clear this was going to be a very difficult time for Michael, as a caretaker as well as the horror of having to watch his wife die. He told our son that often people divorced over an illness as it was a lot of stress but Michael wanted our son to know that we were committed to the end. We had made that vow to each other forty-four years ago today and he meant every word of it. For better or for worse.
It was later that I realized that we were actually teaching our son what a committed marriage really was. It followed the years of our son referring to his parent's marriage as a good working relationship, a rare event in the lives of his co-workers and friends. Every year, our son phones us on our anniversary, no matter where he is in the world.
Today, there is a heatwave in the Bay Area, just as there was all those many years ago. The church was steaming as there was no air conditioning. Our plans to drive to Carmel are gone. Too hot. Instead, we are going to stay in our little, cooler town by the ocean's side and go out for a nice lunch before working in the garden. Actually, a perfect way to spend our anniversary together.
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