That's 8760 mornings of waking up next to this guy, assuming all kinds of arithmetic and historical nonsense. But the number has to be in there somewhere.
We've raised two fabulous children who will go out and meet the world on their terms. We've buried our fathers. We've planted gardens, buried pet goldfish in decorated boxes, taken out the trash, and gone to the grocery store. The sublime, the tragic, the mundane, and the ridiculous are all here.
Yet, marriage is a political arrangement that merits a political critique. I wish one model of life-long relationship didn't enjoy privileged status -and I think it behooves those of us in that privileged status to point out that there are options. And to defend those options. But it's also an ethical undertaking, a spiritual enterprise. And some days, you just do it because you said you would.
I try to remember -and today I explicitly remember- to have a grateful heart that I am married, and to this guy in particular. Marrying me was no undertaking for a faint-hearted person, I assure you. The long-suffering spouse deserves all kinds of credit for getting through the days and years with me.
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