Five hundred twenty-five thousand
Six hundred minutes,
Five hundred twenty-five thousand
Moments so dear.
Five hundred twenty-five thousand
Six hundred minutes
How do you measure, measure a year?
In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights
In cups of coffee
In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife?
("Seasons of Love" from the musical "Rent")
The evening of December 18, 1982 was cold and crisp in southern Colorado. On that night I promised to love and honor the young man who is my handsome husband, right there in front of God and everybody. By my estimate, tomorrow night will be the 10,220th dinner we've shared since we said our vows. He says I snagged his heart with my spaghetti, and I still happily fix a big pot for him as often as he wants it. We've experienced almost a quarter-million hours of married life, and I love that he still holds my hand and can make my heart go pitterpat with a glance and a smile.
Life has been exceedingly kind to us, handing us way more ups than downs, but we've weathered a few storms, always side by side. We've watched each other graduate from college and helped each other deepen our faith. We've attended weddings of friends and family, ushered nieces, nephews, our friends' children, and our own children into this world. We've welcomed a great-niece and a grandpuppy into our family. We've mourned the loss of our grandparents and my father-in-law, some of our aunts and uncles, and we've grieved with friends in their times of sorrow.
Since we said "we do", we've witnessed triumph and tragedy on the gridiron for 28 seasons, voted in 7 presidential elections, watched the economy go up and down, and up and down again. We've spent most of our life together raising three children, and we've proudly watched two of them graduate from high school, and one from college. If God grants us a little more time, we'll celebrate another college graduation in another year, and then the swimmer girl will walk the line with her BHS classmates the year after that. If my memory serves, we've housebroken 6 dogs and 4 cats, said goodbye to all of them except for Spice and Luci(fer). We've quietly flushed an untold number of fish when they went belly up in the aquarium. (Ssshhh, don't tell the boys. We let them think the backstroke was a special fish trick.)
So how does a person measure a lifetime with the love of their life? In years, months, weeks, days or minutes? Or in all the moments that made us throw back our heads and laugh, along with those that dropped us to our knees? Either way, as long as we're together, count me in for every minute and moment ahead.
Happy anniversary, baby - I still love you millions of bunches.
