Today is my 14th Wedding Anniversary.
On June 2, 2001, I got married in central West Virginia carrying blue cornflowers and yellow freesia in my wedding bouquet.
At the time, my husband and I were considered weird among our friends. We got engaged 9 months after meeting each other and married each other 18 months after we met. He was 29. I was 26. We both had grad school degrees. We didn't think there was anything weird about meeting the person you'd like to spend your life in our late 20s, but our friends did.
Marriage was already on its way out.
Today, so many of our really close friends have still never married in their early 40s. We are still the weird ones. (Then we became more Catholic, had lots of kids, moved back to West Virginia, and became really, really weird.)
A few of our really, close big family Catholic friends have gotten divorced.
I know now that finding the right fit in marriage is only 25% of the battle, the rest of the fight is to hold on to what we have no matter what life throws at us.
At age 40, I've seen our life throw us some really scary things.
Through it all, there is just this promise, sometimes one that seems as frail as a cornflower blossom, that we will survive this --together.
My love. Our love. Together for life.
If you asked me what I wanted on my wedding day on June 2, 2002, I would have given you an earful of plans. I wanted trips to London. I wanted a rental on Beacon Hill in Boston. I wanted a writing desk in a library for me, and a painting studio loft for him. I wanted no kids until after age 30, and even then, only 3.
Now, if you ask me what I want?
I want some cornflowers on my grave, and I want that image not to be ironic.
I want to take the love that I have for my husband and move it all the way down the playing field of life. There is nothing commonplace about an ordinary marriage these days.