Said the poet, Robert Browning, and so does the antique clock that sits on JB's bedside table—because I had it engraved with that quote for my wedding gift to him.
I very seldom write about videos that I see on social media. I might leave a quick comment underneath it, or send it along to someone I think will be affected by it, or even pin it onto my own space.
But this one (thanks to my friend for finding it) left me weeping into my morning cup of coffee and has brought forward some of the thoughts that have been bouncing around in my mind lately.
This space—where I tell my stories—is also meant to be a journal of our family life. So that long after these days are behind us, we can go back and be reminded of who we were and how we saw one another.
I remember a shared moment on a ratty couch in a chaotic house filled with students. We were 19 and 20 years old, barely months into our relationship, and he said, As long as I end up in a chair on a porch with a beer in my hand and you beside me, I will be happy. What he was sharing with me then, and what I echoed in my own feelings for him at that time, was a non-poetic version of Robert Browning's sentiment.
I am watching it unfold with my own parents, and I know how lucky I am to have that experience.
Many times, my thoughts turn to how the busyness of raising children can put a valley of space between you and your partner and sometimes even build mountains that obscure the view of what you wanted and hoped for each other.
There is no other person in my life who will know me as I was, as I am, and as I hope I will be, more than my husband. The gift in growing old together, is knowing I have a person who really sees me, no matter how much I change in the eyes of the rest of the world—I want to hold that gift close.
If I can be beside him on a porch, with a beer, and shared stories to laugh (and yes, cry) over together, I will be so grateful. But I also want to feel that now, while we are standing side-by-side, knee-deep in life.
This was a lovely reminder.