Fifteen years ago, a twenty-five-year-old Shitzy and thirty-five-year-old Old Man River said "I do" in a pretty magical wedding.
And even though people say it, and even though it logically makes sense, at the time, I didn't really understand the power of fifteen years. I mean, that was more than half my life, and let's be honest: at twenty-five, even two years down the road seemed too far to consider, let alone understand the gravity of. However, now that we've done it, River, now that we've been in this marriage--this partnership--for fifteen years, I get what every person over the age of forty was so keen on telling us that day: buckle up, it's just getting started.
The wedding is the wrapping paper--the fun part, the jazzy part, the part where everyone sees it and smiles, because, goddamn, it's beautiful. The marriage? That's where you rip that paper to shreds and find out what this gift is made of. It sounds scary--like, without the wrapping paper, will the stuff beneath be as gorgeous or as exciting as that moment of anticipation? Will it be worth it?
Honestly? Yes. Even when it's hard. Even when it's not as gorgeous because life has that way of sneaking in and making certain that you understand hard things happen. Devastating things. Life-altering things. And still, that partnership you committed to at twenty-five and thirty-five lasts. Not because it's perfect (truly, I can't imagine a more ridiculous word) but because it is, in fact, worth it.
The gift for fifteen years of marriage is crystal. The purpose is to show clarity and beauty, but also the very fragile nature of a fifteen year relationship. I get that.
At five years, Old Man River and I had a baby, new jobs, and a new city. We had just endured the first of our lost pregnancies, and we were realizing that life wasn't always easy.
At ten years, we had another new city, new jobs, and a pretty awesome seven-year-old who made us smile every day. We had endured the loss of a second pregnancy, realized a triangle was the most amazing, enduring shape for a reason, and started building our lives around that reality.
At fifteen years, we've grown. Our city is the same, our jobs are the same, and our daughter . although a tween, still really likes us which makes it even easier to love her. The change at fifteen years comes when you realize you're staring odd things in the face for the next fifteen: her graduation from high school and college; retirement; the unknown of what to do now.
It's not the place or the jobs or the house that has changed for us at fifteen years. It's us, the people. And how lucky are we that we changed together?
Fifteen years is crystal--clarity, sparkle, a love that we can see the facets of. A love that has changed at each angle, but still shone brightly, a love that has endured loss and change and fear and still adapted and continued to thrive.
Old Man River, we are not perfect, but we are fun. We are in love and loving, and we are best friends. I sometimes hate when people say that, like we're adults, do we need BFFs? But the truth is, the rings we exchanged fifteen years ago were just as much friendship bracelets as they were symbols to honor and cherish. They were the reminder that you're the person I can be the most honest with, the person I trust the most, even when we're having a bad day, because I know you want to work through to the other side as much as I do.
I love you more than I did at twenty-five, Jan, if only because I know both of us better. Thank you for reading fiction with me and teaching me to mountain bike so we have a hobbies together (and for always waiting on those major switchbacks so I don't shoot right off the cliff); for making dinner so I don't have to; for loving Saturday morning coffee and quiet as much as I do; for being silly when we all need it, and stable an steady when Liv and I most decidedly are not. Thanks for seeing the chips and flaws in this marriage and understanding that they show our strengths, not our weaknesses.
Here's to another fifty--because you promised.
xoxo
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