The First Ten Years

Dear Paul,

I remember a lot of things about our wedding day fondly, but one of my favorites is that we both rushed our vows. It’s possible that the minister paused at an odd time, but I think it was because we were both so eager to get married. So we each said “I will” twice – once in the middle, and once again at the end. And it’s a nice little analogy for marriage, isn’t it? Saying “I will” once doesn’t cut it – we have to keep saying it.


You said today that we’ve seen a lot in ten years. We have. If I made a list of the major events in our last decade, a lot of them would be sad, or hard, or in one case, maybe even tragic. But my memories of those years are not primarily sad, or hard. When I remember the very worst day of my life – just about 6 1/2 years ago – I still cry every time. But even the memories of that awful day are colored brighter by the depth and the breadth of the love you have for your family.

You have made me laugh when I didn’t think anything would ever be funny again. You have made a four-hour blood titration test fun for a four-year-old boy. You have waited patiently through surgeries, taken care of messes I just couldn’t face, and cleaned up the kitchen when you couldn’t care less, just to make me happy. None of that was any fun, but you did it anyway.

I know you’ll be embarrassed by this, but I’m doing it anyway, because you shouldn’t be embarrassed. You should be proud. Of your consistency, and your generosity, and the way that you can love.

Thank you for loving us so well. Thank you for saying you will, still. I love you!


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