11 Years

Today marks the completion of eleven years of marriage for Em and me. Depending on the day, eleven years has either passed by like the proverbial warm summer day of song or it has been a long rocky road fraught with pitfalls and traps that lead to not a little discomfort.

No one said it would be easy. In fact, her parents and my parents have been married a combined 97 years if my calculations are correct. Good examples of what can be accomplished with love, respect, trust and patience.

At 25 years, my parents renewed their vows in our home. The priest came, there was a small group of attendees. The priest asked my mother "What is one word that describes your marital success?"

"Perseverance," was the response. There was no delay. It was if she had an answer for that question before it was asked. Nay, before it was conceived.

"Perseverance" is a mantra I chant under my breath. "This too shall pass."

The point is, I think our ability to look at each other, shake our heads and let it go is a key to our longevity. A woman I used to work with defined love as, "Knowing exactly which buttons to push, and then not pushing them." Neither of us are especially easy people and we're awfully similar to each other. We are both German, hot tempered (well, I thought I was hot tempered until I met the likes of my dear wife), loud, magnanimous and like to be the center of attention.

It's a recipe for disaster. Or at least that was the popular prediction among our friends at the beginning. I admit, (a little embarrassingly), to a certain amount of schadenfreude that many of those who predicted our demise have since had irreverseable meltdowns of their own institutions. I know it's not nice, and I feel dirty, but it is what it is.

The hardest thing I have ever done was to offer forgiveness when I have been really honked-off. Emily really knows how to honk me off. And I her. Not only am I not good at saying I'm sorry, I'm not good at accepting an apology. Whoever said love means never having to say you're sorry was full of shit. Love means saying it and meaning it.

I am also not good at saying "you're welcome." I am quick with a thank-you, but I have a hard time accepting a compliment. That of course eliminates the compulsion to give compliments. Emily still does. Proving that perseverance is a key to success.

We are both completely and totally rock steady during a crisis. neither of us is prone to panic. There would be no screaming or running around in a storm or in a fire - we would just do what needed to be done. On the opposite side of that, we will snipe and gripe about the smallest insignificant things. In fact, I know there have been times I have actually hated, but for some reason, (and it isn't because I'm all googly and romantic because it's my anniversary - I'm actually in kind of a mood), I can't remember many of them. There are a couple doozies, but they have turned in to fun stories after the fact.

despite all these facts, we're a pretty good match in that neither of us are really capable of living with anyone else. But that sounds like resignation, and that's not right, either. I have grown comfortable with the fact that I cannot understand all that happens in life. I don't understand how we surpassed impossible odds to get and stay together. But when I try to imagine life differently, I can't. Maybe love means never having to say "I wish."

So here's to the last eleven, the next eleven and all the elevens we can manage to squeeze in after that. They won't all be good, they won't all be fun, but I can't wait to see what happens!

I love you, Em. Now, where do you want to go for dinner?