Today is Paul’s and my tenth wedding anniversary, and in honor of the occasion, I’m going to haul some adjectives out of their well-deserved slumber and put them to work trying to give even a hint of how I feel about Paul .
The usual adjectival suspects apply to him, of course: smart, kind, strong, funny, and handsome. But I will also conscript some adjectives that (to judge by the complaints of fellow-women) aren’t always as readily applied to the husbands of this world: Hardworking, resourceful, gentle, creative, innovative, thoughtful, well-read, selfless, tolerant, and generous. Also, since this is a special occasion, I’ll put a couple of well-worn but highly relevant metaphors to work: Paul is a port in every storm, a steady rock when waves of anger, sorrow, and self-loathing threaten to drown me.
I waited a long time to find Paul, and I’d fallen into the black pit of despair before he came to pull me out. His presence in my life was totally worth the wait, though. I float on seas of gratitude when I think of our first decade together, and I’m equally floaty when I anticipate what (I hope) will be our next few decades.
Tonight, as we were eating our anniversary pizza on the deck, Paul asked me if I’d thought we would make it this long when we first got married. I was a little startled by the question; OF COURSE I had. But it seemed strange to calculate our marriage in terms of years.
“I can barely remember life before you,” I told him. “It seems to me that we’ve been married forever. These aren’t years; this is eternity.”
I reconsidered my words, then added. “In the GOOD sense of eternity, I mean.”
I didn’t need to bother clarifying, though; Paul just chuckled and continued eating his pizza. He understood.
That’s why I love him.