I remember, about a month or so after we got married, Mark and I went out to dinner with friends who had been married for years. When dinner was over we headed to the car hand in hand and I asked Mark if he had noticed that they never held hands.
I never want that to be us, I told him. I was head-over-heals in love and wanted him to hold my hand every moment it was empty for the rest of our lives.
That was over five years ago and I think we held hands once this month, when we were by ourselves for twenty glorious minutes.
But today, and everyday, I love him just as much as I did that day in the car.
I love him the same and different and more.
Because when I do the laundry I find hair bows and pacifiers in pockets where golf tees used to be,
because he can turn “Every Rose Has Its Thorn” into a mean lullaby,
because his idea of a crazy Saturday night is laughing together as our kids streak through the house, diapers and pj’s flying,
and because, I have learned, there is a lot more to marriage than holding hands and gazing into each others eyes.
There is laughter and tears and laundry and grocery shopping and more-than-full-time jobs and sick kids at night and sleeping with little elbows in your ribs and more moments of wonderful and heartbreak than I can count, and it is all worth it.
Because there is someone at your side through it all, whether they can reach your hand or not.
I know that some day we will have empty hands to hold and I will find golf tees where hair bows once were and “Every Rose Has Its Thorn” will be reclaimed by its rightful owner and, I would imagine, there won’t be quite as much streaking on our Saturday nights, but I will love my husband the same and different and more,
all over again.
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