Seven years

My friend, T, took that picture in the very first minute of this year. I look at it a lot, because I see pure love in it. When I get scared that I’m not the perfect husband, I look at the picture and see that, even after being together for ten-plus years and being married for seven, my wife and I are still like twenty-somethings with no need for anything but each other.

I have a recurring dream that reminds me how fragile love can be. It shakes me awake and leaves me staring at the ceiling and afraid to go back to sleep. It’s only after I am awake for a few minutes that I feel better. That’s because my wife is always there. If I’m home, she’s there making a good life for our kid. If I’m on the road, she’s on the other end of the phone with a good story or a pep talk.

She is going to wake up soon. The kid–now sleeping in his first Big Boy Bed–will call out and my wife will get up like she does most every morning. This day, the seventh anniversary of our marriage, will be full of stress, preparation, and packing for a very tough time.

Regardless, I know at the end of this day, the end of this summer, and from there on out, we’ll still be able to kiss each other like we did in the picture.

Happy anniversary, baby.