My husband is a private guy. I like that about him. There’s a LOT I like about him, actually. This week we’re celebrating our 26th anniversary, which is more than a little astonishing. On one hand, it seems like we just met. On the other, I feel like he’s always been part of my world.
I was digging around in old files, looking for something, when I found a–what? I suppose it’s a cross between a love letter and a journal. If I remember correctly (and I don’t always–he’ll tell me if I’m wrong) I didn’t give it to him right away. But somewhere along the way I did, and he saved it.
NO WAY will I reproduce it here.
But there are a few lines that particularly struck me. Apparently, my co-workers had cautioned me against calling him five days after we met, suggesting it would make me seem needy. I wrote, “Well, everyone needs someone, and I think it’s human nature to latch on to a promising candidate. As I’ve already said, I don’t know you that well, but I trust you already and I have high hopes for you.”
And isn’t that what that first flush of love is all about? Hope.
Now two and a half decades plus some have passed. Turns out I was wise to latch onto, trust, and hope in this man who has not only fulfilled my hopes, but my dreams as well.
That love letter/journal is a little embarrassing all these years later. I like to think my writing has improved and I’m tempted to take a red pen to some of the more flowery language. Then again, it reminds me of who I was all those years ago. And who my husband was at the beginning of US. So, when we wake and tell each other, “Happy Anniversary,” with a kiss and a smile, I’ll remember that giddy girl and be oh-so-grateful she ignored her co-workers.
Happy Anniversary, Babe.