After working over nine hours, my husband walked through the door covered in sheet rocking mud. His hands white in spots.
“Let’s go!” I said. “Eddaejia has an appointment.”
He had other ideas. “I’m not going.”
“I haven’t seen you all day,” I replied, “I missed you.”
I moved closer to him so I could look in his eyes, smile and give him a hug.
“Sometimes, the car is the only place to be quiet and alone,” I reminded. “I love being with you.”
It is true. I love being with my husband, at least most of the time. After decades and decades of marriage, we still like each other.
My daughter recently got engaged. She has been asking about our wedding that took place more than thirty years ago. While fielding questions and searching my memory for answers, I was reflecting about how very fortunate we are since our marriage came ten months after we met. Sometimes relationships never make it to long term. We can be counted among the lucky.