I honestly don’t remember a day when I wasn’t in love with you, David Paul. Some days I wake up and think
Oh my God, he is still here
because I can’t even imagine why you would stick around with me…and yet there you are.
And for twenty years, you have come back home to me every night. I can believe there were times that it didn’t seem like an entirely desirable option. But you came home anyway, poured yourself a bourbon and walked straight into the fire. Sometimes I think I may have even heard you whistling…
I guess this means we’re really stuck with each other. We’re actually going to make it.
I guess I always knew we would.
Happiest anniversary David. I would marry you all over again. Every time, without fail, I would choose you.
We were together.
I forget the rest.
We had agreed a while back that we would not buy gifts this anniversary. It just seemed like something we didn’t need. That after fifteen years, a gift is less important than just being together.
Then, we were standing in the kitchen, cleaning up the dishes, and I asked him if we were still on the same page with that decision. And he looked at me like he might not be quite in agreement 100% anymore. He thinks we might need something to remember the last 15 years by.
I looked up at the kids, all flopped lazily in the family room watching Zeke and Luther (by the way, what the heck is a bus-waxer?), unfolded laundry piled in the chair, dishes in the sink and stacks of drawings and scissors and glue and paper all over the kitchen. And my refridgerator…I swore my refridgerator would not be cluttered up. And there it is, nestled into the wall, covered with artwork, crayon drawings, and photos from the last 15 years. And Poppy (for once, she was chewing on something she’s actually allowed to chew on), boy do we love Poppy.
“But we have all of this…” I said to him with a sarcastic wave of my arm.
And then I smiled because it was true. We have all of this to show.
Yes, David, yes.
I would do it all over again.
I love you. Happy Anniversary, Baby.