I remember those days, those halcyon days, wrapped warmly with you and that big, gentle dog…sitting by the fire…dreaming as you slept.
I remember them like they were yesterday…the sound of the fire…the smell of your downy hair…the way your fingers unfurled when I touched your cheek. The way my heart felt…as though cannons were fired from within.
You are almost grown now…it was not yesterday.
Today you are fifteen years old. You’re better than those dreams I dreamed, you know.
And the cannons…the cannons are still firing, Kate.
Happy fifteenth birthday baby girl…
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.