Meredith.
That’s my wife.
We have two children. A daughter, Adeline. A son, William. He’s 10. She’s 8. Wrigley is the dog I never thought we’d have. He’s 2. We live in a house on a street in a neighborhood and we are glad to be who we are.
We wanted to get married on July 23rd. Because we had once gotten back together on that date. We were sitting on a branch of a willow that leans over the Erie Canal. Then we headed over to my cousin’s high school graduation party. That was the time his great aunt told Meredith she would look beautiful even if she was bald. (She’s right, of course.) We ended up getting married on July 16th. Because that was the closest day that was available for scheduling purposes. It was no less magical.
That was 14 years ago.
Back then it was about being together. We didn’t have much of an agenda. We worked on the buddy system. Which is not much different than today. We still pal around. With our sidekicks of course. (They were at camp all last week. First time for both. We were glad to pick them up.) We know a bit more about each other. That hasn’t seemed to discourage us though. Which really is the miracle. That you could love someone this way. That you could be loved even though you are you. That you could be loved because you are you. That you could want to love someone more because they love you. That love even exists at all.
Yeah, that’s the one.
That love exists. And we get to share it.
I may not always understand it. But I’m always grateful for it.
