Cue the Carpenters. “We’ve Only Just Begun” was my parent’s wedding song (also the first–and last–song I learned to play on the keyboard–one excruciating note at a time). Speaking of weddings (how’s that for a segue way?), today is a very important day–our wedding anniversary.
Eight years ago, Mike and I were married at the beautiful Heinz Chapel on the campus of the University of Pittsburgh. Heinz Chapel requires reservations one year in advance, so when we set the date we had no way of knowing that the last game ever played in Pitt Stadium would kick off at the exact same time as my father was walking me down the aisle. It was a memorable day–you know, because Pitt beat Notre Dame 37-27.
Oh, and we made a commitment to love and cherish each other for the rest of our lives.
Mike, in a way I can’t believe that we’ve been married for 8 years and have known each other for 14. I’m caught between feeling that our wedding was just yesterday and feeling that I’ve known you forever. We’ve been through a lot–the deaths of our mothers after long harsh struggles with cancer being the hardest of all.
You said once before that if it hadn’t been for your mother getting sick and me being there to help you through it, that we probably wouldn’t be where we are today. I believe that–in so many ways. And although we lost your beautiful mother, I often think that she knew that she was bringing us together and that made it easier for her. You and I were both at points in our life where we were caught between knowing that we loved each other and yet not wanting to commit fully. We were young and felt that we had so much more to experience. Sure, I had stayed in Pittsburgh after college to be near you, but at the same time I knew I was free to pick up and move if the mood struck. I was impulsive, all wings and no roots, and wanted to go/see/do all that I could before I got old and boring and stuck in my ways. But when your mother got sick, it grounded us. We saw how short life really is and realized that our time together is limited. And precious.
Sometimes I know I need to stop, take a break, and remember that. To cherish each day, to find joy in each day of our lives together,
to stop nagging you about cutting the grass, to value the time we do have.
We’ve been down a long road together and when I look to the road ahead, I see sunshine and daisies and those little candy Valentine’s Day hearts with trite sayings on them. Sure, there are a few storm clouds, but we’re strong and we can get past them twice as fast together than we ever could alone. I look forward to each new day with you, to each new hour with you, to rehashing our past together, to talking about our future together, to waking up next to you in the morning, to kissing you goodnight and telling you that I love you and that you’re my best friend.
I do love you. And you are my very best friend. We’ve truly only just begun.
P.S. Maybe someday you’ll be able to pick me up like this again. And maybe someday your hands will be able to circle around my waist. But maybe not . . .