Today is my anniversary . . . can we just canonize the guy right now? Not really because he'd have to be dead - but you know what I mean. Twenty-eight years he's lived with a damaged, neurotic and overanxious ME - and he's done it with a smile on his face. He manages my excessive anxiety effortlessly and everything that goes along with it. And it isn't easy. He is my biggest fan, my biggest advocate. He never withholds a kind remark, a compliment or a chance to be supportive. He is my rock, my love and the very best thing to ever happen to me.
We drove 500 miles south that day to Washington, DC in a very old Volkswagen bus. My husband's parents joined us from Texas, my sister in law Debbie, too, all the way from Calgary. We ate sugar babies. See how I remember the candy? We had nothing, not two nickels to rub together. We drove home to Boston the next morning. We had no party, no honeymoon . . . we just started our life together. Turns out my grandmother was right. There really is a "lid for every pot."