TWENTY YEARS

We were BABIES, sure of our maturity and ready to take on the rest of our lives together, having absolutely no idea what that meant, what it entailed.

We had no money, ate ramen with our roommates and scraped every dime from our entry level (or lower) jobs to make my pink, puffy, fluffy wedding dreams come true. Let's be honest. John would have happily been married by a bum in front of city hall and gotten bacon dogs from the street vendor. But he patiently put up with my Modern Bride Magazine-inspired visions, served up on silver trays to little girls with champagne tastes and Pabst Blue Ribbon budgets.  I got by with a LOT of help from my friends. They understood the dream. And some of them understood the strange tissue box and toilet paper roll contraption that would stuff just the right amount of potpourri (I'm gagging as I write this) into pink netting. All that crazy minutiae, so essential at the time, to create the PERFECT MEMORY to look back on.

We had finally arrived at the Weekend of Truth, all ducks precariously in a row, to the best of our abilities. All favors called in from every kind- hearted friend we knew-friends arranging flowers, decorating, opening up their homes to out of town guests. The rehearsal sprinted past, along with the dinner, prepared in a borrowed kitchen by more kind friends.

It was time for me to say goodbye to John for the night, knowing that I wouldn’t see him again until I was walking down the aisle. I remember very little else about the entire wedding. But I can picture the living room, the dim hue of the lamp, the chair that John was sitting in. He was my safety. My comfort. The reason we were doing all of this crazy stuff. And as we said our tearful, reluctant goodnight, I had perfectly ironic realization. Absolutely every detail we had worked so hard on – Two years of saving, a lifetime of dreamy planning, innumerable friends lending hands and feet, not one bit of it mattered. Right then and there, it all melted away. The only important thing about our wedding day would be that we were marrying each other.  It was with that epiphany that I realized, we had just become husband and wife. On our own, in the living room of a friend’s house, saying goodnight. The next day’s wedding would be merely a celebration of what we already knew, what we already had committed.

That indelible memory of our true union has traveled with me through our two decades together. It has reminded me at some of the more stressful, trying moments that the details we get so caught up in can change in an instant, can mean nothing. It has been, on more than one occasion, the glue that helped us survive. Don’t get me wrong. We have had more than our share of great fortune and happiness and love in this life so far. But the true meaning of “for better or worse” can only be comprehended when you are experiencing “for worse.”

For our generation, this whole long- term commitment is more the exception than the rule anymore. Who do we have to pattern ourselves after? For us, I believe what makes us push far beyond our individual comfort zones,  is our children. I want them to see the reality of relationships from all angles. To know that the fairy tale version we are offered at the movies is not reality.  To know that the term "unconditional love" that everybody so glibly tosses does us all a disservice. That love requires plenty of conditions to flourish and strengthen and survive. I want them to know that growing apart doesn’t automatically mean it’s over. To know that you might hit a breaking point  along the way that seems insurmountable. To know that fixing the broken parts can require lots and lots of work, maddening work. But it IS possible. Their dad and I are living, breathing proof of the stubbornness and determination and discomfort, and the decisions and compromises and years of learning HOW that any long- term relationship requires. That love requires.

We were mere babies, with no clue what we were doing. Now we have raised babies, grown into seasoned adults (YES, Grant, we’re OLD!!!) who work to set the best examples we can for our boys, as they reach ever closer to adulthood. We have made it together this far. My dreams of love and marriage have long since dropped their illusions of rosy, pink perfection. Twenty years of reality, of humility mean we know better. We HAVE better. We may never truly know what we’re doing, may not ever get it exactly right. But since the very beginning, we have learned that the important parts have a way of rising to the surface. In this blurry cliché of whizzing life, what else could possibly matter??