I was a mess at 19. I knew who I (thought) I wanted to be, I just didn’t have the discipline to get there. I did very few things whole-heartedly. I skipped class. I semi-committed. I could never remember to take my clothes out of the wash and put them into the dryer before they got that weird moldy smell (ok sometimes I still struggle with this). I drank too much. I went to church sporadically. I worked out, but then ate my weight in chips and salsa. I listened to rap and country and Christian “rock”. I changed my hair color about as often as I changed my sheets. I got tiny tattoos that I thought I could hide. I changed my major. I didn’t make many good decisions when I was 19, but I did make at least one. I said yes when a shaggy haired guy who desperately needed to shave asked me to a soccer game. He forgot to ask for my number or say how we’d get to this soccer game. But it was enough.
From the beginning, it felt different. Mostly I just tried not to screw it up (and I did a few times).
We were both 19. And had no idea who we were.
We thought we were grownups.
But we were babies who were barely old enough to vote.
Our hardest decisions were what to eat, whether or not to study or watch a movie.
But I knew he was home. That is the only word I have ever been able to describe him.
I’ve been a “we” longer than I’ve been a “me”.
And at 19, I wasn’t quite ready to settle down but three years later, he asked me to marry him, anyways. In a proposal that was a little awkward and confusing. And maybe that is only fitting. We were 23 when we were married. This time we really thought we were grown.
I had an actual teaching job with health insurance and dry cleaning.
He had a job offer in Arlington. But we were babies who were barely old enough to drink the champagne at our wedding (and there was lots of champagne).
I packed a U-haul and moved East. Home.
We promised all the things that are written in traditional marriage vows. I think my 23 year old self heard all the good things. To have and to hold, for better, for richer, in health. And those things are true.
But at 43, and hopefully at 83 I cherish the other halves to those promises more.
Forever feels different to a 19 year old. Or a 23 year old. It feels like honeymoon forever. Wedding gifts to unpack, thank you cards to write and airplanes to catch. Warm feelings filling your chest. Adventures. From this day forward feels way less romantic than forever. From this day forward is more like hitting the snooze button, or morning breath or lost keys or soccer games or who is going to take off because one of the kids is sick. Again. But here is what it also means. Moving forward together. Big decisions and emergency rooms and funerals. Celebrations and budgets and first days and last days and a million in between. It means choosing you over and over again.
For worse. No one gets to see your faults like people you live with. Ask anyone with a teenager. Or in a marriage. Sometimes you save your worst. for the people you love the most. It isn’t fair. But it is because you are secure. You are loved. Even at your worst. Even if I will have to apologize later.
For poorer. In college poorer meant I had to go to the used CD place and cell music so we could eat out. As an adult it means I’ve have to borrow money from my elementary age son. Or ask for a loan when my child has some medical expenses I can’t cover. It means watching the bank account balance dwindle. It means not getting the things I want. It means making financial decisions that aren’t just about you. He is the saver. I’m the spender. There have been plenty of fights over money. And even when our bank account didn’t show it, we have always felt lucky with all that we have been given.
In sickness. It means dropping your husband off at the ER. It means multiple covid swabs. It means food poisoning on your honeymoon. It means getting older. It means copays and fighting with the insurance. It means living wills and ICUs. It means someone being there when they are wheeled off and when you wake up. Sickness is scary and vulnerable. And marriage means there is a hand to hold and someone to help fight the insurance company with.
We bought a puppy. And then a house. We cashed in some old stocks and traveled.
We had a baby.
And then another.
We fought and we danced and we wept and we watched TV.
We made hard decisions and easy ones.
We feasted and we overdrew our accounts.
We painted and mowed the lawn and took out the trash.
Five years turned into ten and now into twenty.
We made a home. And my handy husband built many of the things inside it.
Like bookshelves and places to hang out keys so we aren’t forever losing them.
But he also built a supportive place to become that person my 19-year-old self would be proud of.
We are no longer babies. Our babies are no longer babies. One of them can drive.
Our hair is starting to gray. Shaun’s hair is no longer shaggy, but our son’s is.
We have gained weight. And lost it. And gained it again. (repeat for the rest of our lives).
Some days we mostly talk logistics - who has what practice when.
Some days I go to sleep early. (most days for me).
I have read thousands of books. He has spent that many hours in the garage.
But some days we laugh or encourage or go for a walk together.
We fight. We make up. We forget to put out the trash. But we do it together.
Twenty years feels like forever and a moment.
We are completely different people than we were at 19.
We have grown and learned and read and experienced so much more life.
Our faith has changed, we have new hobbies. Our musical tastes have shifted, our palates have adjusted. Our titles, priorities and our blood pressure- all new. Some better. Some worse. But we have navigated those changes together. Sometimes sloppy and awkward. Sometimes with grace. Sometimes with yelling.
Our marriage is literally older than we were when we met.
It is the only home I want.
Being married to someone for twenty years means you know things I didn’t know at 19.
I know that he smells of hair gel, deodorant and sawdust.
I know his cough three aisles away in the grocery store.
I know that when he says he is going to the store, that he means Lowes and not Kroger.
I know that when we fight, we mostly just need time.
That we will make up. That we will try again. I know that he will be there when it matters.
That we will always be home.
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