16 years.

Posted on
Jan 5, 2018
 

It happened last month without fanfare: Rand and I celebrated another year together. We’ve had so many anniversaries that they often pass by without us noticing them.

 

I understand now why Rand’s grandparents have to take a moment to remember how many years they’ve been together, why they both give different answers when I ask when they were married. It’s not that the time you spend together isn’t special. It’s just that there is so much history to sort through. So many birthdays and anniversaries and car rides and movies and dinners and breakfasts and dancing and laughing and fighting and making up and doing laundry. So naturally, you forget an anniversary here and there. (You also forget to do the laundry.)

If our relationship were a person, it would be able to drive a car. One day it will be old enough to vote, to buy a drink at a bar, to run for President. One day, our relationship will be older than I am now. And if I’m very, very lucky, one day, I will sit with Rand, and we will have to take moment to remember how many years we’ve been together, and when you ask us when we were married, we’ll each give different answers.

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