To the love of my life.
It was two years ago today that we were waiting in a line at a courthouse in Eureka Springs, Arkansas to apply for a marriage license. We were in flip flops because we had plans to kayak later.
After we’d gotten the license, we went back to the B&B where we were staying, and would also be the site of the ceremony, to take baths because our little space didn’t house a shower.
Once we were satisfactorily spiffed up, we made our way to the humid outdoors where we would recite our vows in front of a water fall. The minister was named Vernon. I handed our little point and shoot to the owner of the B&B to snap a few pictures, and I would realize later that he had terrible aim.
We celebrated with a little bit of cake and sparkling cider.
And then we put our flip flops back on.
It was easy and simple and fun… and everything we’d hoped it would be.
For us, the paperwork was a formality. We’d already carved each other’s initials in the heart we share. There was no question or option as to our plans for the future. We wanted each other… that was all.
Well that, and the same last name.
What I remember most about our time away was feeling a wonderful mix of elation and rightness. And I’m happy to report that that is still my general emotion when I think of my D. He loves me unconditionally, he takes care of me, and he never lets me feel uncertainty. He loves his son, he’s proud of him, and he genuinely enjoys him. He is the hardest worker I know, who has the most integrity, and always strives to do better just for the sake of doing better.
Thanks for the last couple of years, punkin. I love you.