Today is our 9^th Anniversary. Some days, it feels like just yesterday that we were gathered with our dearest friends and family on the stillest and hottest day ever seen upon the high and pleasant banks of the Pungo River. (They were, on that occasion, high, and also joyful, but not particularly pleasant.)*

I carried a bouquet of buttons and walked down the aisle to a sweet tune called “A Short Trip Home,” written by Edgar Meyer and played by my sister and uncle. We listened to readings by a beloved teacher and cousin and a dear friend. The minister said a few words and I remember thinking, “This is great!” but I don’t remember any of it.

It’s strange how memory works on those important days. I’m never completely sure which visions in my head are actual memories and which are from photographs I’ve pulled out many times in the last nine years.

I do remember:

We took a picture on the end of the pier and it looks graceful when captured by my talented friend Jess, but in reality, I thought I would surely fall and crack my head on the newly-installed concrete dock.

We ate barbeque and cupcakes (made with love by my mom and aunts) that day, but I remember more vividly eating them on the way to Savannah for our honeymoon on a picnic table somewhere in South Carolina.

I ate banana pudding during the toasts and people thought I was pregnant, but really I just like banana pudding more than beer.

I remember that we danced while no one was watching under a tiny crescent moon to a cheesy Michael Buble song – a song that was surely not on the list we gave the DJ. (I’m pretty sure he ignored that – along with the “do not play” list all night long.)

I remember that our family rewrote the lyrics to “Say a Little Prayer for You” and sang them with love in their hearts. Our sisters also gave brilliant, and uncharacteristically public, toasts, though I couldn’t tell you a bit of what was said.

My dad had paper lanterns installed beneath the tent – they were so lovely when the sun finally set and the air began to cool (only very slightly.)

It’s funny to remember the feelings more than you remember what happened or what was said. Isn’t that an interesting metaphor for marriage? That the words and even the acts are secondary to the feelings, that in the end, it is perhaps not how your marriage was and more about how it felt.

Since that day, I feel like we’ve got the hang of this marriage thing. And, under no authority beyond the fact that I am the author of this blog, I will share with you my thoughts on why it feels that way. Some of those characteristics have been there all along, some we’ve learned over time, and others we had to learn in the 3 years since “cancer” became such a big part of our lives.

• We talk. A lot. About all sorts of things. Sometimes many times. We tell the same stories over and over. We rehash the same disagreements years later. We analyze our own behavior and that which we observe in others. We reminisce together and we talk about how we feel. And, as a result of this incessant jibber jabber, there isn’t much we aren’t comfortable discussing. When things get icky, (and I mean that in all sorts of ways) it’s easy to talk to one another because we’ve practiced. A lot.
• Don’t get it twisted – while our marriage is stronger since Preston was diagnosed 3 years ago, it sure as shit wouldn’t be if it hadn’t been pretty damn stable to begin with. Same goes with parenting.
• Hindsight being what it is, I don’t know that there is much I would change about our general approach to marriage since P’s diagnosis, but I would have documented things better – more videos, more pictures. We’ve never really fought and we’re pretty good at letting the “little things” not get under our skin, but I think I would have spent more time reflecting on my uncle Andy’s favorite advice… “Does it need to be said? Does it need to be said by me? Does it need to be said to me right now?”
• Speaking of advice, some of the best we ever received was from Aunt Debora and Uncle Ray… “You can be right, or you can be happy.” This, dear readers, is true.
• We ask each other for help. And we’re nice about it.** We also try really hard to share the load around the house. But it doesn’t just happen. We have to talk about it. (see point one.)
• We also serve each other. And that’s sort of a loaded word, with some strange religious things happening in my brain, and the feminist in me is like, “UM NO,” but the rest of me is like, “but that’s how it has to work.” But, service, in and of itself, is an act of humility. Sometimes it’s getting supper on the table, and sometimes it’s making the more complicated bread every week so your wife has her very favorite breakfast. Sometimes it’s picking up the “parent” baton (when it’s been thrown at you by a hysterical wife) and sometimes it’s in “oohs” and “aahhs” on a technical project you really don’t understand. Sometimes it’s supporting your person’s hobbies and “alone time” with more fervor than you protect your own. Sometimes it’s having more patience with one another, all in service to your love for one another.

But look, if I could sum it all up after 12 and a half years together, nine years of marriage, and 3 years of a very serious test for both of us I would say, don’t sweat the small stuff and talk about the big stuff a lot. Seriously. When shit hits the fan I am 100% sure you won’t be worried about that one time they did that one thing that made you mad but you are going to need a very solid foundation of understanding what each of you needs in a time of crisis. Figuring that out in real time is possible, but it’s hard. (I’m going to give some more thought to what those conversations should be, but for starters, if you don’t have a will and/or a living will and healthcare directive, you should do it now.)

What I remember about my person when we’re literally fighting to keep him around as long as possible, is that he makes me feel loved in cherished in a way that I don’t think I understood was possible. That he can make me and our little boy laugh until we can barely breathe, and that he would do anything to help a friend. I remember how much calmer I feel when he’s around and how it seems that we can get through just about anything as long as we’re together.

Well, and as long as we talk about it. A lot.

PS: You probably aren’t here to get my rambly thoughts on marriage, but perhaps an update on the cancer stuff. So here’s the latest:

• P is back on the pump every 2 weeks. We still hate that thing, but he has many more good days than bad. Our “normal” is pretty crappy every other week, but it’s rather lovely in the in between times.
• We have a big summer planned – loads of vacation and time together, C is in like 12 different camps, and P will get a nice long break from chemo to heal up from the Xeloda earlier in January. I think he has also planned some more tattoos.
• P is back to working in his shop since he and Brendan wired it a couple of weeks ago. He’s got all sorts of plans for projects and it’s wonderful to see that he is able to use his hands again. Creating is empowering.
• Conor is about to wrap up his Kindergarten year. He’s reading up a storm in both English and Mandarin and it blows me away. He’s a sweet and thoughtful kiddo (who does sometimes channel his future teenage self… oooh we might be in for it in a few years) and 95% of the time he is delightful company.
• I’m still tapping and hip hopping and crocheting and working at a job I love, and it’s pretty good most of the time.

See? Times are still shitty, but I think if we zoom out 9 years from now and look back at the feelings we were having during this time, I think we’d probably remember the good feelings more than the bad.

*I would like to acknowledge for those friends and family who sweated it out with us those years ago, that today it is 80 degrees with a light breeze.

** Dear newly married ladies – if you are waiting for him to “want” to do the dishes, you’ll be waiting a long time. Do you “want” to do the dishes? Hell no. Just ask. Slamming the pots will just give you dinged pots.