Tomorrow is my anniversary. Zef and I have been married two years. I’ll give him another 40 years. [I’m not ashamed to admit that when I’m 79, I’m trading him in for a 30 year old.] Our marriage has been unique, to say the least. Out of 24 months, we’ve only lived together — strike that — been in the same country together for 10 weeks. Our marriage is conducted through email and Skype messages, and the occasional phone call with maddening static and sound delays. We’re still able to ask about each other’s days, go over plans for the house, talk about the news, laugh, get on each other’s nerves and say I love you.
Z sent roses to my office on Friday. He called shortly after they were delivered. After we hung up, I felt heartsick. I closed my office door and cried. Those are the moments when it feels like the loneliness permeates your entire being. Most days I just tuck it away and stay busy. Whether you like it or not, you have to dry your tears, open your office door and get on with your day.
For a while I wouldn’t do much socially because I felt guilty about having fun while Z was away. Yeah, I’m over that. And Z is OK with it. He already had a base of friends when we met. I had just moved here and didn’t know anyone. It’s taken a good while [I’m not the most outgoing girl] but now I have a base of friends that I love and rely on. They were with me this weekend and they were goofy and fun and lovable and I needed that.
In my ripe old age, and with two years of marriage to my credit, I hold this marriage truth to be self evident:
Love is nothing, nothing, nothing like they say. You gotta pick up the little pieces every day. ~ Liz Phair
As much as I love a good love story, I blame Hollywood for most girl’s unrealistic notion of how a relationship works. [Really, don’t get me started on the Twilight series.] The card attached to my roses read, “To my partner, my best friend.” He really couldn’t have written anything better. Marriage, I like to preach, is a partnership that has to be renewed every day — 50/50, my friend. And if it’s not 50/50, we’re renegotiating. Screw gender roles. Sure, this blog may be about my dalliances with domesticity, but don’t think Z doesn’t have his own monogrammed apron waiting for him when he gets home.
And, so far, I think we’re doing pretty good keeping up with our marriage vows:
I acknowledge my love for you
And invite you to share my life
As I hope to share yours.
I promise to walk by your side
To love, help and encourage you.
I vow to take time to share with you
To listen and care.
I will share your laughter and your tears
As your partner, lover and friend.
Happy anniversary, Z. I love you.