Eighteen years ago today, Myron and I got married. I have struggled all day how to say this:
"Today is our anniversary."
"Today would have been our anniversary."
Its was difficult to say it either way. Is it? Or would it have been? How could it not be when I still feel married, still feel committed to someone, still feel the spiritual connection of two flesh living as one.
I took the kids for a walk along the river. Myron often took us there on Sunday afternoons. He loved having us all doing something active, something outdoors, something together. It was good to be there. It suddenly struck me that we were all walking. Some were limping, some were slower than others, some limbs were still swollen, but all were walking. No wheel-chairs, no crutches. Just ten feet meeting the earth. Something I have for years taken completely for granted, suddenly felt magical. We were all walking.
Every couple of hours throughout the day I checked my watch and told the kids what we had been doing, eighteen years ago. Driving to the church, taking pictures, arriving at the reception. And then at supper I lifted my glass and toasted the day we began our marriage, began the journey that produced the four beautiful children that sat next to me at the table. To Myron. To Gillian. To our life together and all that it produced.
Afterwards, Karson asked, "Mommy, what if I get married and she doesn't cheer for the Canucks?" He looked very concerned. "What if you get married and she doesn't even like hockey?" I asked him back. "Do you like hockey?" he asked suspiciously. "Sometimes," I replied. Karson gasped. "SOME...TIMES??!" His look of horror made us all burst out laughing. As we continued on eating I studied his face, looking for Myron. And I couldn't find him.
Today would have been our anniversary.