HHH and I didn’t meet in a conventional way for two sexagenarians. Both traveling through our own grief journeys, we began again on August 28, 2022, over a home-cooked meal of wild game. Adorably shy and new, neither of us had any idea that our lives had changed forever that night.
Then followed twelve months of regular dates—and a few that sparkled. There was the lighted parade on December 3rd, when everything around us seemed to twinkle just a little brighter. Or the 4th of July, when he explained just how many times he had won the greased pig contest in his life.
I also learned early that HHH had days when he simply couldn’t be bothered. Sunday. Monday. Thursday. And possibly a few others. If there were sports on, those nights belonged to him.
That was just fine with me because I had my nights, too. Musicals. Rom-coms. Plain old housework. At 4:30 in the morning, I needed to write. He needed to go to work.
Slowly, without either of us really noticing it happen, our routines smoothed themselves into something wonderful. A relationship.
Four seasons were shared. Three hundred sixty-five sunrises and sunsets. Breakfasts, lunches and dinners. Two dogs. A litter of puppies. Trips to the coast. A new car.
There weren’t fireworks every day. There didn’t need to be. There was day-to-day life. And somewhere in all those ordinary days, ordinary life turned into a love affair of the sweetest kind.
On the evening marking our first year together, HHH proposed. I said yes. There was no other possible answer to his improbable question.
Yes. Of course. Yes.
On a beautiful autumn day in October, we exchanged vows and became one.
Since then, almost four years have passed. There have been adventures and quiet mornings. Projects and plans. Laughter and tears. We’ve lost those we loved and welcomed new things we never expected.
Through it all, we have continued doing what we discovered how to do during that very first year: we share our lives without having to give up who we are.
He can have his sports. I’ll keep my musicals. He can sleep. I’ll be at my computer at 5:00 in the morning. And when we’re finished doing our separate things, there we are again. Together.
HHH, these four years have been better than jewels. Four years of mornings and evenings. Four years of adventures and ordinary Tuesdays. Four years of discovering that life can still surprise us. Four years of life.
Yes to adventure. Yes to life. Yes to you.
We are so blessed, you and I.
