Fifteen...

Our wedding picture hangs in our living room, in a semi prominent spot where people can see the picture, but not the dust.

People that have known us forever no longer notice it--the picture or the dust. They are used to both. Our children have been known to look at it and become upset that they're not in it, leading me to explain that first you get married, and then the babies come. Except that pretty soon, they will probably encounter someone who is, in fact, in their own parents' wedding photos, and they will call me out on that one. And ask me what I was talking about. And call me a liar.

But until then, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

When people who didn't know us then see the picture, they often say something like  "Awww...is that you guys?"

Well, duh.

Who else would it be?

Besides, while I realize that Jimmy may look slightly different than he did then, I'm quite sure that I look exactly the same.

Exactly.

I don't think about that picture much, though I look at it at some point during every day. When I do take the time to really look at it, I remember how hot it was that day. How my cousin Gary set the mulch on fire outside the church--or maybe he was just the one who put it out. Who can remember these details after fifteen years? I remember how, the morning of our wedding, Jimmy witnessed someone back into the flagpole at our reception hall, and how the police wanted him to go make a report, in spite of the fact that he was getting married in an hour. I remember how the air conditioning in the church was broken, and how the church sent us a fundraising letter three months later, to help with a new air conditioning unit. We didn't have any money to give them, since we had spent it all on our wedding at their incredibly hot church.

I also think of walking down the aisle, and saying those vows, and being so happy to have so many of the people we loved there in one place, and yet sad that so many others couldn't be there.

And knowing, without a doubt, that this was exactly where I was supposed to be.

I think of our reception, and fifteen years later, I'm still glad that we chose the cheaper hall that let us stay as late as we wanted, as opposed to the fancier one with the better view that would have made us leave after four hours.

And when I looked at that picture yesterday, I thought, Wow, I can't believe it's been fifteen years. Fifteen years, two houses, six jobs, one business, a bunch of dead goldfish, two beloved dogs, and three amazing children later.  And I know, with all certainty, that we are blessed beyond all comprehension.

And yet, no one tells you how hard its going to be sometimes.

No one tells you that, on your way to all of that, and in the midst of all of that, and even after all of that, there will be the other.  Heartbreak and miscarriages, stress and lost jobs, fear and no money, trauma and car accidents, pain and bad backs, anxiety and new businesses, uncertainty and a bad economy, grief and lost loved ones, sleep deprivation and babies who never stop crying.

Except that they do. The babies really do stop crying. And the money comes in eventually, and the bad backs get mostly better, and the economy picks up, and someday, you realize, things are somehow good again. And you will hold onto that knowledge, because there will no doubt be other times when you will need to remember that sometimes, it's all incredibly, unimaginable hard--much harder than anyone ever told you it would be--but that it won't always be that way. And you will remind yourself of that again and again, until one day, you'll realize that it was true.

I used to think that people focused way too much on the wedding, and not nearly enough on the marriage. I still tend to think that's true at times. And yet, I think they should have their wedding. They should celebrate. They should dance. They should have as many of the people they love in one room as possible. There should be toasts, and cake, and laughter, and a groom drinking champagne out of his new bride's shoe. Or maybe that doesn't actually happen at every wedding.

There should be all of these things, so that, when the first horrific argument occurs sometime during your first year of marriage, you will remember that you and/or your parents just spent a huge amount of money to help the two of you be joined together forever, and that someone is going to be really pissed if one of you demands a divorce and walks out before your first anniversary.

And so you'll stay.

Which you will be glad you did, because the next day, or the next week, or the next month, you won't remember what that stupid fight was about anyway.

I now realize that you should definitely have no shortage of flowers at your wedding, because flowers are beautiful and a reminder that this wedding--this marriage--is truly something to celebrate. But you should also have them so that, after the wedding, you can dry one and keep it in your china closet, so that you can see it as you sit up on the couch late one night a few years later, stewing that he said or did something so insensitive.

Something that, this time, you will definitely remember the next day, and the next week, and the next month. But that, eventually, you will make a choice to let go of, in part because you saw that dried flower and remembered that you made a promise.

You should have--and keep--all kinds of mementos of that special day, especially the ones that remind you of sunshine and roses-- things you were sure that your marriage would be full of. Because the marriage itself, at times, will most certainly not be sunshine and roses, and you will at some point need those pictures and mementos to remind you of the power of hope.

You won't always need reminders, of course. There will be good times. Days filled with happiness. Joyful weeks. Months of peaceful contentment. There will be good years, and really good years, and great years.

But there will also be the other times--the times people tend not to talk about as much. The sad times, the stressful times, the disconnected times, the angry times. And there will also be all of the outside stuff that tries to find its way in. Job stress. Time constraints. Other people and their expectations.  Eventually, you will decide which things can be allowed in, and which ones just need to be kept out, because your marriage, with all of its imperfections, is more important than any of those things.

And yet, in the midst of the difficult times, there will still be a million things to celebrate.

Births. Baptisms. Birthdays. Friendships. First Communions. Laughter. Private jokes. A shared history. Communication. Forgiveness. Commitment. Perseverance. Sleeping in. Again. Finally. Faith. Paying the bills without holding your breath. Hope. Family. Acceptance. Love.

Date nights once a year.

Anniversaries.

When I worked at a hospital years ago, I had a patient who would come in every month for chemo. We spent a lot of time together, and she told me about some of the trials in her marriage. It was hard. It was not perfect. In fact, it was quite far from perfect. There had been separations, and tears, and anger. And yet, there was never a divorce. Many in her shoes may have made that choice--and understandably so--but she didn't choose that path. She didn't choose it because, amidst their incredibly difficult, stressful times, there were also times of happiness, and laughter, and joy. There was a family they raised together.

They had made a promise.

Frequently, this woman told me how hard her marriage was. And then, as their 50th wedding anniversary approached, she told me about the huge party they had planned.

I was initially somewhat confused as to why anyone would have a huge celebration for a marriage that had been so far from perfect.

And then I got married.

And I realized that most marriages, at one time or another, are quite far from perfect. And yet, they should all be celebrated. In fact, maybe the ones that are the farthest from perfect are the ones that should be celebrated the most.

I'm not talking about the marriages where there is abuse, or adultery, or addiction--that's another kind of hard entirely. I'm talking about the other ones--the other kind of hard--the marriages where the day to day kind of hard surpasses "why don't you ever pick up your socks" and ventures into " I don't think I want to talk to you today. And maybe not tomorrow either. And probably not the day after that".

But that ultimately finds its way to "Good night. Let's just talk about it in the morning".

Maybe those are the ones to be celebrated the most.  Not because they're perfect. But because they're not.

And yet, they still exist.

Because two people made a choice. And every day, they make it again. Even when it's hard.

To love even when they don't feel like it.

To laugh as often as possible.

To live with gratitude, and faith, and hope.

To keep a promise.

And to know that a little dust on the picture doesn't diminish its beauty, or its value, or its truth.