Forty Years Married, 41 Years in Love

October 5, 1985 Our first date

October 3, 1986 Our wedding

This Saturday is my 40th wedding anniversary. On Monday, it will be 41 years since Gary and I had our first date.

There are anniversaries that ask you to celebrate, and there are anniversaries that ask you to remember. This one asks me to do both.

Gary and I met when I was 18 years old on a blind date set up by my former sister-in-law—someone who did not even like Gary. But she set us up anyway. It was October 5, 1985. We had a very nice dinner and then went to the movies to see Back to the Future because, of course, it was 1985.

I was home by 10:00. My mother said, “Oh, I see you’re home. It must have been a bad date.”

I said, “No, it wasn’t a bad date. I’m going to marry him.”

I knew that first night. And Gary knew it, too.

We met in October, and by Christmas Eve he had given me an engagement ring. We knew we were going to get married, even though I was only 18. We planned to have a long engagement. He was opening a business, and I was helping him with that. We did not plan to get married right away.

But on Labor Day weekend, after a fight with my mother, I got into the car and said, “I don’t know why I live with her anymore.” Gary said, “Let’s get married.”

So we did.

We got married the next month, on October 3, on a Friday night after dinner, so people could come and see the ceremony, have some cake and snacks, and not have to give up an entire weekend. It was just our families. It was beautiful, and it was perfect.

At the time, I could not understand why Gary rolled into my life when I was 18 and I was married at 19. We got pregnant right away. I thought it was strange and wonderful and just weird that this was my life, because we had not planned it that way.

But Gary died when he was 56 and a quarter years old. Before he died, he saw his kids grow up and met all of his grandchildren. Had we waited years, that would not have been the same. That would not have been possible.

We never know what life is going to hold. Even when we do not know, though, we can believe in the magic of it.

That is one of the lessons Gary and I learned together. And as I come to these anniversaries, I realize that his love is still teaching me.

He taught me that everything will be okay. I have always been a worrier, and Gary had a way of putting his hand on my shoulder or the back of my neck and saying, “Everything will be okay.” It does not mean grief is easy. It does not mean life is always great. There will be sadness and pain. But it will be okay. I will be okay.

He taught me to be true to myself and not let drama pull me under. He allowed people to be who they were. He knew people had views different from his, and he would say, “That’s the way they think,” and move on. He loved his family completely, but he did not let himself get pulled into every bit of drama.

Laugh and have fun!

He taught me to be a play babe. That was what he called himself. Make a game of everything. Make a joke of everything. Tease the people you love. Be a goofball. Do the things that make you happy, and do them with the people you love. He loved going to the park, swinging, going down slides, playing tag, and throwing a ball. When the grandbabies came, he got to have that magic all over again.

He taught me that family comes first. You show up for your children and your grandchildren, whether you are tired or not. And when you show up, you are there one hundred percent. Even when he was exhausted from work and commuting, with a lawn to cut and a thousand pressures on him, he would race to finish so he could get half an hour at the park with the kids. He knew that was where he wanted to be.

He taught me that I am strong. I did not always believe that about myself. But he saw my strength, and for 36 years he worked tirelessly to tell me. When he took his last breath, I did not feel strong. At first, it was his belief in me that kept me going. Now, nearly five years later, I have proof. I can put these words on paper. I can share Gary and our story with the world. That seed he planted in me is still growing.

A note he left me in the shower February 1, 2012

He taught me that I am beautiful. Gary called me beautiful every single day of the 13,202 days we were together. He called me beautiful when we bickered, when he was sick, and when we were apart. I am still learning to see my own beauty—to love this body that has carried me through 59 years, my eyes that see my grandchildren, my mouth that smiles at my son, and my laughter when my daughter tells me a joke. Gary saw my beauty every day. I am still learning to believe him.

Forty years after our wedding day, and 41 years after that first blind date, I am still learning from the love we shared. I wish we had more time. Of course I do. But if you had told 18-year-old me, saying yes to Gary on Christmas Eve, that he would die at 56 and asked whether I would still choose him, I would say yes.

A thousand times, yes.

Life gave me widowhood at age 54. But it also gave me so much magic, so much love, and 13,202 days with Gary.

I am grateful to life, to the universe, to whatever gave us that time together.

I am so grateful.

💜💚