The proposal.

There is no doubt about the beauty and romance of seeing two people meet at a designated place and time, to make a promise to love, honor, and cherish each other until death parts them. Weddings are romantic. They are beautiful. They are a precious time. Our wedding was something I will always remember, and I can say without a doubt that our guests will remember it, too. For lots of reasons. Fortunately. I guess. But November 9, 1996, is when John and I, privately, made the conscious choice: yes, let’s DO this. Together.

That was thirteen years ago. If you need a visual reference for how long ago that was, let me show you.


Notice how dark John’s moustache was. And notice how young my eyes and skin look. We had no idea then what twists and turns life was going to hand us. But for me, there was this: absolute, complete certainty that this man–whom I was madly in love with, who was my very best friend in the world, whom I trusted with everything–he was the only person I wanted to stand beside forever.

Sure we’ve had some unexpected twists and turns, but when I look at him sitting across the room from me with one of our daughters curled into his side, I realize that I have about a million more reasons to be madly in love with him; that after a day or a night spent apart, I yearn for him just as much as when our lives required miles of distance between us; that the depth of his love is one thing, but it is often his devotion to our friendship that keeps the spark alive; that I have trusted him with everything, and he has never let me down.

What can I say to that? Other than thank you, my dear, sweet, precious man. But specifically, on this day, thank you for asking.


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