Three years ago today, on arguably one of the most disgusting days of the summer, my lungs so full of phlegm and on a day in which I infected half of the people whose dinner I was paying for, thereby earning the nickname Typhoid Becky, I got married.
I’d never been one for romanticizing weddings, I never had an idea for a signature cocktail or monogrammed napkins, I never really even wanted to get married. I’d rather have imagined my future life as an Army NINJA Commando or as The Crazy Cat Lady than as a wife. I wasn’t anti-marriage or anything, but it was something that only happened to Other People. Like children.
People who tell me that they Just Knew about someone or something like the Perfect House, The Right Man, or Which Flavor Baby They Were Carrying always annoy me. Really, they do. Not because I don’t believe that they MIGHT have known something ahead of time, but because seriously, how many of them confess to Knowing something that didn’t happen. Plus, they always say it with this I’m More Of A Creature Of Mother Earth Than You and blow a raspberry in my direction when I confess to not knowing I was even pregnant when I was. Or maybe it’s all in my head.
Sure it annoys me, but you know what? I Just Knew when I met Daver, after spending the night at his apartment for the first time, that this is the man I would marry. Like it or not, he and I were going to be together for a very, VERY long time. While I’ve never asked him if he had the same sort of revelation, which even if he did, I doubt very much that he would tell me, I think he had a pretty good idea of the same thing.
The day of my wedding was not the best day of my life. Honestly, it was probably one of the worst days, although I won’t get into my reasons there, and I wanted nothing more than to leave the party and hang out with my new husband. But every day since then has been one of the best days of my life.
Even on our worst days, when we can barely tolerate the sight of each other, when his throat clearing and my incessant use of nose spray annoys us both so very much that we could each scream, I know how lucky I am. I have never, and will likely never take him for granted.
He’s the man I didn’t know I was lucky enough to marry.
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.