Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Valentine's Day Breakfast
The other day, Sean looked at me and said: "I married you because I wanted someone to share the good times. And now we have to share the bad." This, I think, is love.
A year ago today, Sean proposed. It was impetuous. No rose petal aisles, rooms full of candles, or panoramic views. Just Sean in his brown furry bathrobe, a yet-to-be-cleaned-or-sized antique ring, and a sudden but deep desire to say those four little words.
In the 365 days that passed between then and now, we got married. Books were published. We traveled. We fought. In January, we found out Sean's mom has terminal brain cancer. Just yesterday, I looked down at my hand and noticed that one of the tiny sparkling diamonds in my engagement ring was gone.
None of this has been what I expected. I used to think I understood what love meant and what marriage required. But my notion of this is being expanded to include larger highs and lows every single day.
Thank goodness there are some things that are reliable. Like breakfast. This morning we had soda water waffles, sliced pink grapefruit, and coffee.
And I'm happy to report that Sean wore his fuzzy brown bathrobe.