In five days, it will be the anniversary of the day that I met my husband, twelve years ago. I remember gathering at my friend’s house and picking out an outfit (boots, jeans, a red shirt with ties in the front), giggling and trying to figure out what he was like. My other friend was setting us up, and we went to a bar and met her boyfriend and Adam there. The first thing I thought about him was that he was very short, hoping that I wasn’t taller than him in my boots. The second thing I noticed was that he had a very nice smile, and then I saw that he was wearing an unfortunate pair of black shorts (that I believe I just threw out a couple years ago, though I was never seen in public with them again!). Adam is a people person, and will make friends with anyone in the room, so we didn’t have any trouble making conversation. I really, really liked his smile. We ended up leaving the bar and going for ice cream, just the two of us. It was the middle of the night and I drove a huge Buick at the time. We were driving down the road when suddenly Adam said, “Uh, Devon? The door won’t close.” He was literally hanging onto it as we went so as not to fall out on the pavement. I was so embarassed! We had to make a pit stop to get some duct tape and Adam taped the door shut (foreshadowing to MANY, MANY car repairs in the years to come.) We got our ice cream and headed back to my friend’s house, where Adam’s car was. Just before he got out of the car, he smiled that smile at me and told me that he had had a nice time, and then he kissed me.
We basically grew up together. That night we met grew into a first date (Olive Garden, klassy!) and two months later we were living in our own apartment. We were twenty three.
We have been through SO much. Tears and surgeries and babies and marriage and death and so many other things. He has always been able to make me laugh; I think that’s why we’ve lasted as long as we have, because no matter what we can laugh about it. He knows the careful arrangement of my covers before I can sleep, and I know that most nights I will have to wake him on the couch to come to bed. He can tell if I’m upset by my sigh. I know if something is bothering him because he stops talking (and NOTHING makes him stop, nothing). We made a beautiful son together.
Two years ago, we went through the toughest point in our relationship thus far. We actually seperated for a short period of time, but in that time I realized that I take my marriage vows very seriously and wasn’t willing to let 10+ years go just because of a bad year. We had so many GOOD memories and then one bad year and a half. We went to counseling and emerged, I think, stronger than before.
Adam’s mom shared a story of when we were first dating. She asked him if he thought this was serious, if things would go further. He looked at her and replied, “Mom, I love the shit out of her.”
I still love the shit out of him, too, and I’m glad we stuck it out.