Sixteen years ago today, we got married.
On that morning, I had less than $30 in my checking account, having spent the massive sum of $80 the night before on pizza and two liter softdrinks for our rehearsal dinner.
My car was a small Kia with a leaky radiator someone had given me, because I couldn’t afford a car. My bride was in the early stages of the heart failure that had killed her mother, grandmother, and cousin.
A friend had lent us his condo at the beach for a week, so we could have a proper honeymoon. Another friend catered the reception, and told us we could have a month to pay for the food costs. Mom and Dad paid for the cake – it came from the grocery store down the street.
And virtually every person at the wedding handed us some cash, so we could have a lovely week at the beach – else we could not have afforded the trip.
As I said, the car had a leaky radiator, so I had a trunk full of jugs of water, and every so often I would pull over on the shoulder of the road and top it off. While at the beach, the car had an electrical problem, and I worked on it late into the night in the parking lot of the nice restaurant where we are supper.
Sixteen years later, literally nothing is the same. A different state, a different city. My wife has a new heart. We live in a house we love, in a neighborhood we love, and we can afford to get to a different beach 4 or 5 times most years. Renee does kitten rescue and I write things that matter to some folks, and for 16 years we have made it work, mostly because we have decided it will.
Sixteen years. 30 percent of my life. 6,540-ish days, more good than bad.
I’m glad she said yes.