But. Then I realize that's how long we've been married.
And all the sudden that number seems huge. A decade. AND A HALF!
And I can watch it all in my mind. Like a series of movie clips, running forward and backwards. The years blending into themselves. Isolated into moments and still frames blurred together with lots of "was this first" or "was that first" kinds of questions. Shocking in both the clarity of the moment and blurred backgrounds from the passage of time.
Wow. Just wow. We've been through a lot. A lot of hours and projects and meals, words and tears and diapers, hand holding and arguments and laughter. Things we never thought we would do, places we never thought we'd be. But then you're there--and the only choice is to put our heads down and get through it.
And then, that's how you know. That this bond was forged in The Refiner's fire. That we are bound together by more than just words or contract, but by blood and bone. The surety that no matter the argument or the loss, the frustration, that we are one flesh. Unable to be separated, one from the other.
We've changed a lot. There are many more gray hairs and wrinkles now. A running commentary on our aches and pains (that sadly I think might only get worse). And somethings are still the same (if slightly modified by the extra bodies around the table). The morning coffee. The slightly abrupt and abbreviated morning conversation while one of us wakes up. The drawers that one of us always leaves open. So time has both shaped us into more of and less of the people that we were, in strokes both broad and sweeping and with detailed intricacy.
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