In celebration of our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary the other day, my husband Paul and I did something special: We had our wedding bands cut off.
We were not symbolically severing our relationship as we severed the thinning gold from our thickening fingers. But it was time to admit that, after years of slowly adding extra weight, those rings were not coming off without help, and we were not going to be reverting to the slim bride and groom in our wedding album any time soon.
When I look at the photos of that young bride, happy and hopeful, unburdened by extra weight around the waist or lines around the eyes, gazing at her slender groom…I still feel like that. Less familiar looking is the person who looks back at me now from the mirror. I’m still making plans for the future as if it stretches out forever, and I wonder where 25 years could have gone.
The years quietly slipped away in moments big and small. A glorious honeymoon, followed quickly by a layoff. The births of our two cherished daughters, and the deaths of our two cherished mothers. The terror of knowing a sick child may not live, and tremendous joy when she did. Hours spent side by side at the soccer field, dance competitions, plays, art shows, and graduations. The long nights trying to explain algebraic equations we scarcely remembered ourselves, and long sessions doing our own math so I could stop working, so we could buy a bigger home, so we could pay tuitions. Finding time for tennis and volleyball and trips to the beach. Vacations in the snow and sun, holidays with his family, my family, our family. Paul putting in a brick walk in the summer heat because I wanted it. Me joining a sand sculpting team because he needed a teammate. Raking the leaves, cleaning the bathrooms, unclogging the sink, folding the laundry. Negotiating whether the Patriots game or Desperate Housewives gets the good TV. Laughing, crying, yelling, hugging.
Next week, we will pick up Paul’s resized and shined-up ring, and I’ll be getting a new one that is bigger and better than the old one. But that’s not the only reason I am okay with saying good-bye to the ring I’ve been wearing all these years. It has been a long and mostly happy marriage – one that has brought us closer together but has also brought us pretty far from those young, clueless pretty people in our wedding picture. It’s okay to let go of who we used to be – we really do have something bigger and better now.
Showing posts with label tracy bryant. Show all posts
Showing posts with label tracy bryant. Show all posts
Friday, October 23, 2009
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
School's Out
September 1992
She is polished and ready for her first day of kindergarten. She wears a colorful dress we picked out together, a big hair bow, white lacey anklets on her skinny legs, shiny new shoes and a great big grin. The school has provided her with a laminated bunny bearing her address, which now hangs on a length of yarn around her neck.
I haven’t really been seeing this day as the big deal “starting school” was when I was a kid. Caileigh has been in all-day preschool three days a week for three years and now will go for half a day. She has been reading chapter books for a year, and now she will be taught her ABCs. Frankly, I was looking at it as a bit of an inconvenience, the half-days of school every day, which will force a change in how I schedule my work.
Caileigh, on the other hand, has proudly announced to everyone all summer that she is going to “Mary D,” the big-kid school. She had carefully arranged her bedroom desk in anticipation of homework. She has proudly picked out her backpack, which no longer carries a lunch or a change of clothes and is, on this first morning, empty.
The big yellow bus stops in front of the house and Caileigh runs off, climbing up those giant steps, turning briefly to send me a cheery wave, and disappears. It is only then that I realize that she has appreciated the magnitude of this moment far better than I have.
June 2009
On a glistening Sunday morning, Caileigh walks across the pristine lawn of her college, surrounded by the classmates she has lived and worked with for the past four years. She wears a cap and gown, sunglasses, and a big grin. A sash and cords around her neck signify the awards she has earned along with her Engineering degree.
The past few weeks have been busy ones. She has presented her senior thesis, passed in final papers and exams, attended ceremonies and banquets, interviewed for jobs, and enjoyed a whirlwind of Senior Week events. She has spent days saying good-bye to people she has lived with, studied with, laughed and cried with. She has promised to keep in touch and, with a precious few, she will.
I am remembering with awe the joyful little girl who changed our lives so much and wondering when she became this young woman, who is everything we ever hoped she would be. Following the ceremony, she marches out with her fellow new alumni; suddenly, she spots us and gives a cheery wave. It’s exactly the moment we had pictured.
After a week’s vacation with friends, Caileigh will begin her engineering career and her life. As she turns back to her friends, laughing, I realize my dreams for her have come true, and my job is done. Her own dreams are calling, and she is ready. This time, the moment is not lost on me.
She is polished and ready for her first day of kindergarten. She wears a colorful dress we picked out together, a big hair bow, white lacey anklets on her skinny legs, shiny new shoes and a great big grin. The school has provided her with a laminated bunny bearing her address, which now hangs on a length of yarn around her neck.
I haven’t really been seeing this day as the big deal “starting school” was when I was a kid. Caileigh has been in all-day preschool three days a week for three years and now will go for half a day. She has been reading chapter books for a year, and now she will be taught her ABCs. Frankly, I was looking at it as a bit of an inconvenience, the half-days of school every day, which will force a change in how I schedule my work.
Caileigh, on the other hand, has proudly announced to everyone all summer that she is going to “Mary D,” the big-kid school. She had carefully arranged her bedroom desk in anticipation of homework. She has proudly picked out her backpack, which no longer carries a lunch or a change of clothes and is, on this first morning, empty.
The big yellow bus stops in front of the house and Caileigh runs off, climbing up those giant steps, turning briefly to send me a cheery wave, and disappears. It is only then that I realize that she has appreciated the magnitude of this moment far better than I have.
June 2009
On a glistening Sunday morning, Caileigh walks across the pristine lawn of her college, surrounded by the classmates she has lived and worked with for the past four years. She wears a cap and gown, sunglasses, and a big grin. A sash and cords around her neck signify the awards she has earned along with her Engineering degree.
The past few weeks have been busy ones. She has presented her senior thesis, passed in final papers and exams, attended ceremonies and banquets, interviewed for jobs, and enjoyed a whirlwind of Senior Week events. She has spent days saying good-bye to people she has lived with, studied with, laughed and cried with. She has promised to keep in touch and, with a precious few, she will.
I am remembering with awe the joyful little girl who changed our lives so much and wondering when she became this young woman, who is everything we ever hoped she would be. Following the ceremony, she marches out with her fellow new alumni; suddenly, she spots us and gives a cheery wave. It’s exactly the moment we had pictured.
After a week’s vacation with friends, Caileigh will begin her engineering career and her life. As she turns back to her friends, laughing, I realize my dreams for her have come true, and my job is done. Her own dreams are calling, and she is ready. This time, the moment is not lost on me.
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