An Anniversary

Bittersweet. There are certain times when a word just perfectly describes feelings. Today my feelings are bittersweet. It is the 30th anniversary of the day I married Bob.

May 17, 1980 was a gloriously beautiful day. The sun was shining; the azaleas were blooming. It was the perfect spring day in Yardley, Pennsylvania. The whole day was perfect! From the ceremony, to the reception, to the after party, everything was perfect.

On our honeymoon we toured the Austro-Hungarian Empire. We flew to Vienna, Austria then on to Budapest, Hungary, Bratislava and Prague in Czechoslovakia, Salzburg, Austria and then cruised down the Danube back to Vienna. Along the way we attended operettas and operas, partied with Cuban military officers at a "disco" in Bratislava (Cuban banana liquor and Russian champagne are yummy,) took the "Sound of Music Tour" in Salzburg (the honeymoon capital of Austria,) and actually got to see a Lipizzaner Stallions' performance at the Spanish Riding School in Vienna! I remember both of us had reservations about spending 3 weeks together 24/7. When the plane took off to come home we both cried. We did not want it to end.

And it never really did. Every year we took a vacation around our anniversary. We had just moved to the Carolinas, so we spent our 5th anniversary in Charleston, SC. We were on a harbor tour and I started talking to a woman. I told her that we were celebrating our anniversary. She went on to say that she remembered her first anniversary. I explained that it was our fifth. She looked at me and said, "I just assumed by the way you look at each other that it was your first!" I don't remember being that spoony.

After eight and a half years of wedded bliss, it got even better with the birth of our daughter, Elizabeth Rose. Oh, how he loved his child! He was a hands on parent. He read to her, took her fishing, went on school field trips, and just enjoyed her company. How can you not adore a man who so loves his child?

I certainly don't want to leave the impression that everything was always blissful. It wasn't. When two people live together there are always issues and obstacles to overcome. But we always worked it out. I wondered one time why he never really got mad at me. His response was,” Well, when I start getting annoyed, I ask myself what's wrong with me today? Why is it bothering me today? If I think it will still bother me tomorrow, then I'll say something. If not, I just need to keep my mouth shut." He was a smart guy.

When our 20th anniversary came, Bob was very upset that we were not going to be able to celebrate on May 17th. He had clients in from India and he was expected to entertain them. I told him it was fine. Elizabeth and I would have dinner and when he came home, we could open a bottle of wine. But he was so upset about it! To my surprise, he walked in around 6:30. His boss rearranged his schedule and took the clients out so Bob could come home. We had no time to get a babysitter, so the three of us went to dinner to celebrate and it was perfect. And, it was the last one.

Bob died on September 6, 2000. The world changed instantaneously. The week before he died, I had said to the girls in my high school Sunday school class that my heart still fluttered when he walked into the room. It would never happen again.

Ten years have flown by. Elizabeth has grown into a beautiful and responsible woman. She has inherited many of her father's best and worst traits. I think she has fond memories of him, but she was just 11 when he died. I've tried not to make him into a mythical hero. I've wanted her to know him as the brilliant and flawed person that he was. And as for me, I still miss him. Sometimes I still imagine that he will walk through the front door.

So, what would I have done on that perfect spring day, May 17, 1980, if I knew that this was where life would take me? I would not want to have missed a single day of those 20 years. And while the bitter hurt will probably always be there, the sweet joy of the memories is so much more precious and powerful. I know that I loved and was loved. Who could pass on a life like that?