Not long ago my youngest son walked into my bedroom, and for the first time noticed the wedding picture sitting on my bedside table. My husband and I, a couple of decades ago when we were younger and had better hair and no wrinkles.
“Who are those guys?” he said.
“It’s your dad and me,” I said, like I thought he was joking.
“No way,” he said.
And there you have it. We’ve changed. Quite a bit, apparently.
It’s February. The month of love and romance, and I’m thinking it’s been a long time, loving this one guy through all the ups and downs and family growing and changes, changes.
We’ve changed. We’re not as pretty as we used to be. He no longer needs a comb and I no longer wear mascara. We know more about each other than we’d like to, really. I can tell you what he’ll say before he says it, most of the time. He still has no clue what I’m thinking, most of the time, but I no longer expect him to. We’re comfortable, broken in, relaxed.
We’ve changed. We don’t fight about toilet seats or toothpaste or the proper way to make a bed. I don’t care whether he wears socks in his sandals, and he tells me I look nice without offering suggestions about what might make me look nicer.
Yesterday, before he left the house for the day, he put his hand on my head and made a comment about all that new silver shining in the blonde. But he smiled when he said it, and his touch was gentle, and I felt loved.
Change, yes. Youth fades, lines deepen, silver sparkles. This is the cost of time spent together.
Change, yes. Anger fades, love deepens, peace sparkles. This is the blessing of time spent together.