Twenty-three years of marriage we marked on Sunday, and we are as poor as church mice, living apart, just as when as our marriage started. Only this time around, I can be home every week without a 400 mile drive, one way.
This year, I received a bouquet of a dozen red roses from LH. He who never gives me flowers during the year or even in these 23 years, had a dozen red roses in a vase waiting for me as I entered the door.
Yes, I blew up at him earlier in the week, feeling stressed and sorry for myself, allowing fear and anxiety to take hold, not feeling appreciated for the sacrifice I have made, am making for us. I told him so.
And then days later, I walk in from the garage, just glad to be home again and to my shame the dozen red roses sit in a vase on the table.
I have paid for them, many times. But, I zip shut my mouth. Twenty-three years of marriage, and I know when it's best not to say anything, but "Thank you." I am touched and humbled and know that though he won't speak it, he does love and appreciate me.
Afterall, it is for better and for worse, and this is one of the worse times we are navigating in our lives and marriage. It is also for richer and for poorer, and this is one of our poorer times, again.
Twenty-three years and counting...