John and I took a long time to find each other. I was 39, with a long, difficult, ultimately very sad marriage behind me and three teenagers I was raising on my own. John was 44, twice-divorced, childless, a confirmed, never-going-to-marry-again motocycle-racing bachelor. That’s when we met. We agreed on our first date that neither of us was looking for a relationship. Dinner, a movie, maybe some meaningless sex….
That date was, according to my mathematically-minded husband, exactly six and one-third years ago today. We’re so happy we were wrong about marriage. And we realized it pretty quickly: We were (though it horrifies me to think of it now) engaged by week six and married within seven months. I think we both appreciate marriage more because we know how lonely the wrong one can feel—and how affirming the right one is.
I particularly love this photo because it shows our personalities and our differences. I’m a little wild and rowdy. John, for all his risky hobbies, is shy and logical and very much the Southern gentleman. It works.
It not only works, but it shows when it is just right. I was lucky enough to meet my one and only at age fourteen, dated seven years, married fifty-eight wonderful years. It doesn’t matter when it happens, just that it happens. You and John are such an inspiration, and reminder that life is meant to be lived in loving relationship.
Annie