Once Chosen, Forever Kept

He and I used to count down the days to it. When the day came, he would iron the navy suit I loved and I would wear the purple dress he bought me for our first anniversary. We would dance a silent waltz around the living room, giggling like school children into the night. Sometimes we would miss our reservation and have to eat takeout in our fancy outfits.

He made sure to bring me a flower for every year we had spent together. Last year, I woke up to a basket filled with four dozen and one roses. This morning, I reached over to wrap my arms around him and embraced nothing but a cold, empty bed. Old habits are hard to break.

Now, the same date marked on my calendar feels like a black stain on the year. It's just a day that reminds me that the strong man I loved is gone. I don't hear his goofy chuckle at the television, or the sound of his sports radio echoing through the kitchen. These days, I hear nothing but the sound of my own two feet shuffling through this empty house. I feel suffocated by his absence.

I sit down on my couch, next to his spot. I can hear his voice in my ears: "Darling, everything I have is yours. Everything, that is, except this spot when my game's on. You know I get a weird angle from the other side of the couch."

He was an odd duck like that. I would tease him about how passionate he got about baseball. He would tease me when I cried while watching my soaps. No one tells you about those little things you'll miss so dearly. The banal stability of long-term partnership is comforting in ways you don't expect. When it's gone, it's like the rug is being pulled out from under you over and over from the moment you wake up to the moment your exhausted brain finally lets you fall asleep.

The doorbell rings. I shake my head and snap myself out of my pity party. I send the metaphorical guests home, sweep the floor, and get my head on straight. He wouldn't have wanted to see me like this.

I look through the peephole and see a giant bouquet of roses. My stomach does a flip as my heart beats out of my chest. Logically, I know he's not going to be holding the flowers this time. My heart doesn't quite get the message, though. I see a familiar smile peek out from behind the roses.

"Hey, grandma," he says.

"Oh—Oh, sweet pea! Please come in. Get out of the rain." I open the door wider and wave him in.

He struggles to set the vase down on the dining table.

He nervously runs his hand through his hair. "50 roses, right?"

"What's that, dear?"

"50 roses for 50 years?"

My face falls. "Yes, this would've been the big year."

He clasps my hands in his. "It still can be—still is. Mom told me about your tradition and all us grandkids are going to keep it up. So happy 50th anniversary, grandma."

He pulls me into a big hug and just holds me for a while. Before I know it, my lip begins to tremble and the dam breaks. Tears start streaming down my cheeks as my shoulders rise and fall sharply with every deep sob. I've already cried every last drop I had because I missed him. These tears are new, they're—happy. Happy because I have such a caring bunch of grandchildren. Happy because I was fortunate enough to once have been loved by him.

I finally manage to regain my breath. My grandson steps back and rifles around in his pocket. "I almost forgot—I have something for you."

He pulls out an envelope with my name written on the front in handwriting I hadn't seen in the past year. "Mom gave this to me. She said grandpa gave it to her just before—before the end to keep until the big day."

I'm shocked, though I shouldn't be. It was just like him to leave me one last surprise. I carefully pull out a folded-up letter and reach for my reading glasses.

* * * * *

Darling,

I knew that if I let you think I forgot our 50th anniversary, you would've raised me from the dead just to kill me for it. I know I'm nearing the end of my book, but our story continues to live on. I want you to know how much you mean to me, dear. Some folks are unlucky enough to never fall in love, and here I am, getting to fall in love with you over and over again.

First, I fell in love with your mind. And no, not just because you helped me keep my own head screwed on straight. No, you were smart as a whip and the top of our class all those years ago. I guess now that you can't divorce me, I can admit that I wasn't half bad at calculus. I just wanted to study with the pretty lady with the sparkling eyes.

Then, I fell in love with your heart. You guard your heart, dear, but only because you're capable of loving so deeply. You taught me how to be vulnerable and how to protect something with my life. You taught me what it really felt like to cherish someone and cherish a partnership. And darling, I cherished you until the end.

One day, you told me the good news. That day, I fell in love with you as a mother. You sacrificed for us to have the beautiful family we have today. You created life and gave me the children who taught me how to love someone more than life itself. You taught me how to always put our family first.

Some see marriage as a big decision you make one day: "I do." I see it as choosing someone every day for the rest of your life. So thank you, darling. Thank you for letting me choose you. Thank you for choosing me back. And most importantly on this day, as I'm palling around with Roberto Clemente up in the clouds, happy anniversary.

Don't let all that love go to waste, dear. Take all the love you gave me every day and give it back to the not-so-little-ones we love so much. Be nicer to yourself. Know that our kids all hope to be just like us when they get old and gray, too. We did alright.

* * * * *

I close the letter and smile.

"Are you okay, grandma?"

"Yeah." The clouds part to let a sunbeam through the living room window. "We're okay."