Our 52nd anniversary is coming up in twelve days. We’re going out for an early dinner that night because I have to be home for a Zoom meeting of a nonprofit. That’s okay. We are nearly always together. He’ll probably go for a walk during my Board meeting, and return in time to watch a show and the next day we’ll drive back to the beach. We figured out long ago that no one else will make time special, that’s on us. We tried for a “special” vacation for our 50th, and when we discovered our favorite restaurant had closed and our favorite hotel had new owners, we laughed and drove home. We spent at least three anniversaries in the ER with my mom. Those special days are unreliable, I’d say. It’s my husband I rely on.

Every time.

I’ve been thinking about something lately. Years ago someone commented to me that she would be interested to see what I became after Gary died. I have to say two things about that: 1. It’s a horrible thing to say, and 2. I am who I am and nothing Gary has ever done was meant to change who I am. He married me. Did he know quite how messy I can be? Did I realize quite how often his sly sense of humor would take over? We managed. Gary is the man I married. We neither of us married a fantasy, we married each other according to our vows “for as long as life and love endure.” So far, it’s endured.

True, we do still joke about him telling me in our first home together, “This is the way I want the bed made.” It’s been his job ever since. And once in a while he insists I calm down. We have every right to tease, since both of us are imperfect people. We do our best in the moment and let things go. We’re been practicing how to be together for a long time. It’s been worth the effort.

During the years we were taking care of my mother, he was the model son, stopping each morning on his way to work to make her coffee and take it to her in bed. Years before, he’d done that for my dad. My husband is the sort of person people call “good.” Not perfect, but gooder than any husband I’ve ever met.

We misbehave toward one another—what friendship doesn’t have its moments? We forgive, we support, we challenge one another. We are tender with one another. We tell one another when we’re scared or angry or hurt or sad.

In 1974, Gary laughed outright when a man called on him to “Control your woman.” Doing his share of the housework? I did most of it when I was a stay-at-home-mom from mid-1980, from scrubbing floors to cooking meals. Even then he’s always done dishes and cleaned the kitchen at the end of the day. He fills in when I forget and I hope I do the same thing for him. He spent this morning after our walk vacuuming. Yesterday, he worked in the garden, and I helped him make the bed yesterday. He pulls the top sheet high and I do hospital corners. We make the bed the way we both like it—kind of the way we do most things.

That’s reason enough to celebrate.

Consider this my early anniversary love letter, Sweetheart.