On what was the hottest day Louisville, Ky., had experienced in five years, Greg and I were married. I don’t remember it being hot. I remember thinking I didn’t want to bawl when my closest friend walked from the bridesmaid lineup to the microphone to sing “How Beautiful.” I remember thinking I loved the flowers next to the yellow dresses. I remember thinking how nothing seemed to be going wrong. And I remember ordering Domino’s Pizza when we got to our hotel room.
That was nine years ago.
In some ways, nine years seems like a long time. Especially when I start listing what’s happened in those nine years: We lived a year in Lexington while Greg finished law school and I worked as an education reporter. And then we moved to Murray. Greg passed the bar and started his career as a lawyer. I started a job I had no idea I’d love. I was diagnosed with diabetes. We couldn’t get pregnant. Greg started a real estate investment company and his own law practice. We adopted our daughter. I quit my job. We moved about a mile away. We adopted our son. My father-in-law passed away.
And that’s just the big things.
We’ve been on tons of trips in that time too, including Lake Tahoe, New York City, Florida, Gatlinburg, Greece/Italy, New York state, Branson, Hilton Head, Chicago and New Zealand. We’ve celebrated nieces and nephews and siblings’ weddings. And we’ve made dear, dear friends along the way.
And, honestly, each year has gotten better and better. Perhaps it’s that fact that makes it seem like nine years has flown by.
Happy anniversary, husband. I didn’t plan for our life to be like it is, but I wouldn’t change a thing. I’m so thankful to have this life, with you. Here’s to at least 41 more!
You can read other anniversary posts. 5 years. Six years. Seven years.
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