Today is Bastille Day, Quatorze juillet, and our five-year wedding anniversary. It's about the time in my long-term plan when I had intended to get married - definitely not before medical school was over, let alone before it first began. And I definitely didn't have plans to get married to the person I wound up married to.
I think I've told our story before - how I met a boy and passed him over without a thought, tangled myself in heedless heartless affairs, and came back in a circle when I had tied myself to someone I was never meant to be with. I think I've mentioned that first starlit kiss, and the casual-ness with which we entered into something that neither of us thought would endure.
I think I've said it all before. And I will never forget nor be allowed to forget that I am married to a man who is not my type.
Because he is, in fact, my type, so exquisitely and perfectly so that it has been nine years since I told him not to plan on dating past the end of the school year, and I have nearly forgotten the time before that. I have spent a third of my life in his regard, being alternately adored and goaded, knowing every moment of it that I am cherished and loved. This is the man who has made it possible for me to survive medical school - who labored over unpronounceable words on half-size notecards, who cheered me on and held me while I cried - the man who has uprooted his ambitions and aspirations over and over again to follow me.
He moved with me in his last year of college and drove an hour every day to attend classes. He kept the house together, alone, when I was renting a room two hours away - and he was never too busy to listen to me cry. He left a job he liked and the home we'd bought to move when I started residency, and he's still working even though one day, he wants to go back to school.
And he's always, always been there.
And I know he knows, but it bears saying again. I haven't missed the sacrifices he's made - and I haven't forgotten about all the things he's done. I know. And I'm as grateful as I can possibly be. Someday, I'll be able to give him a tenth of what he's given me.
I love this man. I always will. And it just gets better.