This is not a typical romance.

I didn’t fall on one knee to ask Leslie to marry me, even though that move was somewhat possible twenty years ago. It was a drawn-out discussion, the question of what we might be to each other, beginning with her rather pointed query about my intentions after our first vacation to Maine. “Honorable,” I stammered. “My intentions are honorable.” Then we both laughed all the way back to Boston. Our conversation continued across several coast-to-coast trips.

I’m still not sure when the decision crystalized. It could have been catalyzed by my diagnosis in 1996, the kind of life event that either cements a relationship or crushes it. Before all the tests and the consultations, all the adaptive gear and shifts in accommodations, I felt her devotion and loved her goodness and trusted her perspective. Always. As a constant. Her tender, generous heart. Those keen insights. That captivating mind. Her joyful and graceful lines.

So we made the announcement to her family. We planned a fondue feast. The table was set. Our guests were assembled. The dinner was ready. Tah! Dah! We delivered the main course and shared our big news, just as the table cloth caught fire. The meal was saved, though the linens were singed past saving. None of us seemed to mind a little scorching. And that would bode well for the future, too.

 

Since then, Leslie witnessed many more hospital dramas than I ever imagined. She held our little household together in some terrifying times. She touches and tends to my wounded soul and beat-up body when I am filled with dread. “All I need is in this room.” That’s what I tell her on holidays and birthdays and special occasions. I am a simple man living a complex existence, and Leslie helps make that possible.
I wish I had delivered on the upside of our vows: the better, the healthier, the richer. In some spiritual and emotional ways, I have. But I don’t want to gloss over the difficulties. Because Leslie deserves honesty. Our life together has been hard on her. We’ve had to recalibrate and rethink and revisit. Everything. All that we thought we might be and do and see. So I write this anniversary note out of deep gratitude for her unconditional love and abiding acceptance.

 

Together we have paved a path sans compass or map or even a clear view of True North. This journey has required faith and hope and sacrifice, like all marriages. May ours continue with all the fire we can muster, my love.