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We were desperate. We knew well enough that every fight could be our last.  I sighed the same words over and over until even I tired of them- I don't think I can do this anymore. I don't think I can. I can't, I can't. 

But soon, in a handful of days, it will be two years since the vows- even the ones bent or broken and soldered back together again. Because sometimes the biggest vow is keeping them after they've been broken. To take what was thrown out, and plant it, sitting on the cold ground beside it, waiting for rain and hoping something good will grow. 

It will be two years with a different last name. Two years of seeing the absolute best and worst of each other. Two years of holding on, if only by a couple thin fingers that seemed to be slipping out of grasp. Only in Hollywood is a two year marriage seen as a triumph, as a victory. And to those who don't know our story, the day will pass by without any thought to the two young kids from Illinois who are still together in spite of themselves. But we beat the odds- of people who have been though what we've been though, of military couples whose soldiers have seen war, and of the general population who only makes it to the finish line half of the time.


Our hearts remember, though- every twist and turn and detour is written on them- our own little history books we'll always carry. And while it means that certain things may always be haunting reminders, it also means we understand where our scars came from. I wonder how much we would appreciate had life been easier.


Two years. There's a balance that we have found and are still finding every day. I heat up bigger portions for dinner than he has room for and he eats them anyway. And he makes me watch every deleted scene and making-of parts of every DVD we watch.  I explain the plot of a book to him, and he explains the science of something to me. He reminds me to slow my pace a little and enjoy the moment. I'm a mother and he's a father to our sweet daughter. Something that was wrapped in pain has become something of beauty.    


I don't know that I ever will be able to look back on it all and understand. How it all happened, how we came back together in the end, or how long the process took and still takes. But maybe, when I am much older, and watching Millie's own children play on the floor beside her, I can tell her. I could tell her what she'll surely already know by then- that life is unpredictable, sometimes fickle, and still beautiful. And that we almost didn't have the family she knew. But that something was rooted in our hearts stronger than reason, and that God watched over us. That we were blessed.

And though many marriages stay broken, we took 'the road less traveled by.


And that has made all the difference.' 

(photo my own)