43 Years and Counting (Every Second)

I remember little of that day, mainly of my soon to be mother in law fixing my tie right before I walked down the aisle. Even then I was not a capable person.

The years since just happened. No grand plan, merely two people doing what needed to be done. Strike that, one person doing and the other, well, something far less.

I sent my wife an email yesterday, setting out the number of years, months, days, hours, minutes and seconds since we exchanged I do's. I promised her that, if there was a God, her perseverance would be rewarded. But with her luck, who knows.

For those of you who continue to insist my inability is but performance art, that no one seemingly uncompromised person could possibly suffer such grave incapacity, I have one word in response: really?

I am what I am, or more accurately what I am not. 

And that means that most everything you can think of, I can't. Name a task. No, I can't perform that one. Try something simpler. No, even simpler. Still beyond my ken.

And through it all, stands my wife.  In some ways imperfect, for no one is without blemish. But in her willingness to shoulder the burden known as me for well over four decades, to perform the high wire act of life with no net, to get up each morning ready, willing and able to take on virtually every conceivable role of two people, she has been breathtaking.

I owe my wife much more than I have given her, much more than I will ever give her. But I am thankful every day that she has found the strength to persist in this endeavor, that she is willing to find adequate cause to carry on with a partner such as me.

I love her and my wish for her is that there is in fact a benevolent God.

43 years and counting.