Today should be my sixth wedding anniversary. It’s the “candy” anniversary, so I should be on a sugar high by now. And Paul should be in a chocolate coma. We should be getting ready to go out for a fancy dinner, too.
Should be. But not.
I guess I have to console myself with the knowledge that the three anniversaries we got were wonderful. But some days it’s hard to do that because he should be here with me.
So, instead of spending the day celebrating my marriage, I’ve spent it preparing for my move. Specifically, I’ve been going through old paper files and shredding like a madwoman.
And nestled in a pile of Paul’s files I found a detailed receipt from the gift he got me for our first wedding anniversary. It was the “paper” anniversary so his gift to me was an enlarged, stylised photo from our wedding day. We joked about putting it above the fireplace but decided against furthering the belief that we were one of those sappy, happily married couples who hung oversized wedding photos of themselves above the fireplace. So instead, we hung it in the hall. (After all, we were a sappy, happily married couple so it needed to go someplace!)
His gift from me was a small file box labelled “important paperwork” that contained 365 bits of paper with memories of our courtship, facts about love and marriage, and various other romantic notions and crap. And every day for the next year, Paul would read one out loud then we’d share a sappy hug and kiss. One day, I might read them again. But not today…
So, Paul, since I know you’re watching and listening every day:
Happy anniversary; I luv ya, luv.