Today, my aunt and uncle celebrate their 48th anniversary. Neither have hit 80, and they seem like they’re in their 60s.
They’re happy. They’re still in love, but not in the public-displays of affection-kind of way. They make jokes and smirk at each other.
He’s crotchety and severe with everyone but her. She cut through the living room with a garbage bag last night and he leapt to his feet to run after and help her, without her even saying a word. When she had to return to the workforce in her 60s and he was retired, he wouldn’t even let her make a pot of coffee, and even ironed all her clothes for her every morning. She had to iron everything today so he wouldn’t get to doing it himself because he wasn’t feeling well.
They’re very attentive to each other’s needs and projects, and always jump in to help each other. It’s refreshing and reassures one that these epic relationships do occur, it can last.
But they’re the perfect example of how it should work: By helping each other. By giving a shit. By knowing that it’s not just about you.
I guess that’s the nutshell of all relationships.
Anyhow, I made them dinner. A quiet boring anniversary, but after 47 of them, what’s the fuss?
[Addendum added later: I realize this sounds like he’s totally whipped, but he’s actually manly-man man, The Reisdent BBQ Master, the Yard-Man, the Volunteer-Cop (still, actually has police clearance, even at 78), mechanically-inclined. But he hates to see his wife put out — at all, ever. She’s his queen and it shows, and it’s mutual.]