I think it looks like living. I think it looks like dying. I think it looks like joy and happiness, sorrow and peace. It looks like two young kids standing in a meadow pledging to love each other till death do us part and not having a clue what that means. It looks like moving how many times? It looks like two young kids losing their first baby in a strange hospital with no family around, the pain and sorrow threatening to drown us. It looks like losing three more babies and holding each other through it all. It looks like the joy of having three healthy babies, Mike by my side, coaching me through each contraction because back then you didn’t use drugs during labor, you had to breathe through it all. He was a great coach. Watching him hold our babies and giving them their first kiss are some of my favorite memories.
Forty-three years looks like life and death. We both stood over my Mother’s bed and watched her breathe her last breath. Nine months later we stood over his Mother’s hospital bed and watched her breathe her last breath. We grieved together. Both of our Fathers died too. We learned what it was to not be the children anymore.
We have had the joy of welcoming six grand babies into our family. And we've experienced the sorrow of watching five of them move across the country, out of the reach of our arms and laps. But the happiness in seeing how happy they all are, living somewhere other than this desert and heat, which is all they've known until now.
Forty-three years included a lot of "stuff." When I was facing surgery and not allowed to eat for a month, Mike hooked me up to my feeding machine every night. I was sure I wouldn’t survive the surgery so I