My husband is turning 76 years-old today.
We were born in the same month, in the same year, in the same city and in the same hospital. My mother left the hospital with me the day his mother checked into the maternity ward to give birth to him.
In less than a week, we will be celebrating our 47th wedding anniversary.
When we first got married, we woke up each morning and asked each other one question and one question only: Are You Horny?
Nowadays, we ask each other two questions upon arising:
How’d you sleep?
Are you okay?
And then we remind each other to take our blood pressure pills and check our blood pressure later in the day.
We no longer cheer at our kids’ soccer games, but we do a lot of cheering at our friends’ birthday parties – because we are still around to celebrate another year of life. Too many of our friends, classmates and relatives are not.
We used to admonish our kids, in fiery rhetoric, to be careful every time they took the car, or partied with their buddies, or drove down to Florida for spring break or went through the terrifying experience (at least for a parent) of pledging a college fraternity.
Our life is much more mundane now.
When either of us leaves the house or embarks on a new experience, we ask the most commonplace of questions:
Do you have your glasses?
Do you know where you’re going?
What time will you be back?
(And a new experience for us is now defined as switching to a new doctor, trying to figure out whether flavored seltzer water upsets our tummies and trying out a new digestive aid.)
My husband turns 76 tomorrow.
He does not look the same as the day I married him. Nor do I.
His dark thick curls are long gone – and he’s mostly bald.
His physique is trim and muscular, but not as trim and muscular as it used to be.
(I don’t have that particular concern as my physique was never trim and muscular.)
I recently saw a picture of Ali McGraw and Ryan O’Neal from their “Love Story” days:
And now:
I could relate.
Here’s ours:
Time takes its toll.
We lose the people we love.
Those of us who still have our spouses are lucky and I am grateful for my husband’s presence every day.
Most of the time.
Well, some of the time.
He is messy.
He eats way too much ice cream and then complains of acid reflux.
He still can’t figure out the difference between texts and e mail.
He incessantly asks me questions when binge watching because he always leaves the room to do gosh-knows-what.
He can never find his glasses and keys.
He has no idea what is in each of the kitchen cabinets though we have lived in this house over 15 years.
He over scrutinizes our dog’s eating habits, bowel habits and moods.
My husband is turning 76 today.
He used to swagger.
Now he walks tentatively and slower.
As do I.
If he still had his Porsche, he’d probably not be able to even climb in it – much less out of it.
His medicines crowd the cabinet shelves – shelves which used to house his vast array of protein powders.
His sweaty work-out clothes are long gone, replaced by his neck brace and back brace.
And he constantly misplaces his handicapped sticker.
But some things never change:
He is still jealous of my high school boyfriend.
And he still tells me that my smile lights up any room I’m in.
I think I’ll keep him.
Keep Preserving Your Bloom,
Iris Ruth Pastor
