On the same day as the anniv ersary, a storm of epic proportions blew
through our small town. It was magnificent and exciting, scary and
destructive.We woke up that morning without a clue that there
would be a storm or that it was our anniversary. We'd forgotten so
many anniversaries, because there really was only one, in our 29
years together, when we had planned something exciting: a mini
vacation somewhere warm and tropical. That was our 25th anniversary
-- one I will always remember.
Even then, it was very difficult to find someone willing to mind
our kids while we snagged some much-needed alone time, so we pretty
much gave up on that idea afterward.
Sometime around lunch, my computer reminded me that it was our
anniversary. I laughed, thinking that it was a good thing we both
forgot it. Then I called my husband to wish him a happy anniversary.
He hedged, "Isn't that tomorrow?"
Nice try. "Nope. Not according to my computer."
My husband has long been of the opinion that computers are
infallible. It's the person driving the mouse that needs adjusting.
So, though he may have questioned my calculations, he didn't
question the validity of the computer's calculation.
We made plans to have dinner out together that night. It would be
a very short dinner because my 13-year-old is old enough to be left
in charge for a short time, but he's not necessarily responsible
enough to refrain from torturing his younger siblings while we are
gone.
It's these kinds of small irritations that lead to the inevitable
storm. While the weather started rumbling outside, the annoyances of
parenthood, the stress of our jobs and responsibilities, and the
pressures of life in general combined to put us both in a fine
temper when we met up later to dress for dinner.
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 As the weather reached a crescendo outside our windows, our
voices became loud and irrational. We questioned each other's
intelligence. We took cheap shots at each other. We cursed at each
other, including words we didn't think the other would know. We made
references to the rear end of certain animals. We questioned each
other's parentage and subsequent doubtful legitimacy.
For a few moments we couldn't stand each other. For a fraction of
a second we wondered if it was all worth it.
The wind and rain raged outside. It threw down limbs and
overturned lawn furniture. Tempers flared. Hurtful words whirled
around us. If there had been something breakable within reach, I
would have thrown it. If he wasn't such a good man, he might have
thrown me.
Then, as quickly as it came, the storm let up. It tore along and
pouted in fits and starts, just as we did. The thunder grumbled in
the distance as we lay our heads down to sleep that night.
The worst was over, the storm had abated, but we carried within
us, throughout the night, the hurt it had caused and the hope it had
inspired.
We awoke to a calm, clear, beautiful morning. The grass was still
wet. The dead limbs had shaken free. The air was fresh and clear.
The evidence of the storm was there, both the good and the bad.
Still, it had passed, just as it had so many times before.
It was a new day, a fresh beginning. We hugged for a long time.
We healed each other's hurts and whispered words of encouragement
and promise. Then, we started our marriage all over again... just as
we had so many times before.
[By LAURA SNYDER]
Laura Snyder is a nationally syndicated columnist,
author and speaker. You can reach her at
lsnyder@lauraonlife.com
or visit www.lauraonlife.com
for more info.
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