'Til Death Do Us Part

I just have to say that I was floored by the thoughtful comments readers left on yesterday's post.  It means the world to me to know that something I say here on this little old blog of mine might help another mom out there to accept the emptying of her nest and the sometimes painful transition to the next phase of her life.

If you did read that post, you know that I'm going through a difficult transition period of my own.  I'm trying to figure out where my husband and I belong--where we should spend the rest of our lives, now that our boys are out on their own and aren't able to make it back to their dearly loved childhood home in NH very often.  Last year, we bought our NY lake house, Oyster Haven, with the idea that it would make an idyllic setting for future family gatherings with our kids and grandkids--and boy, it really would.  The plot of land on which it sits is incomparably beautiful.

It's also got the added bonus of being located about three miles down the road from my husband's childhood home, which is still owned and used as a gathering spot by him and his seven siblings.  It's close to where my parents and my two sisters live.  It's right next door to the town where we grew up (my husband from birth; me from the age of ten), where we met in high school, where we fell in love.

With our 40th high school reunion fast approaching, I find myself poring over old yearbooks, looking at the very young and oh-so-in-love (or in like-like, at first) kids we were.  Two babes-in-the-woods with nary a line on our faces, with our whole lives ahead of us.

Here we are (with stars above our gray-less heads), during our first year of dating.  We were going-on-16 when these 1974 yearbook photos were taken.

And here's part of the two-page novel that I wrote to my husband (who at the time, had been my boyfriend for ten months) in his copy of that yearbook:

I have never known a nicer, more intelligent, more considerate, more patient, more unselfish, more fun-to-be-around person than you are...I have had the time of my life this past year, and I'll never forget it--ever...We always have to stay in touch, OK?  Because you are a very important person to me, and a big part of my life.  I hope I will have you for a friend until the day I die.  Because you're really the greatest...There's no one in the world quite like you.

That young girl knew that she'd met the one guy for her and worried that it had happened too soon.  She worried that she was bound to lose him someday to some smarter, nicer, prettier girl, some more deserving Notre Dame or St. Mary's undergrad--because from the time he was knee-high to a grasshopper, he'd dreamed of ending up in South Bend.  She knew that as far as she was concerned, however, there would never be another guy who could stack up to him.

Thankfully, none of her fears were realized.  Their relationship just got stronger and stronger, despite the distance that separated them for the four years they were in college.  She got the guy!  And 42 years later, she still feels the same way about him.

Now we're going-on-58, and there are more years behind us than ahead of us.  Perhaps we'll live to be 95 or 100...but realistically (if you go by average life expectancy charts), we might have only 20 years or so left on this earth.  I'm not trying to be morose here; I'm just trying to come to grips with the fact that we might not have all the time in the world to figure things out. 

So where do we belong?

I'm still not sure.  But as long as we're together until the day I die, I'll be okay.