Forty two years.

Not for the faint of heart.

Our grand one with the tightest curls asked, “G aren’t you sad you won’t be with Grandude on your anniversary.”

It was a good question.

We’ve been apart maybe five times in our forty-two years as husband and wife. But this August 14th had been bandaged up in unexpected sickness. Lucy’s second round of chemo was scheduled for today along with a lumbar puncture - my gosh someone needs to re market the name of that violent sounding procedure!

A candlelight dinner was just not on the cards. Mark had reluctantly returned to Colorado already and I had chosen to remain here in Arkansas a bit longer.

“You know London, in a strange way this might be our most romanic anniversary celebration ever.” Our eighth grader looked slightly puzzled.

“It is because of our marriage that we have your Daddy. And now we have all of you kids. So being here for Lucy kinda proves our love.”

She didn’t gross out. Her lips pursed in agreement. She nodded. Then added a single little shoulder pump of affirmation. She knew enough about ancestry and how it all works to appreciate the connection.

This afternoon I spent an hour scratching Daniel’s back. What a horrible week to watch our grown son suffer immensely through his daughter’s horrible diagnosis. My right hand moved up and down his blue, hot weather shirt as he showed me the colorful photos of his recent trip to Uganda.

Lucy’s legs were stretched across my lap as I marveled at the African stories. My left hand, the one that displayed my sparkly engagement diamond and a Russian rose gold wedding band, rubbed the bottoms of her purple and fuzzy socked feet.

Happy Anniversary, Mark Tedder. It is a good life with you.

#ilovelucy