Nine

Nine years ago today, Fang and I vowed that we would support one another for better or worse, for richer or poorer, through sickness and health.

Challenges not mentioned specifically:

• survival of a fledgling, and therefore dysfunctional, graduate program
• loss of a beloved dog, and adoption and relinquishment of a troubled one
• fifteen months without consistent sleep, courtesy of our infant son
• tens of thousands of dollars of dentistry, and the accompanying pain and debt
• a move to Idaho
• losing tens of thousands of dollars in yearly income–twice
• the rapid decline of Fang’s industry
• moving far from family and friends–twice
• between us, writing and editing a dissertation, a 900-page screenplay, around 800 pages of novel, and a couple thousand blog posts
• $50,000 of daycare costs and preschool tuition (see the pattern? more “for poorer” than “for richer”)
• depression, anxiety, scoliosis, shoulder surgery, root canals, bone grafts, skin cancer
• Fang losing access to a crucial prescription drug, because it’s legal there but not here

Most of those challenges arose in just the past few years.

And yet somehow we’re not constantly at each other’s throats.

Somehow we maintain, at least for Lucas, a semblance of normal family life.

It hasn’t been easy.  It hasn’t always been fun.  The past year in particular has sucked for Fang.

And yet I adore Fang for what he has preserved at his core–an indefatigable Fangness, an acceptance of our joint errancy, and an insistence on finding the humor in it.  A total dedication to fostering the creative spirit in himself, in me, and most importantly in Lucas.

I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat.

Sweetie, here’s to a (much) better year than the last.  Here’s to better stories.  Here’s to (literally) brighter smiles (and soon).

Happy anniversary.