I’ve said so much and yet I still find time to say more.
My wife is celebrating a milestone birthday this coming Monday and we’ve embarked on a weekend long spree of quiet, private celebrations.
We were going to have a big party, but circumstances in life changed and the desire for rambunctious, debauchery laden fun was replaced with quiet introspection and a more sedate welcome to fifty. Yes, Fifty (it deserves capitalization).
And what better way to ring in the completion of half a century than to write a few words about my wife? Although, given the palette of dichotomy and wonder that she is, there truly will never be enough words to say about her.
When God was creating Yvonne He broke the mold, for He knew that He would never make anyone like her ever again. He instilled in this being this chameleonic ability to become what and who is needed at any given time, He bathed her soul in an aura of nurturing spirit and then, as if He hadn’t blessed her enough already, He gave her the eyes that could uplift and break your heart all in one glance.
And I know, firsthand, what it is to be viewed by those orbs of truth that project love and distill messages of navigation forever guiding my life. I’ve used them as my mirror for what seems like many lifetimes now, and yet I don’t know how we got here.
How did we get to fifty this fast? It scares me and I’m not talking about the number – the number is simple chronology, inevitable and consistent. What scares me is that it is all going by so quickly, that in between running to and from the responsibilities of life, each birthday seems to be upon us sooner.
When I look at Yvonne, I don’t see fifty – I see a host of memories, notches on our belts, experiences we’ve lived, people we’ve loved, people we’ve lost and the possibility of everything else that is in store. I don’t wish for fifty more, I arguably and simply wish for more before the tribunals of destiny – the number is irrelevant. If I were to die today, I know that I have been loved more than any one being deserves, I have lived well, I have been fulfilled and a great bulk of my life’s satiety is because of Yvonne and the sanctuary we have built.
While a great many self help books will tell you to never gamble your fate on just one person, I say hogwash to psychology and individual self-esteem, I direct you to go out and find the eleven to match your seven at the craps table – you might not win all the time, but trust me you will never lose yourself.
Yvonne is and always will be my eleven.
And that’s how I feel on this morning where the doorway to fifty is slowly preparing for Yvonne to walk its red carpet.
Looking at her, I am never at a loss for wants, desires, dreams, hopes and wishes.
Looking at her, I am never at a loss for words either.
And though enough has been said for today, there will always be more to say on the subject and the number of words is, well, irrelevant.