…that’s how long Mom and Dad have worn little rings on their fingers and said small words that meant big things like “forever”, ” ’til death do us part”, and “for better, for worse”.

Thirty-two years. They’ve had brat children for most of those: Doug for 28 of them, me for 22. In fact, that’s the first time I’ve thought about it that way–my parents were married almost ten years before I came along and added to the joys and miseries of being parents of such obtuse children as Doug and I are.

Doug and I have only really “gotten” them once, on #25. We conspired to replace the TV that they’d had since their fifth year of marriage. This was easy, as Doug was off at school and could store the TV at Dad’s folks, who lived close by. He came home the weekend of their anniversary, and while they went out for dinner, Doug and I swapped out the TV’s. Predictably, Dad didn’t notice, but Mom sure did.

Thirty-two years.

That’s a long time. I can’t contemplate that–it’s longer than I’ve been alive. Since we live in time and not outside of it [yes, I'm coming back to that at some point, dear reader], we can’t really judge time. An hour may go by in a second; a minute may last an eternity. Thirty-two years isn’t an eternity, but when you’re looking from around nine less than that, it sure seems like it.

Thirty-two years.

Surely, the last ten months haven’t been easy. The tears well up and the fear of the small child that comes when his mommy goes away for the first time–and he’s not sure she’s coming back!–thinking about it. It, of course, is the stroke that has irrevocably changed both my parents. For the first time, for open display, I got to see the weaknesses of my parents: Mom, no longer the strong woman she’d always been physically; Dad, visibly exhibiting fear for the first time since I’d known him–or at least the first time I hadn’t been so scared myself that I’d even noticed.

It is in weakness that we find our strengths. In Mom’s physical weakness, she found a mental strength that we all know she had but you know, sometimes, we had to remind her that she had it. In Dad’s fear that he would lose the mother of his children and the love of his life, he had to turn and be the caretaker. It’d always been Mom’s boys who’d been sick–even a small flare-up of the family scourge, cancer, was something to be hidden from the younger child until he graduated from school, mainly so he could serve as taxi driver for the week it hurt to drive.

Thirty-two years. Perhaps the last five have been the toughest. Mom and Dad lived apart for two years, though certainly not by choice. A job took Dad farther south in Mississippi, to a place they bothed hoped would work out for them. When the company was taken over by one of America’s most famous corporate raiders, Dad wanted out, but it took a while to find a job he was willing to take and move his family yet again. Then came a little over a year in the Mississippi Delta, which I knew they’d hate, but they never asked. =) Then the move to Tennessee–land of my birth. They were just settling in what the apple cart was upset once more.

I talked briefly with them about their anniversary on Monday night. Dad said that he had to remind Mom that today would be their anniversary. I laughed and said, “Oh, come on, Mom. You know you remember–you’re just using a convenient excuse to forget that you’ve been married to that old lug for so long!” We all exchanged a hearty laugh. It was really me who had forgotten, else I would have gotten a card off in the mail to them. I guess that this is going to have to suffice: a few heartfelt words pecked on the morning of their anniversary, words which are going to make me just a skosh late to work this morning, as if I mind.

Thirty-two years. I’ve been in the wedding of a woman I once loved [or thought I did] already; that’s more than a year past. In 17 days, I’ll put on the acoutrements of a monkey suit and mist up as my best friend and his fiancee use small words and small rings to symbolize lifelong love and other huge things. To be in the ceremony but not its focus is daunting, and it brings home something I’m missing.

Thirty-two years. Since I’m the product of a majority of those, all I can really say is, “Thanks.” Watching the two of you, especially over the last year, has shown me what love is really all about. I can only hope that God will introduce a relationship that soulful, that meaningful, and that lasting. [And yes, Dad, I'm looking!]