Dulywed: Year 6

Dear Mack,

On our sixth anniversary, I woke up next to our wife in my parents' basement and you woke up at your parents' house, hopefully alone, 2,103 miles away. How did we get here?

This year has been one of the most fly-by-the-seat-of-our-pants years yet. It all started last winter when we took that impromptu trip to Belize. We had a week free before Christmas and two nickels to rub together... obviously meant to be blown on a vacation. We settled on an tropical place that wasn't too far of a flight from Kentucky and California, that spoke some English, that was cheap, and that had a beach. It seems like that is pretty much our criteria for every decision we make.

We swam with sharks, explored caves, looked at the remains of human sacrifice, polished off a 5 gallon jug of rum punch, and wasted time in hammocks by the sea. Then we came home, me to Kentucky and you to California, to spend the holidays with our respective families... a separation that has become our tradition.

When we came back together, the cold months of winter were focused on school. I had a preceptorship and my final nursing class; you had work at the women's clinic and an OB/GYN rotation that threatened your relationships with all the women in your life. I graduated, you took your boards, and somewhere in there we went to Florida to celebrate Bubba's graduation. I started working in the arts, came to peace with wasting my RN temporarily, and we had that fateful burrito that moved us into my parents' basement. We carpooled to Lexington, you threw me out of the car in the hood, I managed to black out that cruelty and probably paid it back in smaller doses. I ate Indian food without dying, we navigated Ground Zero of family drama, you bought a Miata, and we drove across the country. Then I went home, you stayed in Los Angeles, and I came to accept the aching cold of our bed without you in it.

Earlier this month, we were reunited in LA. You picked me up from the airport and took me immediately to see the boats you'd been exploring with your dad. I had heels on, totally not seaworthy, and you held my hand as we walked to the ladder and climbed aboard. This trip to the marina was more than a glamorous shopping adventure. It was a chance to touch a dream you've had since I met you, a taste of the fruits of our labor, a glimpse of the adventures that lie ahead of us, a metaphor for our relationship.

We have no doubt weathered some storms, and knowing us, I'm sure there are more on the horizon that will make Hurricane Sandy look like a pussy. But somehow, mostly by acquiescing to getting trampled and mastering the art of bottling things up, we have stayed upright and on course. Somehow we have managed to have the best marriage. High five.

It's been almost a decade that I have loved you, but today, I love you more than I ever have. I'm sure part of that is because I miss you so much right now, but part of it is because you are the funniest, smartest, strongest, sexiest man I know (keep in mind, I don't know that Dothraki king from Games of Thrones). You make me laugh more than you make me cry, you come to my rescue more than you abandon me, and you give me hope more than you crush my spirit. Our marriage is not all rainbows and unicorns, and some days it's barely got a glimmer of happiness, but in the love story of real life, the one without princesses and knights on white horses, Good > Bad = Winning.

The sixth anniversary is a supposed to come with a gift of candy. In light of the pie I've polished off the past few days, it's probably good that you're not around to give me chocolates or toffee or CHOCOLATE COVERED TOFFEE (subtle hint). Instead, I'll take all the sticky goodness you've brought into my life over the past six years. It has been a wonderfully sweet journey and I can't wait to see where we go next.

Happy Anniversary, baby. Ba-kawk.