Happily Ever After

What, exactly, does "Happily Ever After" mean? To some, it's the usual end of a fairy tale. To others, it's the difference between fiction for the unwashed masses and true literary classics.

Romances are known for it. Ridiculed for it. But I don't think the story ends with the HEA. HEA, to me, is an end. But it's also a middle. And a beginning.

I don't think it means the end to conflict, but a hopeful view that whatever obstacle comes up will be faced, fought, and defeated. I should know about HEAs; I'm living in one.

Nineteen years ago today I got married. To the type of guy I never thought I'd go for. He was not really what I wanted, but turned out to be just what I needed- which eventually made him, of course, what I really wanted. And those nineteen years have been sometimes exciting, sometimes bland, sometimes dark and difficult and most times merry and content.

I used to joke that I'd married Eeyore. There were reasons for that comparison, though he's lightened up over the years. Gary is the very embodiment of still waters running deep. He seems a simple man of simple tastes, but below the surface there's so much there. A lot I'm sure I haven't begun to guess at. Even though we can finish each other's sentences, he still surprises me. Who would think that the fishing hiking Eagle Scout who lives to make bad puns also writes me poems every Valentines' Day and unashamedly tells everyone that we're on the 20th year of our honeymoon?

The companionship is sweet, the intellectual friendship is delicious- we still talk about anything and everything- but I'm most pleased that the romance is still there. Even though my hair has changed colors and his hair is gone, and we've both got more fluff in our stuffing, we're like hormonal teenagers. He can reach for me in the morning, when my breath is not pleasant and my hair would rival Queen Amidala's, and still make me feel like the world's sexiest woman. Yet, he can also appreciate when I've gone to a lot of trouble. I'll wear that new outfit, and he'll give me The Look. You know the one I'm talking about. The one where his gaze travels up and down, and I know he's thinking slightly lustful thoughts. Puts my nerve endings on zing for the rest of the evening.

There's so much freedom in a relationship where you have trust. I know that I can do anything, say anything, and he'll still be here in the morning because he cares. But I'll temper what I do and what I say because I care. After this many years together, it isn't that I have to- it's that I want to.

What to say to the man who's put up with me, been there for me, laughed with me, stood while I blew up at him and then held me afterwards, who has forgiven me and asked for forgiveness, who has shared my life as no one else ever can or ever will? Somehow, even for this romance fanatic, I love you doesn't seem enough. But by a God-given quirk of humankind, it is.

Happy 19th, honey. I love you.