August 8th is the day I married my best friend of ten years. He is a fantastic man. He is devoted to his family, a super dad, a self-made business man, a talented artist who can create custom engine parts out of shapeless pieces of metal, has an amazing eye for photography, cooks and does his own laundry, is super-handy around the house and has shoulders of steel.
I know this because, thanks to my disease, he's been holding me up for seven of our 12 blissful years of marriage. Don't dismiss this fact as an unmeritorious obligation of marriage. I know many a marriage that has not withstood the test of breast cancer.
Of course I have friends and family who are always willing to do what I need them to do, or be where I need them to be. But My Love just is. All the time. Every day. Every night. Because of him, I have what I desire most: a loving family of our own creation that is my deepest joy.
So, in keeping with this summer's theme of utter chaos, it is completely without shame that I admit to you all that I forgot our anniversary. Entirely. But, before you crucify me, know that My Love also forgot. Oh, yeah. And, had it not been for a phone call from his mother offering good wishes on this important day, God knows when either one of us would have remembered.
Happy 12th Anniversary, My Love. I'm looking forward to so many more. If I can remember them.