Barry Artiste Op/Ed
When Clues are left, sometimes the Clueless just Clue in to what they want to.
My husband of 19 years sat across from me in our bedroom, holding both my hands in his. The kids were in bed; he had put on soft music and poured us a glass of wine. Things were looking good – I was getting my hopes up. Instinctively I knew we were in that place that would be forever known as “before” and “after.” For two years now, our marriage had been unravelling, and it looked like tonight was going to be the night when I would find out what demons we were dealing with and we could start the process of healing.
“You’re going to have to be strong,” he began, and I eagerly hung on his words, knowing I would be anything he needed me to be to get our relationship back on track and our marriage back to what it used to be.
He was my best friend. John and I had begun dating almost 21 years earlier and after that first evening together, I knew I was going to marry him. Our courtship consisted of hours together talking, going for walks, and planning our future together.
We married in May 1981 and shared almost all of our non-working moments together. We rarely missed having breakfast together at the beginning of each day, and never went to bed without the other at the end of it.
Source: lifestyle.sympatico.msn.ca
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