Love is a battlefield

Forty-eight years.

That’s how long my wife and I have been married as of July 7.

Forty-eight long, long, long … “Wait,” conscious says. “She’s liable to read this.” … I mean “48 short and glorious years and I can’t wait for 48 more.”

I hate anniversaries. Worse than birthdays. Worse than Father’s Day, Mother’s Day, Valentine’s Day … It’s not the celebration. That’s something to be proud about. It’s the gifts. I am the absolute worst romantic. 

Case in point. This weekend we are celebrating our anniversary in Chattanooga, Tennessee. That is the same place we went to for our honeymoon. Only… we spent our free time driving/walking through Chickamauga Battlefield and learning about the pivotal Civil War battles in 1863 and Missionary Ridge. (Now you know the meaning behind my headline.) 

To this day I have no clue why. What was I thinking? Why that location? Why battlefields when neither one of us was – is – a history buff? (Maybe because they were free and I was a grocery store stocker making pennies?) Why? Why? Why? And now we’re here again and I’m expected to this time make it romantic.

“Come here honey. Give us a little kiss!” (While standing on the grave of James Andrews, a Kentucky civilian who led the “Great Locomotive Chase” behind Confederate lines in 1862.)

“Hey baby. I still only have eyes for you!” (While standing on the grave of Private Oliver Protsman, a Civil War soldier who had a bullet pass so close to his face it created a vacuum effect and sucked out his eye.)

“I’m all yours!” (While standing on the grave of Lewis Martin who lost his right arm and leg in a mine explosion.) (Yes, that was tawdry and trashy, even for me.)

Back to gifts.

They say you can never go wrong with flowers. “They,” I presume, are the people who’ve never been married and have never given flowers year after year after year … 

Amazon recommends I give her a coffee cup that reads: “Annoying each other for 48 years” or a candle that reads: “Holy ___! We’re still married. I mean, happy anniversary.” (I kind of like the coffee cup.)

Uncommon goods recommends I give her a “Anniversary Journal”. (Are they crazy! I’m trying my best to get her to forget about half the things I do wrong and they want her to write them all down in a journal, so she’ll remember forever!)

Etsy recommends a silver spoon (if I ever make it to 50, at least I know what precious metal it’s got to be made of) etched with: “To a lifetime of ice cream together.” (Hello. She’s lactose intolerant!)

The Knot recommends matching underwear. (We have matching pajamas.) Openmityromance recommends custom bobbleheads of each of us. (My head bobbles naturally when she hits me with a frying pan.) 

Recommendation after recommendation after recommendation. But what do you get a woman who knows you would, and for the most part could, buy her anything she wants and yet she is just not into material possessions?

What do you get a woman who has loved you – and you know “you” and you know how hard it is to love “you” – for 48 years (plus two in high school, so we are actually at 50)? A woman who has made thousands and thousands of sacrifices for you. Given up dreams for you. Given up hopes for you. Been tolerant of you when you’ve acted like a child when the Braves don’t win (which as you know has been a lot lately). Who has always been there, through the thick and thin, through the good times and the bad times.

A woman who has given you four beautiful children. Children she made sure were raised right! 

I mean. A Godly woman! A woman of courage! A woman of perseverance! A woman of strength! Loyalty!

What do you give her? Don’t ask me. Aside from my true love and admiration and sense of awe, I fall short every year.