I am not a romantic. Not really. I mean, I think I would like to be to some degree. But I’m just not. I tend to wear an armor of skepticism when it comes to coupling. That said, my parents had their thirty-four year marriage blessed this weekend and it was lovely.
My sister and I were the witnesses, and it was awesome (especially after she and I decided to veto the original dresses my mom wanted us to wear that would have made us look like oversized flower girls… or giant matching marshmallow peeps). As we stood at the altar on either side of my parents, I have to say I could not help but choke up a little. My mom and dad have not always had it easy. Their marriage has been laced with the obstacles and pitfalls that they seem to omit from the happily ever-after fairy tales of our childhood. But they always have seemed to find their way back to each other. Perhaps that is real romance, not taking for granted the “for better” and being able to roll with the “for worse”.
I don’t know what the future brings, not for my parents, not for any of us really. But in that moment, where the priest blessed the rings that my mother and father re-exchanged, I felt a sense of beauty in choosing to intertwine your life with another. Now I’m not saying I am trading in my skeptic card for that of a hopeless romantic. But I am saying my parents are beautiful people, who after thirty-four years of marriage deserved a little celebration and acknowledgment of the life their love has built.
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