Yesterday was our twentieth wedding anniversary. Yes, we missed our son, who’s away at college. It was a working day and both of us had our long to-do lists, but my husband, being the nice person he is, returned home earlier than usual so we could spend the time together. So yes, we were working, but it was nice to have each other around. We agreed to take a coffee break at 4.30.
As we savored our cups of coffee, we naturally reminisced about life over the years. And of course, inevitably, about our eventful wedding. This was followed by pleasant thoughts about our trip to the Northeast and the urge to look at those photos we clicked. Here’s one of us—my favorite—from our trip to Kaziranga national park.
Soon after we returned, by the end of March, I discovered I was pregnant and our joy knew no bounds. Of course we wanted to rush out and buy all kinds of stuff for the baby we were going to welcome into our lives, but some unexpected travel plans postponed that. We also decided that my Mom should come live with us, which meant winding up house in the city I used to live in.
We strolled down memory lane, recalling all the happy times we had had together when my Mom was with us, and how life had changed after she passed away on Feb 8, 2010. This has become a bit of a ritual for us, because her death anniversary is the day before our wedding anniversary. Still, we consider ourselves lucky to have so many precious memories to gloat over.
I always feel grateful when I think about how, even though we are quite different from each other, we do have some solid things in common. Our love for simplicity, P G Wodehouse, Columbo, and our impatience with the same things.
After our break, we got back to work. As I tried to force my mind back to the present, I saw an email from our son. He had written a poem for us. And of course I cried my eyes out. I couldn’t help thinking how our little boy had changed. So mature, so wise. For a moment, I wanted to sulk a bit as I read his loving email. Mommy’s heart, no? The wish-you-were-here syndrome. What to do?
I thought I’d extend my break to quickly look at some old photo albums. And came across a photo of his stroller, which I clicked when I gave it away in 2011, to a friend who was having a baby.
I knew had to get back to work, but thought I’d see just one more album. It is funny how I have photos of so many babies in the family, and many of them in strollers.
But I have to say, that my favorite stroller is the one we bought for our son. It was the first thing we bought him. I still remember the pretty shop filled with toys and gear. Oh we squabbled over the color—there were only two—blue and red—and red won. In fact, come to think of it, we hardly bought anything blue for our boy.
And the memories flooded in again.
Of those days when we loved to stroll all over our campus, and on the way back, finish our veggie shopping and put our bags in the space below.
Of the days when he refused to sit in it, preferring to walk unsteadily, holding it.
Of the days when he loved to ride in the supermarket trolley rather than his stroller, which we usually filled with our shopping bags. Talk about multi-tasking!
Of the days when he loved to fill it up at home and push it around the house, conjuring up all sorts of games.
Of the time when we used it to take stuff from one room to another in the house, simply because it had wheels.
Just looking at the picture took me all the way back to nostalgia town. Sometimes I really wonder where the years went—and then I smile at the milestones we have crossed together, and feel blessed. We’ve had our ups and downs, but we’ve managed to laugh through it all. Also, he takes care of the laundry at home. Enough said.
Happy twentieth wedding anniversary to us!