Yesterday was our wedding anniversary. Next year will be the big, whoop-de-doo anniversary, but that doesn’t detract from this recent milestone.
We’ve been married 49 years now.
When I say that, or even think that, my mind is flooded with memories. A lot of miles, figuratively and literally. A lot of dreams, many got smashed to smithereens, and even more took root and blossomed that were entirely unanticipated.
Of all the people in the world, Mr VOW was the perfect partner for me to share these years with.
Congratulations! We hit 42 years in May (44 years since our first date in April), and I firmly believe the marriage will last as long as we both do, however long that is. I kind of like the non-milestone anniversaries, since there’s less pressure to do Something Big to celebrate.
We recently celebrated our 21st. Our marriage is now old enough to legally drink. It’s amazing how vivid our wedding day is in my memory- like it only happened a year or two ago.
The last time my wife and I took a look through our wedding album, we made the same observation. As a number of the now-deceased in the pictures are from her family, and seeing those pictures hit her hard, I’m not sure she’s eager to look back through the album any time soon.
A wedding is an event for a young-ish couple & their contemporaries, a few little kids of the next generation, and a lot of people from the prior generation.
By the time the couple is 60-70 as so many of us Dopers are, that older generation, who might have been 50% of the guests and 70% of the professional family photos, is just about guaranteed to be mostly gone.
100% of the older generation present at my first (age 30-ish) wedding is dead. My wife from that wedding is dead. I am the sole survivor other than a few contemporaries and almost all of the very few next-generation kids. I’m only 64.
With luck I’ll spend many years as “the last of the Mohicans.” But I’m damned near that already.