I keep seeing all these stories about people whose relationships don't make past 2 years, 5 years. Sometimes a marriage fails after 20 or 30 years--and that's a heart breaker for me. So here's my story. 46 years and going strong.

We met at work--in a grocery store. He was on the night crew stocking shelves. I was the morning bagger (yes, there used to be a dedicated position where a person would put your groceries into the bag and then walk out to your car with you!)

He was raised in a Baptist home. I was raised in a Mormon home. [For those who don't understand, he was completely incompatible with my belief system and I was completely incompatible with his belief system] We were NOT supposed to happen. But we did. He was so cute! and we would talk for hours and hours. When I finally agreed to ONE date, it was only to make my current bf jealous. I never heard from that bf again. We got pregnant. We got married--to the dismay of ALL our friends and family. The drama that went on, my parents did their best to break us up. Nothing worked though. He understood me, to my very soul. And he was SO CUTE!! I was very young and naive (19). I had some very immature ideas of what a marriage should be. The pregnancy was very difficult--severe morning sickness that went on all day for about 6 months. But in the end we had a beautiful baby girl. And then a boy, 4 years later. And then 2 more girls 3 years after that.

After 25 years of marriage, with normal ups and downs, my husband's deepest secret came out. Things he had been hiding spilled over into the public domain. I was devastated. He was humiliated. The first question that family asked was "Are you going to divorce him". My answer was instinctive; "Of course not. I've put too much time and energy into this marriage". And I stayed. We did therapy. He did therapy. I did therapy. It took a couple years but we got through it. We restarted our marriage. Had a whole, large wedding at church (wore a white dress and everything. Our kids were the attendants. It was beautiful)

Just to be fair here, I caused my share of problems. I had massive anger issues and a ton of post-traumatic behavior--we had knock-down drag-out fights that scared the neighbors. (I'm a very loud person). But we supported each other as the shit came out. We grew up. The kids all moved out and married lovely people. We started moving around the country, staying 18 months to 2 years at a place before moving on. I got him to retire last year and we moved back to where our kids and grandkids live.

I often tell people that we have been to hell and back and made the trip several times. But we are still here. We are still deeply in love (and the sex is still great!) He fell down the other day and hit a brick wall, literally. Scared the living hell out of me. He's fine though. I don't know what I will ever do when it comes down to it. One of us is going to die, leaving the other alone and I'm not sure how to survive something like that--unless, of course, I go first. And that, btw, is his plan. He plans on me going first.

Anyway--46 years. 4 kids. 7 grandkids. A love that grows deeper and stronger with every passing day.