Opus No. 12

12 months in a year.
12 roses in a bouquet.
12 donuts in a box.
12 eggs in a carton.
12 inches in a foot.
12 Tribes of Israel.
12 is the Atomic Number of the element Magnesium on the Periodic Table. (Just had to put that one in there since I'm studying it in my Physical Science class)

     And this week, my sweetheart and I have been married for 12 years.


     "Do you think I've changed much since we've been married?" Richard asked me. We were sitting at the restaurant, waiting for our food. The light was dimmed but warm, and the savory smell of Indian spices perfumed the air. I felt so contented, sharing this special evening with him. But I sensed a hint of concern in his voice. I wanted my response to soothe whatever fears he may have. I wanted him to feel assured that not once have I ever regretted my decision to marry him, and that while we each at times may fall short of the grand expectations we hold for our marriage, I love him more now, I trust him more deeply and I admire him far more than I ever have.
     I think my words reassured him that evening, but there is still more I would have said.
     Yes, you've changed.
     Remember how you bought me flowers for Valentines, or our 6 month anniversary? Well, now you come home from a routine grocery shopping trip and surprise me with a beautiful bouquet "just because", or to cheer me up when I've had an emotionally trying day.
     Remember how you used to buy a chocolate bar and soda every day at work for a snack? Well, now you celebrate when you come home to a favorite meal, knowing you'll get to savor the leftovers for lunch at work the next day.
     And when we were first married, you remember how concerned I was that you would be like all the other insensitive husbands I'd heard stories about who'd either forgotten their wives birthdays, or else presented her with some truly awful gift? I made a wish list for you our first Christmas and faithfully reminded you about each item on it almost every day of December. So when the big day arrived, how could I explain my feeling of disappointment when I received every last one of the items on the list. Later I realized that what had actually filled me with regret was the lack of trust I'd shown in you. Since then, I've never worried about special occasions or gift-giving. In fact, I'm more often outdone by you in the gift-giving department! This year was no exception.
     After a delicious meal, we ventured back out into the cold. You drove me to your workplace, led me up seven floors and into your office where your gift to me was waiting. The package was large and long. What in the world could it be? Inside the delivery box was an enormous, velvety blue bag. Untying the gold ribbon drawstring revealed a second box, this one with an unusual, slightly triangular shape. My heart skipped a beat considering what it might be. A thought flitted across my mind but I dismissed it quickly. It would be too much. And how could you have known how very much I wanted it? No, it couldn't be.
     But it was. Nestled carefully inside its black case, there lay a magnificent, beautiful violin. I was stunned. My only response was too repeat over and over in disbelief, "You got me a violin?" I felt a lump swelling up in my throat, but I was truly too astounded to cry. It felt like a dream.

     A lot can change in twelve years time. Just look around. In the last twelve years we've been blessed with 5 amazing children. You've graduated from college and worked at a handful of jobs. We've moved several times and now have bought our very own home.
     In twelve years you can drift apart and find one day that you've missed your spouse changing into someone else. But in our case, though I'd say we've both changed significantly so as to become "someone else", we haven't drifted apart. We've grown together. We've changed together.
     I haven't a clue how to play this violin yet! But I know in time, the music I make will become sweeter and stronger, eventually morphing into the recognizable strains of the symphonies I hear in my dreams. I'll learn to play our marriage: simple and uncertain at the start, perhaps with a few misplaced sharps or flats. But in time (say, 12 years or so) the sounds will become more melodic. Harmony will replace discord. Confidence will conquer insecurities. Self-conciousness will give way to appreciation and contentment; a soulful and stirring piece I'll never tire of hearing.

     And after another 12 years, I think we'll be ready for an encore -- don't you?

    Thank you darling, for another happy anniversary.