All My Love, Always . . .

What do you say to the woman you've shared your life with for the last 35 years? How do you tell her that she's grown more beautiful with each passing day, that your heart still skips a beat every time she walks into the room? How do you begin to tell her all that she means to you? Only a fool would try.
So here I go.
I remember the first time I saw her, in high school. She was cute. Damn cute. With long auburn hair, the color of  cinnamon. A beautiful smile, turned-up nose. A laugh that could fill a room. And a boyfriend.
I disliked him, immediately.
We saw each other in our school's theater productions. We shared a circle of friends. Eventually, I worked-up enough nerve to ask her out. She said "yes". The first of many that would follow. And that would be our life together.
Always questions from me.
Always "yes" from her.
When I thought we were ready to be husband and wife, she agreed. When I told her that radio was what I wanted to do, she believed in me. When I said my career would likely take us away, far from our homes, she welcomed the idea, eager for the adventure before us.
Always "yes".
So we left our families, our friends and started our journey. Just the two of us, at first. Before too long, three. Then four.
It is not possible to thank her enough for the gift of our children. For being a fiercely devoted and proud mom. For allowing me to be a father, and showing me the way. Diana and Matt are grown now. They're close by and a big part of our lives, just not every day. And I know that's hard for her. Which only makes me love her all the more.
It can be quite useful taking inventory after 35 years. Two apartments. Two houses. Two kids. Two dogs, three cats. Over a dozen cars. Two motorcycles. Several jobs. Three cruise vacations. Two trips to Vegas.
And 35 anniversaries.
There's a lot to be said for marrying your best friend. Together, we've seen good times and bad. For better . . . our beautiful kids. For worse . . . saying goodbye forever to our own parents. It's only then that you realize in the end, you've only got each other.
And yet, after all these years I still can't think of anyone I'd rather spend time with. Have a drink with, share dinner with.  Sometimes we'll simply look at each and have the same thought . . .  how did we get here? How did these 35 years slip by in the seeming blink of an eye? And through it all, she's been there, always, to laugh with me, cry with me. To calm my worries and chase my fears. To show me the man she always knew I could be, even if I couldn't see it myself. Could I really be that man, for her?
Always a "yes". Never a doubt in her mind.
On the day we got married, I remember looking at her, so beautiful. Her face radiant, her eyes sparkling with the possibility of our life together. And then she was walking down that aisle, about to forever put her hand in mine, and I thought, "it doesn't get much better than this".
Little did I know.
Over the years, I've fallen into the admittedly lazy habit of signing all my greeting cards for her with, "All my love, always". Trite, I know.
But it's true. And it's really all I have to offer.
So, Kathy, let me simply say "I love you". I know I don't say it nearly enough. But I hope I show you, every day.
And that 35 more years together won't nearly be enough.