The passage of time has always fascinated me. “X years ago today, this happened,” I would think, marveling at all the things that happened in the meantime. Often, it wasn’t an exact day, but instead, within a month or so of the actual anniversary, I would find myself thinking such nostalgic thoughts.
Many of those events later turned out to be insignificant, of little more importance than what one had for breakfast nine days ago.
Today’s is the most significant of my — and K’s — life.
When I reflect on the patience necessary for us to get married (a non-Catholic American getting married in Poland requires only slightly less bureaucracy than starting a war or passing a stimulus bill) and the patience necessary to put up with my foolishness for six years, I realize how fortunate I am.
Six years — an awfully short time. Wars and debates have lasted much longer — and marriages. But when I look to the next six years, and the six years after that, and the six years after that (ad infinitum),
when I think of a time when my few remaining hairs have turned gray and migrated to my nose and ears, when my mind moves slowly and my body more so,
I will still have the most intelligent, beautiful, and thoughtful (among countless other superlatives) woman at my side. Perhaps only then will I truly understand the significance of our love.
Or maybe it’s to remain our ultimate mystery.