The Un-virtuousness of Patience

These days the hours and minutes are no longer slow.  They don’t crawl by.  They rush past me with no warning.  A day disappears in the blink of an eye, as do weeks and even years.  I didn’t think I was old enough for years to rush by.  But, today is two years, two months and eighteen days since our wedding day.

I thought I was going to go crazy waiting.  Once you proposed, I just wanted to be married.  Who am I kidding?  I wanted to be married before you proposed, but I’ve never been good at waiting.

I love thinking about the day you proposed.  You were dropping hints and then confuse me by saying the opposite.  By the time we laid on the blanket in the park, I definitely did not think you were going to propose that day.  But, I was determined to not let it bother me.  After all, I knew you loved me, and it was only a matter of time.  I’m always working on that darned patience.

We were out celebrating our year-and-a-half anniversary.  Your present was late coming in the mail, so we were celebrating late.  We lay reading for a little while, and then you ran back to the car and got the presents.  You hadn’t let me near the trunk all day.  You had received your presents a few weeks earlier, so it was all about me that day.  I felt guilty that I had nothing new for you, but you brushed my guilt aside.

When you came back to me, you had a basket full of presents.  I teased you for going over the $20 cap – but there were presents galore – a Happy Feet DVD because of my penguin obsession, various other penguin memorabilia, a box of chocolates and a book.  Not just any book.  A book of poems I’d been wanting for ages – the poems of Sara Teasdale.  I was floored.  Floored that you remembered such an obscure fact.

You told me to open it.  I did.  On the first page you wrote:
”I love you more than…” and on each subsequent page was a new thing you loved me more than.  I don’t remember them all, but there was “I love you more than Italians love gelato,” “I love you more than you love penguins,” and on and on.  I was touched by the originality – though I was a little upset about the writing all over the book I’d desperately wanted, but I forgave you.  Of course I did.  How can you not forgive a person who found pages of ways of telling you how much he loves you?  I kept flipping, till I reached a page in the center of the book.  A square was cut out and in it laid a ring, a citrine ring.  And above it, the words, “Will you marry me?”

I cannot describe how I felt.  Happy, ecstatic – those words don’t even begin to describe my joy.  I said yes.  Of course I did.  There was never any other answer.  I laughed at the citrine ring – teased you about not proposing with a ring made of melted down pennies like you had said months and months before.  I smiled when you pointed out the chocolates – how there was five unwrapped ones and one in the center, wrapped, a chocolate with macadamia nuts that you are allergic to.  You said it was for if I’d said no.  Again, that was never an option.

I was bubbling over with joy.  We decided to go for dinner at the restaurant nearby, the one we’d gone to on our first anniversary.  After that we’d go tell my parents the news.  We walked to the car, to put the presents away.  Finally I was allowed near the trunk.  You told me you had one last present.  You pulled out a Build-a-Bear penguin, Mumble, and handed it to me.  Around his neck was a chain, and on it my diamond ring.

That day was worth waiting for.

We were married 11 months and 1 day later.

Again, it was a test of my non-existent patience.  I did not enjoy wedding planning.  I did not enjoy the long days and weeks and months.  But, once again, that day was worth waiting for.

It’s been three years, one month and nineteen days since the day you proposed.  I love you more now than I did then.  You are my best friend – the only person I could ever imagine spending my life with.  Thank you for your love, for everything you have done and continue to do for me.

And thank you for teaching me that some things are worth the wait.

- Inspired by prompt #2 – Something worth waiting for at this week’s Writing Workshop by www.sleepisfortheweak.org.uk

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