I stood before a jam-packed church and thought I knew what the word meant. He towered before me, singing. SINGING. A song he'd practiced all alone to surprise his bride. "Like sweet music, we go together," he sang. He held my hand tightly and I felt cherished.
Almost thirty years later, I know better. That day in white was a mirage. A dream. It's the life in diapers and tears and cemented by the grind of loving (together) hard-to-love kids, parents, colleagues, neighbors and each other that makes one cherished. Makes me feel cherished. Like gold in the fire. Yes, just like that, I've been cherished into who I am by the hard days of this life with the towering man I call my Beve. Even on our hardest days. Even on the days I don't even know that I can say, "I love you." Yes. This is more cherished than I ever knew I'd be.