Today is my parents' 44th wedding anniversary. I called home to greet them and when I asked how long they've been married, she said it's been "Forty four years of service!" She can be a hoot sometimes, my Mamacakes.
They were married in the province, on a still November morning, until the Mass started then the storm broke. And the photographs of that day were lost because the home of the photographer burned down together with the negatives.
Three biological children, one adopted daughter, moving from one apartment to what is now our fifth house, Manila to Quezon City to Alabang, two strokes, one AMD eye and three grandsons later, they are still married.
There are days when they want to wring each other's neck, sure. And nights when they try each other's patience. But if there's anything I think of when I ponder my parents' marriage it's how they sleep spoon in the morning, while concurrently on a who-snores-the-loudest contest.
We have very little proof of the wedding, but the marriage! It is the benchmark marriage in my eyes. Not because it's perfect, but because it's not. And because through it all, it endures. And I am a blessed daughter for having front row seats to this wonder.
"I am large. I contain multitudes." - Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass
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