Long before we were married, I shared this quote with my husband. This was how we envisioned ourselves in the future: we'd be old, our hands arthritic, our eyesight poor, and we'd be sitting on our porch swing at dusk, holding hands, watching people go by. Our conversation would be the silent but meaningful kind, as befits two people who have known and loved each other for so long.
Years have passed since we painted that dream, and time has a way of blurring things. We've gotten married and shared so many beautiful memories. We've also had countless fights, days of bitter silence, things we'd rather forget. In what can occasionally feel like the drudgery of everyday life, we sometimes lose sight of what's important.
Yesterday, we bought a swing. We didn't buy it for ourselves but for our son, who is eleven months old today and who loves spending time in our garden, grabbing the leaves of trees and listening to the chirping of the visiting birds. While my husband was setting the swing up, I suddenly remembered. We'd dreamed of this. Or, rather, we'd had a dream symbolized by this swing: a dream of happiness, peace, and contentment; a dream of everlasting love grounded on the kind of friendship that can speak volumes without uttering a word.
We aren't there yet. There will be trials to face, hurts to heal. But I think we can make it, as long as we remember what's important. This is our swing. This is our dream, and we're not letting go.