The making of a woman.

It is my wife's birthday. Her age doesn't matter. The passage of time marked by candles bears no relation to the wisdom she has gathered or the depth of love she has attained. We have been married for 32 years and have known joy and loss, despair and elation. What was before our vows and has developed through the years is a deep sense of respect, courage, and love.

You may know of the daily challenges she suffers. Migraines have disabled her in many ways and prevented her from experiencing life the way so many of her contemperories do. Lying in bed for an average of 16 hours a day provides her with enough energy to sit with me in the evening. Outings are generally related to visits to medical professionals, although she occasionally feels well enough to visit friends. Her two great passions in life include quilting and teaching blind children. She hasn't taught now for 7+ years as the increasing burden of pain gradually prevented her from leaving the house. Quilting is now her mainstay and, even then, manages to spend only a few hours a week doing it if things are going well.

Some may have given up hope but not her; she lives because life is precious. Her children, her dogs, her parents, her great love for The Lord, and even me - these guide her and encourage her with every waking breath and even in her dreams. I gave her a card and gifts this morning. The card, a dopey caricature of a dachshund; the gifts, a pair of pinking scissors and some chocolate. All accepted with those attributes previously mentioned. Yet it is not her that received the gift; it is me. For I have the pleasure and honour of being in her company and seeing her rise above the issues which would drain the essence out of most people. Happy birthday darling. I am the luckiest man in the world.

Thanks for reading.     Ericspix     Eric Svendsen

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