Fifty

When I am fifty, I will miss twenty-five.

When I am fifty, I’m going to miss you being twenty-four.

I will miss riding to work together on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays; holding hands as you sing to me in your deep country “twang” voice. I’m going to miss the 30-minute drive to work from Rexburg to Idaho Falls and back home again. I’m going to miss working at Beehive Credit Union…hopefully I won’t still be working there. I will miss our vintage, deep red couch with the curved back that I love; the one we got for $20 and I’m sure won’t last another 20 years. I’m going to miss our cold apartment and telling you how freezing I am but refusing to turn on the heater because it’s too expensive. When I am fifty, I am going to miss my wounded laptop collecting dust in the corner. The one that doesn’t work anymore as a result of you stepping on it with your steel-toed boots because you were so excited about the gift I got you for our first anniversary. You didn’t see it on the floor, and I cried. I’m going to miss finding fire-engine-red hairs hidden in your scattered-black beard and getting giddy because my chances of having a red-headed baby just went up.

I’m going to miss the days it was just us...hopefully we will have company by the time we are fifty. I will miss being naive and not knowing what the next 20 years will bring. I’m going to miss having to empty our savings account just to pay our $600 rent (when it goes up from $590 in January)…hopefully we won’t have to do that anymore when we’re fifty. I’m going to miss the red blinking light on our sea-foam green Nissan Altima flashing constantly whenever the car is on. When we’re fifty, I’m going to miss your hair-less back and the dark hair on your head. When I am fifty, I will miss you getting so angry when one of our neighbors takes our parking spot, and we have to park a whopping five feet away in the “handicapped” space. When we are fifty, I’m going to miss you laughing harder than I’ve ever seen you laugh because I’m trying to talk with my retainer in, and apparently it’s hilarious.

When I am fifty, I’m going to miss our bed frame that seems to break every time you sit down on the edge of it to put your boots on…or take them off…and then you cursing at the bed because one of the legs snapped again…hopefully we have a different bed by then. I will miss you coming through the drive-thru at Beehive and surprising me into an elated smile because you thought I could use a pick up for the day. I will miss teaching Sunbeams with you, and getting sad every time we think about losing our six little four-year-old girls at the beginning of the year. 

I’m going to miss our T.V. ghost that keeps messing with our volume, and I’m going to miss my back only hurting this much, instead of how much I’m anticipating it to hurt when I am fifty. I’m going to miss being able to put my socks on so easily. I’m going to miss you being immature…hopefully you’re not so immature when we’re fifty. I will miss you jabbing your open palm into the dashboard of the car as hard as you can to get the broken dial lights to turn on. I’m going to miss getting into disagreements over baby names. I will miss you yelling at the screen of your laptop as you logically explain to your inanimate math problem that its very existence doesn’t make any sense; and you talking to no one in particular as you try to work it out with your hands in the air-making noises that come from I don’t even know where…hopefully you’re not still in school when we’re fifty. I’m going to miss giving you that look when you’re angry. The one that forces your mouth to curve upward involuntarily, despite your best efforts to stay grumpy.

Hopefully I’m still writing when we’re fifty, and hopefully you’ve started to write. Hopefully after I’ve pestered you enough, you’ve written down something for us to remember, and for our children to enjoy. Hopefully we still know how to have fun and make each other laugh. Hopefully we’ve figured out how to keep the flame burning, and hopefully our kids are grossed out every time we kiss. Hopefully, we’re even more filled with hope and love for all of our blessings that have come into our lives.

When we are fifty, I will still love you. Don’t worry- when we’re fifty, our lives won’t let us miss being twenty-five.