text: 40 years from today, less than 2 weeks before I would be 77, life was interrupted a bit earlier than expected. &#x200B; My husband walks into my office quietly. he looks around at the only room in our home mostly unchanged through our many years. Evidence of our lives together filled every corner of the room in photos, children's drawings, and keepsakes from our adventures. Suddenly so many happy memories in this room flash through his mind. &#x200B; He imagines me sitting here at the desk the night we found each other. Laughing, drunk, playing video games together from ten thousand miles apart. Neither of us held a clue about the lives we were about to lead together. The night he FINALLY touched down from Australia to the United States, we didn't sleep for days because we were so scared of missing any time. Our years of joy and sorrow and chaos. Our years of nonstop laughter. &#x200B; He recalls standing quietly in the doorway listening to me sing softly as I rock our baby back to sleep. I never noticed him there because I was entirely wrapped up in the small sleepy breaths of our tiny girl. He chuckles to himself as he remembers this because he knows how much I hate people hearing me sing. &#x200B; Our children, running in and out around his legs as he brings me coffee because... just one more game. Me, sitting in the chair at my desk. Rummaging through drawers for a bandaid. The tender way I kiss our daughter's booboo. The way I reassure her she's ok, she's strong just like her daddy. The pride he felt in that moment comes flooding back as he remembers the way our little girl wiped her tears through the pain and stood up straight. She's strong like her daddy. &#x200B; Standing hand in hand, behind the chair of the desk. Both of us, filled with hope and a just little panic. Glancing over at each other while our son anxiously refreshes the computer screen. Silently pleading with the universe to show him he was accepted into the school of his dreams. &#x200B; The way he would always somehow know from the other end of the house that I was at the desk, worrying about the bills piling up, trying to make the dollars stretch as far as we could. To keep the dream school possible. The way he'd swoop in almost silently and gently move my tense hands from even more tense temples. Hand on my chin he would softly make me look at him and reassure me "We've got this Bubs, yeah? We always have and we always will". The way he felt like he was never ready to let go every time I melted into him to steady me. &#x200B; Suddenly overcome with emotion he sits down at the desk. He places his hands for just a moment on the cool, worn-out wood, needing to steady himself. A few deep breaths. No tears. He's the strong one. He's always been the strong one. He's ready. He looks around at a picture of us from one of our many beach days, so many years back, and spots what he came in for just behind it. He grabs the car keys. Touches the photo of us in the sunshine for a split second then turns and walks out. &#x200B; "Ready?" I ask. He grins at me with that wide stupidly boyish for his age grin. "I was waiting on you Bubs, whatdya mean?" he teases back. I poke my tongue out at him and He reaches for my hand like he does every time we're near one another. We head out the door together to meet our strong daughters son. Born today, just a bit earlier than expected.