Recently, I found myself stuck in line at the Apple Store at the mall—because, of course, when my husband died nearly two years ago, he took with him every password and nearly all the technological knowledge in our house. Home computers, iPads, phones, devices… all of it. I am completely lost when it comes to anything buried under “general,” “settings,” or “preferences.” So there I sat, waiting for someone to rescue me from my Apple ID problems—problems that were dangerously close to sending my computer flying out a window in frustration.
As the tech tried to help me by completely reloading my phone (which, by the way, didn’t even work), she seated another customer beside me—a young woman who needed help fixing her AirPods. The tech and AirPod girl started chatting, and soon the conversation turned to her upcoming wedding. It was impossible to miss the massive diamond on her left hand. She launched into wedding plans, dress shopping stories, and frustrations with bridal party members—the typical bridezilla-type complaints that women my age know don’t mean a damn thing in the long run. She went on for a solid twenty minutes, and I did my best to sit there quietly, even when she exclaimed, “Can you believe they wanted to charge $200 more for the dress in Columbus than they do here?!”
But y’all… I broke. I know, I know—I shouldn’t have knocked a bride off her wedding-planning soapbox, and I don’t need anyone telling me I should’ve kept my mouth shut. I already know that. But I couldn’t help myself. I looked at her and said gently, “You know, someday you’ll realize that none of this will matter. None of what you’re worrying about right now will matter at all in the end.” I told her I was a widow—someone who knew a thing or two about weddings and even more about marriage, though a little too late. I explained that the only thing that truly matters is whether you can see yourself standing beside this person through absolute thick and thin—money or no money, job or no job, sick kids or healthy ones, miserable in-laws or perfect ones, and God forbid, fighting a terminal illness together.
Will you still look at him with love and tenderness when he can no longer speak, when his body is weak and failing and nearing the end? Will you hold yourself together as you bring him fistfuls of medication every day, knowing there may be no more happy moments left on this Earth? Would you still say yes—without hesitation—if you knew you’d only get fifteen years together? Because, sweet AirPod girl, I was exactly you seventeen years ago. I was consumed by church flowers, wedding photographer problems, DJ playlists that wouldn’t be followed, and a thousand tiny details I desperately wanted to be perfect—and many of them weren’t.
Nobody ever told me I wouldn’t f-ing care someday. Nobody told me my biggest regret would be time—time to share, time to laugh, time to travel, time to enjoy life together with our kids… time to love.
The health of your marriage—and of your person—is what matters, and it always should be. Everything else is just background noise. Okay, I won’t lie—it actually does help if you can get him to write down all his passwords and computer wizard tricks, just in case. But truly, nothing you’re stressing over right now will ever matter. The only thing you should focus on, protect, and cherish together is your TIME.
