Wednesday, August 15th, would have been my twentieth wedding anniversary, except it wasn’t. It’s like watching the Olympics a few weeks ago and thinking Meg would be winning a gold medal right now if she were a sixteen-year-old gymnastic phenom, but she can’t do a cartwheel, so this was not her Olympic year.
There are many things in life that were never meant to be. For example, I was never meant to work in the health care industry. A few years ago, Meg had oral surgery to help prepare her teeth for braces.
“Just wait until the gauze is saturated with blood,” the surgeon said. “Then remove it and replace it with a new piece,”
In the process of removing the nasty cotton, I vomited.
I am not proud of my squeamish tendencies. Surely, a mother should be able to nurse her own child; but I have a weak stomach and a strong sense of smell, a terrible combination when dealing with bodily fluids.
Racing horses was another career I was never meant to have. As a child, my brother once asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. “A horse jockey!” I declared.
Neil laughed, “That will be interesting,” he said. “The horse will run a lap with you on his back, and you will have to jump off to carry the horse the rest of the way.”
Neil will probably deny having said that. I state with certainly, that of the two of us, I have the better memory. Neil killed a lot of brain cells doing stupid things in his twenties. However, in his defense, I was 5’9” by the seventh grade, not the ideal body type for racing equine.
My fairy tale didn’t pan out the way I thought it would; my happily-ever-after took some twists and turns, and many things I counted on never happened. Instead of celebrating my twentieth wedding anniversary with Scott, I celebrated my fifth with Tim. Thank God my night-in-shining armor arrived just in time to hold Meg’s hand during surgery and replace the bloody gauze.