Endurance

You don't think about milestone anniversaries on your wedding day. You think about cake. (Especially if yours was a slice of chocolate heaven.) Maybe you danced the shortest first dance in wedding history, because neither of you had moves you thought you should show off. You sang the Notre Dame Victory March with all of your alumni friends and your younger sister, who became a Domer herself less than two years later. And you gave exactly zero thought about what life would look like a quarter century later, other than to be certain that it would be awesome, and that you would arrive there with your dance partner.

To young couples, at least, those vows are a necessary pit stop on the journey from the limo's arrival at church to the aforementioned cake at the reception. They tried to make you think about those vows in Pre-Cana, which definitely reinforced that you loved each other – nothing says 'love' like your non-Catholic intended spending a weekend retreat rooming with a snoring stranger in order to earn the privilege of marrying you. While that weekend may have made you reflect on what makes a good relationship, it did not bestow foresight, or even the urge to contemplate how your lives might deviate from the ones you intended.

Once one child arrives, and then two more (simultaneously), and the diagnosis of autism drops shortly after that, contemplation, visions for the future, or anything else associated with planning ahead gets pushed aside in favor of putting one foot in front of the other. Until suddenly, one day before the big 2-5, you aren't spending it on a plane or in a restaurant, but in a courtroom, wondering not only where the last 25 years have gone, but also the last 15 or so, from the day a psychologist first said the word 'autism' in connection with your daughter to this one, when you are standing before a judge with that same dance partner, asking a judge to terminate your daughter's right to make her own decisions, for all time. It is a wet, bleak day, for which you are grateful as you stuff your soggy umbrella into a plastic bag, because sun shining on this day would have felt like a slap in the face.

If your daughters ask who they should marry, you will probably stress the importance of picking someone they like, because as you have now learned, the last thing you'd want is to partner for all time with a co-parent you can't stand. And because one of the secrets to playing on when your daughter has been dealt a shitty hand is to do that with someone who can still help you find the joy and the laughter to balance the days like the ones when you have to go to court.

You wake up 25 years in, and remember to be grateful your household is still afloat. Without challenges, it's easy to forget that simple blessing. You celebrate in the morning with free chicken biscuits after an unexpected school run because a bus driver neglected to show up for work. Maybe he was celebrating his anniversary too. You spend part of the day trying to solve the mystery of a headache and another part with heavy equipment noise ringing in your ears. Anniversary Week is also Bathroom Remodel Week, which would be a cause for celebration if the bathroom being remodeled belonged to you. However, the teenagers are the beneficiaries, primarily because the daughter for whom you are now guardian broke parts of it in dual fits of annoyance and OCD. Your anniversary gift is the finished product, which you will admire on the way down the hall.

You rearrange a few things on the Christmas tree (which must be put up no later than the Sunday after Thanksgiving, per all three children) and realize you've squeezed in some great life adventures represented by ornaments, including the family photo shoots whose outtakes you liked better than the formal portraits. And you've acquired friends who think it's a great idea to give you a life-size cardboard cutout of Rowan Atkinson as Mr. Bean (standing in for Blackadder, your real love), and who think it's perfectly fine that said cutout still presides over the family room instead of being consigned to storage.

You reflect, without allowing yourself to wonder how things might have been different (that hurts), and the looming future is where your mental energy belongs. You put your game face on, because the clients in your waiting room have problems of their own, and you continue to march through the day, like thousands of others that have accumulated from your wedding day to this one.

You endure, and are grateful for the one who endures you.

And you still think about cake.