In a Heartbeat

Today, my husband René and I celebrate thirty-seven years of marriage together. We’ve been married longer than we haven’t.

We are certainly not the same people we were when we met at age twenty-three. We are now officially old—so old in fact, that we can claim our senior citizen discount at the movie theater (not that we ever go out these days—why bother when we can stay home in bed and watch Netflix?)

René and I have always been a bit of an odd couple. Me—a white, classically trained pianist raised in a middle-class family from Santa Barbara, he—an indigenous Zapotec from the mountains of Oaxaca, Mexico. In so many ways, we grew up worlds apart from each other, yet somehow, we connected. Hmmm. . . I feel like this might make a good romance novel. Oh, wait–it already did.

Gotta love my 80’s hairstyle!

The first time I saw René I fell hard for him He was so handsome—still is. I was a senior in college and had just ended a co-dependent relationship with a boyfriend of five years. I landed a waitressing job in an upscale hamburger restaurant in Santa Monica where René was a line cook. Imagine a brightly lit establishment circa 1985 with lots of gold fixtures and hanging plants, everything else colored a bright shade of Kelly green. The restaurant menu included fried zucchini sticks, loaded nachos, and more than thirty hamburger varieties—even one with Caviar on it. God, I miss the eighties.

I pined after René for three months but kept my crush to myself. One night, I gathered up my courage and offered him a ride home after work, and that was the beginning of our life together.

We’ve had our share of tough times—the loss of parents and other close family members; dealing with cancer diagnosis and  subsequent treatment of our youngest daughter. We’ve also had so many joyful experiences: becoming pregnant at forty-two when we thought we were done having children; being able to lovingly embrace our children who have come out to us as queer.

As we head into our twilight years (I really hope that doesn’t mean that darkness is right around the corner) we marvel at the beautiful life we’ve made together. The laughter we share overshadows our occasional disagreements. We’ve finally learned to pick our battles and keep our mouths shut—well, most of the time.

I think our best work together has been our children. Even with our collective childhood trauma, we’ve managed to create four of the kindest, funniest, generous and most brilliant humans on the planet, and the fact that we did that together—parenting mistakes and all—is a significant miracle.

Now our children have brought their own partners into the mix of our lives, and this magical Mireles batter keeps getting sweeter every day. As many of you already know, our own little sticky bun will be coming out of the oven this August and we will be grandparents for the first time!

Thirty-seven years ago, René and I were mere babies trying to figure it all out. Today, we’re still those young kids navigating the stress and struggle of life, but it’s easier now because we have wisdom and experience. And most importantly, we have each other.

Happy Anniversary, Honey. Thank you for traveling by my side all these years.

I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat.