Human beings have a need to mark the passage of time. In spite of Einstein’s Theory of Relativity, and the consequent proof that time is not an absolute, for those of us on earth, living at earth-pace, the passing of time is inexorable. New Year’s Eve, with all its festivity — the fireworks, the ball dropping, the parties — is a grand way to mark the passing of the last year.
December 31st is a special day in my personal story. That was the day I first knew that I was in an actual relationship with my husband-to-be.
We had been dating for about nine months at that time, making the gestational period of our incipient relationship the same as that of a human infant.He lived in NYC; I was there visiting my dear friend. We had tickets to the Lotus club — the only New Year’s that I have celebrated in the utter madness of Times Square. I was wearing a golden dress, borrowed from my friend. Earlier that day, I had fallen down a flight of stairs and sprained my ankle, and I had zipped up my boot, determined that the sprain would in no way prevent me from dancing the night away. I do not know if it was the golden dress, or the zipped up determination to have a good time, or all of the champagne. But by the time he stole a long-stemmed rose and presented it to me with a flourish, the magic had simmered, and the night, in addition to being the last night of the year, had become the first night of Us.
As I look back on the last day of this year, like everyone else, there are days that I am happy for, and and days that I am happy to leave behind. This year has been one when I have been particularly grateful for the love and support of all my friends and family, and today, on our special day, I want to call out my husband. As this year passes into the next, know that I love you more than I can express, and that I am forever grateful for what started on New Year’s Eve nine years ago.