In my 20s and 30s, “Until death do us part” seemed an unimaginable length of time. A daunting part of the wedding ceremony I preferred to omit.
Which may have been a factor in why my two starter marriages remained brief. But by the time I married a third time at 46, that oath felt sacred and fundamental, a somber reminder there was an endgame within sight and not nearly enough years for me to spend with my Ron.
Marrying a man 13 years older than me made our time together infinitely precious. It also led me to make assumptions: 1. He was going to retire ahead of me.
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