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If you ever were to receive a gift from me, it is unlikely that it would be accompanied by a store-bought greeting card. Expect a card made by hand, or even just a name tag on the gift. The vapid sentiments and especially the high price tags of commercial cards are really not my style.
Yes, you can call me cheap. I’m fine with that characterization.
But not long ago when I found the anniversary of my wedding fast approaching, I longed for an easy way to express my sentiments to the man I married. Tradition says that this anniversary should have been celebrated by crystal. Er, had we’d not ended the marriage, that is.
The first one is always the hardest, they say. Last year we were in the bitter throes of hashing out how to manage our lives apart, so the day passed with barely an acknowledgment of its significance.
But this year, feelings have mellowed. No longer do I have an everlasting fire of angry resentment burbling in my guts toward him, and some small blips notwithstanding, his own resentment is also abating.
If it had existed, I might have chosen a card for him that indicated how glad I was that we’d married so many years ago, and how equally glad I was that we’d made it through the divorce without excessive mayhem. The card would somehow have expressed encouragement for the continued strengthening of our relationship as we raise our children together.
Because no such card existed, I spoke to him at the tail-end of his morning conversation with the eldest child. “Happy anniversary,” I said, and then with some effort paraphrased the sentiments from the above paragraph.
He cried.
He cried, and I felt like an idiot for bringing up something painful for him. Resentment on his end is fading into regret, which quite possibly is even harder to bear.
So I listend to the sadness as a few days before I’d listened to the anger. And I wished I’d had an appropriate card to sent instead.



