At the End of My Life, It’s You I Want Beside Me

When marriage gets hard, I picture myself old. Grayed hair, shriveled little body, with feet difficult to put in front of the other.

I want you there with me.

Holding my hand, spinning my old wedding band around my finger, rocking on the front porch.

I want you there with me.

Laughing about times when our kids were young—like when our son wrote his name with a key on the red car, or our daughter telling her whole preschool class precisely how she was born.

I want you there with me.

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We’ll look back as we sit on that front porch. Talk about the tough times. When you lost a job, my mom fought cancer when our own children were babies, our parents’ passings, when we both felt resentment for different reasons. When marriage felt too heavy. We’ll be joyous in our triumph—because our love will be the greatest accomplishment of our lives.

I want you there with me.

When my body begins to wear down from sickness or old age, I want you there with me.

No one else.

When I’m scared, resting in a bed, wondering if I’ll really make it to heaven.

I want you there with me, looking me right in the eye, reassuring me that it’s OK to leave.

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When my chest rises and falls one last time and my eyes finally close forever—it’s you I want there with me.

We’re still rather young in our marriage, but when things get difficult, I think about the end of our story. And it’s you I want in it.

Until the end.

This post originally appeared on Angela Anagnost-Repke, Writer