Today would have been my parents' 51st wedding anniversary (four weeks from the day she passed). I've said that my mom taught me how to be a good friend, a good listener, and a good mom, but there's no doubt she also taught me how to be a loving, supportive spouse. In one of my essays about why I wrote my last novel (which happened to be about marriage), I wrote this: "I want what my parents have, at least what I’ve been able to discern: love, devotion, respect, support, enjoyment. It’s not that I haven’t witnessed any of their loud arguments—just that all of them seem unavoidable and surmountable." They had that kind of special bond that came from really wanting to be together. Anyone who spent time with them could tell they enjoyed each other's company. If one would go to the store, the other would say, "you want some company?" They laughed at each other's jokes and antics and personality quirks, which was always endearing. But perhaps one of the things I loved most was that they were proud of each other, of not only the big things but many of the little things, too. I never took for granted in this day and age how lucky I was that my parents were still together after all these years. And not only that, still in love. How lucky we all were.