Happy anniversary, Greg.
For better or worse. Now I know we meant those words when we said them.
Or worse. Or worse. I thought it again and again on the day Genevieve died. I didn’t know what those words would hold on the day we wed. I thought you might end up in a wheelchair in a few decades. Or I might develop cancer in my later years. But not this.
Even stuck under this cloud, I know that I am a lucky, lucky woman. Thank you for always having a handkerchief in your pocket, Greg, and for these eight years. Maybe you should carry around a little bottle of champagne instead. Let’s get to the “for better” part.