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Forty eight years ago today, a 23 year old man and a 21 year old woman got married. They went on to have five children and a marriage full of ups, downs, and an abundance of love.

Most of what I know about love I learned from them. My parents didn't always get along. In fact, I'm not sure how compatible they even were, on paper. But they were each other's true soul mates. Their love and attraction for one another remained alive, even when they were ready to tear each other's hair out.

From a pretty early age, I dreamed of finding a man who would look at me the way my Dad looked at my Mom. Through their entire forty seven year marriage, he would look at her, and then look at you, like, "Seriously, though, can you believe I landed her? I can't." She drove him absolutely bananas. His nickname for her was Pesty, which speaks volumes. One of my favorite quotes of his was, "You're gonna discover...your mother's a real PUSHER." But it was exactly the things about her that drove him nuts that drew him in. Her energy and drive was such a fantastic foil for his natural tendency toward procrastination and sedentary ways.

And my Mom adored my Dad. He drove her absolutely bananas, too. His office was literally a waking nightmare for her. And his inability to keep the top of his dresser clear, like, EVER, made her want to move out, sometimes. But when she watched him with a baby or child, or when she was cold and snuggled up to him, the tenderness that washed over her face was unmistakable.

Over the past year, as she's mourned him, I've been continually impressed by her unique ability to mourn, yet to keep on keeping on. She misses him. One hundred percent of the time, she misses him. But she goes on. She is strong, amazingly strong. It's one of the things he loved most about her.