21 Years of Marriage: A Journey of Love, Loss, and Resilience

When I look at our wedding photo from 2004, I see a young couple — happy, hopeful, and completely unaware of the road ahead. We were just 22. We had no money, no college degrees, and no idea what we wanted to do with our lives. We were still living with our parents. But we were certain of one thing: we wanted to start our life together.

So we did.

We moved into a tiny studio apartment right on the beach at A1A and Atlantic Boulevard. Rent was $680, with a $500 security deposit — unbelievably cheap even then. We knew we were lucky.

At the time, Jonathan was working security, and I was temping. Eventually, I landed a job in insurance, stuck with it, and got licensed. Jonathan remained in security for 15 years before his role evolved into a hybrid position in property management and surveillance at a condo. We slowly began building a life, piece by piece.

In those early days, few believed in us. Jonathan’s parents had whispered concerns behind closed doors, unsure we could survive financially. My family thought I was too young and should have finished college. The expectations weren’t high. But we didn’t listen — we just kept going.

Over time, we upgraded to bigger and better apartments. We adopted cats, and later, a dog. We went to concerts, took trips to Disney, and somehow always managed to pay the bills — with enough left over to enjoy life. Our twenties were joyful and carefree, filled with love and the comfort of having our families still around us.

Then came my thirties — and with them, a series of heartbreaks.

My grandmother passed away. Then Jonathan’s mother was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. Soon after, both of his grandmothers passed. It felt like the world was crumbling.

Jonathan’s mother fought cancer for seven long years. Her illness took a heavy toll on him. Like many of us, he was haunted by regrets — not spending enough time, not calling often enough, the endless “what ifs.” But he healed, as best as anyone can. We moved into a mobile home and did our best to keep going, to live for those who were no longer with us.

But the most unexpected heartbreak came when Jonathan’s father moved a complete stranger into the home he had once shared with his wife. We had heard he was seeing someone, but we didn’t know she was young enough to be his daughter. We didn’t know she was foreign. We didn’t know she had moved in. We were blindsided.

Jonathan and his father had a falling out, and their relationship never recovered. We haven’t spoken to him since. And honestly, life is quieter without that tension. Still, the wounds run deep. Jonathan lost his mother to cancer and, in a way, lost his father too.

I’ve tried to be his rock — as a wife, a friend, and a source of love. My family has embraced him completely, offering the kind of warmth and acceptance he lost. But I know that deep down, he’s still carrying anger and resentment. And I hope, someday, he can let go of it.

Our thirties showed us life’s darker sides. We struggled with infertility. We lost friends. We fought about money. Two of our beloved cats passed away. I sank into a depression that required therapy and medication. My mother’s health declined, and she was constantly in and out of the hospital. I was exhausted — mentally, emotionally, physically. Between work and caregiving, I felt like I was losing my grip.

But life, as it always does, kept moving.

In our forties, we began to breathe again. We took trips to Nashville and New York City. We moved out of the mobile home and bought our own house in Sunrise, FL. It took nearly two decades, but we finally arrived at a place we had always dreamed of: stability, peace, and a place to truly call home.

Our dog, with his big personality and loyal heart, fills the space left by the child we never had. Our careers are steady. Our health is good. And our circle — though smaller — is filled with love.

Most importantly, my mother is still with us. Her health has improved, and I believe living just a few blocks away has brought us even closer. She’s my rock, my best friend, and my fiercest supporter. I pray every day that we get many more years together.

And so, here we are. It’s 2025. 21 years later.

Where did the time go? It feels like just yesterday we were those clueless kids starting out with nothing but love and a lease on a beach apartment. We’ve lived through so much — more good than bad, thank God. I’ve been with the same company, Altass, for 19 years now. I don’t know what the future holds, but I’m hopeful. Jonathan and I are still happy, still side by side. We spend quiet evenings at home with the dog, soaking in this slower, more settled phase of life.

I love this life we’ve built. I love coming home to our little family, to the peace we’ve earned.

Here’s to the next 21 years — whatever they may hold.