Tomorrow is my husband Peter's eighty-seventh birthday. I don’t recall thinking about what he would be like at eighty-seven when I met him many decades ago.

I know that I am lucky to still have him, and I think about that every day. He doesn’t run marathons any more—in fact, he doesn’t even walk all that well, and that’s OK. He sometimes answers a different question than the one I ask because he doesn’t hear as well as he used to, but usually I can laugh at that. Most important, we still agree on almost everything, and we laugh together a lot. We are accepting of the losses that come with aging and grateful for our amazing family and steadfast friends.

So Happy Birthday my sweetheart. And thank you.