At 19 I asked her to marry me. Apparently owning a used 1962 Ford Falcon was an insufficient net worth. She refused. At 22 she relented. We moved into an appalling hovel together. It was magical. Thus the journey began.
Over forty-nine years there’ve been moments of triumph and several big fails. Like most people, most marriages. Finding one true friend in life is a gift. Getting a pal who lets you try almost anything, and forgives the utterly stupid ideas, is even better. And I got one of those.
It’s all been together. Starting a half-dozen businesses, rescuing dead buildings, schmoozing careers, having employees, getting elected, meeting payrolls, moving too often, licking wounds and now aging. Our marriage took place during a time we both realize was favoured. No wars. No depression. No pandemic or angry climate, until now. The economy grew. We rolled along on it. Confidence in the future allowed risk and adventure. As a result my career has been anything but linear and, looking back, I would not have wanted it otherwise.
She was there when I lost my mind and said I wanted to sit in the House of Commons. Twice, 13 years apart. (I’m a slow learner.) She picked me up when defeats came or a prime minister finished me off. She was in the front row every night for eight years when I hit the road doing financial lecture gigs. She laughed sixteen hundred times at the same jokes. That takes grit.
She’s shouldered big loans, endured legal storms, survived my shaming and fought in my defence. She’s shared my stage when there was applause, and stood closer still when there was none. Private by nature, she was dragged by me into a public life. For her that was an uncomfortable sacrifice, and my gratitude is endless.
This morning we awoke and exchanged gifts. Then the dog threw up. Seemed fitting.
“The journey continues,” she said with a smile as I headed out. In time love swells into loyalty and trust. This endures. All else is noise.
Thank you Dorothy.