Sasee Magazine

On our wedding day, my parents’ oldest friends presented my new husband and me with a case of red wine. Like me, it was bold and flavorful. Unlike me, it was also full-bodied (I stand 5’9” and weigh 120). The card read “Save for the most special of occasions throughout your life together…the birth of your children, your 10-year anniversary, kids’ graduations, marriages, retirement…”

I remember thinking what a huge promise I’d made earlier that day. To love this one person, to be true to him forever. It was overwhelming. But, as all things do, time takes over, the years roll by, and I found myself raising two boys, and struggling to hold onto that marriage through increasing debt, lost jobs, house payments, the death of family members and then a third child.

The last bottle of wine that my husband and I shared was late one Christmas Eve. I’d argued that the occasion wasn’t “special enough” – we were to save the wine for the “big moments” in our life together. But he insisted, I relented, and we opened the wine, savoring the heady taste of it while we wrapped presents and assembled toys.

One year later, we separated. Once the divorce was final, I packed up my three kids and myself and moved us across town to a new home – a fresh start. As I unpacked each box, I carefully put away our belongings. Organizing the last of our things, I came across a wooden crate – our case of wine.

Of the 12 bottles, there were just 4 left. How could that be? I started doing the math. We had three kids…that left nine bottles, one 10-year anniversary…eight. Oh, and that one bottle I’d argued about opening over Christmas. That should leave seven. I was angry and disappointed. What a waste! That wine was meant to be for special occasions. And then I remembered the bottle that we’d opened late one night with a group of close friends. The bottle I’d shared with my best friend from childhood who’d flown in from Utah to visit; the night we celebrated my mom’s new job.

Sitting on my new living room floor, surrounded by boxes, kids sleeping soundly in their new bedrooms, I opened another bottle and toasted to a new life, a new way of thinking. I’d just bought my own home; I’d started over when I hadn’t thought it was possible. Before I could worry that the occasion wasn’t “special” enough, or that I’d be wasting a bottle for just one glass, I decided I’d just call my friends and family over the next night to share the rest of it with me.

So what if there were no bottles left by the time my 13 year-old graduated from high school. I’d buy a new bottle or a new case for that matter.

If we keep waiting for “big moments” we’ll miss out on all the little, special moments that make up our days, and our lives.

Maybe those “wasted” bottles of wine here and there actually mean that I appreciate the little moments, cherish the small joys and accomplishments. Maybe an empty case of wine means a full life, well lived.