The moon. The swoon. The wedding in June. For my husband and I there were 10 years between the moon and the swoon. The wedding in June was accidental. By the time we tied the knot, we were both past our half-century birthday.
We met when I moved into the house next door. He was trying to bandage a hemorrhaging marriage and I was recovering from a diagnosis of post-traumatic stress after a series of personal tragedies that included the end of my marriage. If we had picked our song, it would have been Lean on Me. We were more kindred wounded souls than soulmates.