[ WP ] In a world where wedding ceremonies were traditionally held towards the end of the couple 's lifespan to celebrate the marriage and what they 've been able to accomplish together . You sit down reflecting , reminiscing , and pondering if the time has come for you to propose .

I sat on my chair and looked out into the grassy field, thinking about Jason. 
 
 We had been together for decades, since we were in our early twenties. There was very little that we had n't done together: raised children, lost pets, moved across the country a dozen times. Attended the weddings of both sets of parents, and then the funerals of three of them. Our oldest daughter had just begun her courtship with a young man from the next town over. 
 
 There's a lot you can do in fifty years. We'd seen a large part of the world, and every state of our home country. Attended lectures, dances, gallery openings. 
 
 Jason had had a long career as a professor, much in demand with various universities, which prompted some of our moves. But we had never liked to stay in one place for long, so every six or eight years -- repaint the kitchen, clean the carpets, pack everything into the truck and drive somewhere new. We had lived in Oakland, Portland, Atlanta, San Francisco, Boise, Chicago. Rural Tennessee. Vermont. Montana. 
 
 He had been published several times, technical works about advances in archaeological techniques. Seventeen peer-reviewed articles, four books. There were interviews and documentary segments. He had been quite famous before he retired. 
 
 But seventy rolled around, inevitably, and he did retire. We moved across the country -- again -- to Missouri, found a quiet town, bought a house on the river. I retired a year later, halfway; I still work as a substitute math and physics teacher at the local high school. 
 
 We were both professors, though I was never as well-known as Jason. I was published a few times, but I taught because I loved to teach, not because I loved to push the boundaries of human knowledge. Jason taught as an excuse to do archaeology. I did physics as an excuse to teach. We were well-matched. 
 
 We met in college, when I was a senior and Jason was a sophomore. He got trashed at a party in my dorm, and I was the designated sober person for the evening, so I took care of him while he vomited. He came back to thank me and ask for my number the next day. Our first real date was a month later, coffee just off of campus, nothing fancy. I started work on my master's while he finished undergrad, and by then we were fairly certain that we had found something worthwhile. 
 
 I did n't mention it to my parents for a few years, they were traditionalists and would have liked to meet Jason before we began dating. They did n't react too badly when they found out the truth, though; they liked Jason immensely and were happy that I had found someone. My sister did n't think that he would prove worthy, in the end, but she backed off after the tenth year. 
 
 We had children by then: Annie was four and I was pregnant again. I was finishing my doctorate while Jason took a few years off to stay with Annie. I finished my degree right before Daniel was born and we switched; Jason went to get his doctorate and I stayed home. 
 
 I never did any of the world-changing things I thought I would do, but I was happy and our children did well, so I'm not too disappointed. Jason was a star in his field, changed the course of academic archaeology forever. His name will be remembered, which means that mine will as well, at least as his accomplished partner. 
 
 We decided a few years back, before we moved to Astoria, that we'd get married after we retird. It was the traditional time to do it, after all. A full life, children moving out into the world, careers coming to a close. You move somewhere nice, put your feet up, throw a party. Declare to the world that you had spent your lives together and did n't intend to stop now. Jason had been looking forward to it for years, I knew. I did n't care as much as he did, but I knew that his father, who was nearly ninety-five, would be disappointed if we did n't marry, and it made him happy, so I was willing. 
 
 The sun was stronger here in Missouri than it had been in Astoria. More equatorial, I suppose, and much less rainy. The meadow was warm and close in the spring sun. I stretched out on my plastic lawn chair, eyes closed, hand on the smooth stone beside me. 
 
 `` What do you think, Jason?'' I said aloud. `` Do you want to get married?'' 
 
 I was met with the dense silence of spring mornings: rustles, chirps, distant water over rocks. A few minutes later, ready to go, I opened my eyes with a sigh. 
 The chair beside me was empty. I leaned over and kissed the top of Jason's headstone, and then I picked up the chairs and left, making my way out of the cemetary and back into the bright life of the town.
