When we first got together he had so much dark hair. As we aged, that changed. He started to gray and then to have a little less on top. He hated the idea of going bald but didn’t so much mind the gray. 

I love that we were together for the graying. The gray haired, bearded man in this picture is such a different one than the dark haired, baby faced one I married. He grew to love Jesus, me and our kids more every day. He became more patient with every gray hair. 

I am angry that I will not see the rest of these hairs go gray. That the salt and pepper will be his last look. That seems terribly unfair to me. After all, this was supposed to be the middle of our story, not the end.

But still, I am happy to have been here for the graying. For the growing. For the beauty of growing older together, even if I am now left to grow old without him.