It was Tuesday when she realized that she loved him, but almost another week before she had the nerve to go after him.

They got married on a Tuesday. They hadn't really planned it, it was just the way that things had worked out, but it seemed fitting. It was a beautiful Tuesday, the weather bright as they joined hands and promised to love each other forever.

She left him on a Tuesday. Tear stained face resolute and dragging her suitcase behind her into the rain. After that came a long line of lonely Tuesdays for both of them, trying not to remember but afraid to forget.

It was Tuesday when she came back to him. A knock on his door when he was late to work that morning. An apology, tears, anger and finally forgiveness, a call to Forman and a Tuesday morning spent in bed.

It was early on a Tuesday morning, 2 a.m. to be exact, when their daughter was born. Small and soft and pink and beautiful. They watched her through the glass in the maternity wing of the hospital, hands clasped, a family at last.

It was Tuesday when they got the news. They held each other and cried in the bedroom that they shared, trying not to disturb the sleeping infant in the next room. Cancer. She would have to undergo chemotherapy and there was no way to know what the outcome would be. Hours later, as the last minutes of Tuesday ticked away, he held his sleeping wife and resolved to be there for her. Till death do us part.

On another Tuesday, almost two years later, they got the news that the cancer was gone. This time the tears were tears of joy at the prospect of many more Tuesdays to come, to spend together.

Tuesdays came and went. Some of them good, others more difficult. It was Tuesday when he gave their daughter away to a wonderful man. Tuesday when they buried their youngest son, killed overseas. Tuesday when they held their grandson for the first time. And, finally, it was Tuesday when he drew his last breath, surrounded by family, holding her hand.

It was probably Tuesday when they buried him, but she wasn't really sure. What day it was didn't seem to matter anymore.

It was definitely Tuesday when she followed him, only a few months later. Old age said the doctor, but her children knew better.

It was Tuesday when they laid her to rest beside him, together forever. A bright, sunny beautiful afternoon when their family gathered to celebrate a lifetime of Tuesdays.