The Lammers family: Don, Jamie, and Sally...now.

Photo Courtesy of the Lammers Family

COAL CREEK — In my various endeavors to find love in my teen and college years, my mom has often reminded me, “You have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find your prince” (princess, in my case). Frankly, I think she and my dad know that better than anyone.

My mom, Sarah “Sally” Beth Canmann, grew up in Highland Park, Illinois, as the oldest of four siblings. She never truly connected with her parents, and she often felt stuck in their rigid routines and viewpoints.

As soon as she could, she left to find her independence and take control of her own life. She stayed connected with her siblings, but ultimately distanced herself from Highland Park, a place she never truly considered home.

My dad, Donald “Don” Edward Lammers, grew up in many different places. My grandparents met shortly after World War II as missionaries, during a training period before being deployed to Hiroshima. My grandma taught Japanese students English for years, but as missionaries, she and my grandpa moved constantly.

My dad, also the oldest of four siblings, was born in Sendai, Japan, grew up in Hokkaido, and moved with his family across Japan and the United States during his formative years, attending high school in a private Tokyo institution.

Ultimately, both my mom and dad attended the University of Indiana Bloomington for grad school, where they both studied technical theater. Early on, they found it incredibly easy to talk to each other. Here, two people, coming from opposite ends of the globe and trying to find themselves in different ways, connected.

They both started intentionally as friends. They often took time to walk in the woods and talk. My mom had been married since before meeting my dad, but by this point, the marriage had grown increasingly strained.

As a friend, my dad gave her sanctuary by listening when she needed to express her general and personal worries. She appreciated that he never tried to create a solution for her, but rather listened and let her sort out her thoughts.

Meanwhile, my mom gave him stability in a life where he’d never fully settled into a group of people for long before leaving. At some point, my dad calculated that he’d moved 21 times by the time he turned 20. Finding a natural connection with her allowed him to find footing in one place.

My mom and her first husband ultimately divorced. Even though she and my dad knew they had a connection, they still took time to develop their friendship naturally. Their favorite memories from their early days will always be those conversations in the woods, talking about whatever was on their minds.

Ultimately, my mom expressed her feelings for my dad first. On August 18, 1977, after two years of developing their relationship from friends to partners, they wed.

They didn’t need a pompous ceremony with all the bells and whistles—in fact, they hated the idea. Instead, they had lunch with my mom’s family before going to the courthouse to become husband and wife.

2027 marks their 50th wedding anniversary. Through all that time, they’ve stuck together. They’ve served as each other’s constant. No matter what happened in their worlds, no matter what family stress or life events came around, they always had each other.

They bought their Coal Creek house in 1987 and have never looked back. They both always knew they wanted to live in Colorado, and even though my dad struggled with moving again, he and my mom both knew it was right when they did.

They attempted to have children multiple times. All four of my mom’s original pregnancies were ectopic. My parents didn’t try again for a while, but they still wanted a child.

After a while, they decided to try conceiving through IVF. They wanted to give it one more try. In 2000, on a trip to Hawai’i, my mom built a rock monument, internally making a wish that IVF would work and that they would finally have a child.

Then came December 30, 2001. It’s only in writing the first draft of this article that I realized I’ve been alive for half the time my parents have been married. With the strength I’ve always seen in their marriage, it feels like they’ve been married far longer.

They worked to give me the sanctuary and stability they never felt they had growing up. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to thank them enough for all they’ve done for me. I certainly still try. I’ve never once questioned their love for me, even in my most pouty teenage moments and my darkest young adult times.

The rest of our family is scattered around—my aunts and uncles across the United States (and even one staying and starting his own family in Japan), and more cousins in the same places than I can count on both hands . My paternal grandmother celebrates her 102nd birthday in May. My extended family, in my eyes, is also incredible.

This mountain community, though, is the place I’ve always called home. My parents are the people I’ve known for my entire life. We’ve lived in the mountains as a family of three (along with many pet cats over the years) for my whole life. My parents are, and always will be, my family.

As a young adult, I’ve kissed far more frogs than I can count (primarily metaphorically), but I know that’s par for the course. Looking at my parents, I know I’ll find a better half someday, because I know they’ve found theirs.