I have a bit of a bur under my saddle. Been reflecting a lot on marriage, been at it for 32 years, still a mystery of sorts. This has been the hardest stretch of grief for us, spring screams new life, we just scream silently for our son. Grief and marriage. I looked over at Doug the other evening and told him that there is no one else I would rather be miserable with, he understood. All sorts of opinions out there on what to look for in a spouse, most of it gag-worthy. Here is my opinion, find someone you can be miserable with, happy is easy – bottle of wine and you can be happy with just about anyone, right? Nice dinner, warm summer evening, it is all good, this must be love. Or not.
And the infamous opposites attract theory that is employed with great abandon. Opposites attract, have great sex, and then try to figure out what to do the rest of the 23 hours in a day. f you are an introvert and marry the life of the party, have fun with that. Chances are good they will drive you ape after the first few fun months. Might want to rethink that entire opposites attract maxim before you leap.
Nope, find someone who you can be content with in misery. In fact, I think they ought to take out the “happy” part of the vows and just have couples recite for worse, for poorer, and in sickness. Love the ones who write their own vows and conveniently leave out anything “negative” on such a happy day. And the marriage prep programs, please…just send engaged couples to live with some real time married couples, where there are two or three little ones running about, a new puppy who is peeing everywhere, the toilet overflowed, and the washer broke, much better prep than those silly classes.
And who thought up the cutesy line “I married him for life, not for lunch.” I used to just smile when someone said that, now I speak up and say that I married Doug for lunch too. Breakfast, dinner, sleepless nights, unemployment, bills, broken down vehicles, yeah all that and more. Maybe it frosts me because my father died at 54 leaving my mother widowed at 52. Doug will be 54 and yeah, puts me at 52. She called the last years of their lives the “Camelot” years. They knew they were on borrowed time, her greatest delight when she was hired at Westinghouse was that she got to go to work with my father. The group at Westinghouse Oceanic called them “Ma and Pa Kettle”.” They were mom and dad to many there, she loved Mondays, they still held hands. Then he died, and so did a huge part of her. She married my father for life, and for lunch. He has been dead 38 years, so my memories of them as a couple are few now, their marriage wasn’t perfect, but they were perfectly devoted to each other.
I watch Doug leave most every morning, fill my eyes with a last look. I did that before Justin’s death, and now I take an even longer glance. I say a prayer for his safety, then I remember how well that worked for Justin, and basically tell God “whatever.” I hope Doug walks back through the door. I hope we get a chance to have lunch again, to walk in shared sorrow to Justin’s grave. I am always on Doug’s left side, that is how we stood at the altar when we married, and it is still the side I am always on. We stand at Justin’s headstone, images transpose one upon the other, newlyweds at the altar, now old and sorrowful, still standing.
Happy is easy, marrying for life, easy. Marry for lunch and all the hours in-between, not so easy, not so happy, but there will be a deep river of compassion that will bring peace and contentment.
