Tonight is the 50th anniversary of my parents
’ marriage. If my father was still alive, there would be a huge
family gala to celebrate the milestone, much to my parents’
chagrin. They never made a big deal out of their anniversary. The
last celebration I remember, my grandmother and great-aunts held a
gathering of the great clan in 1980 for
their 25th, ignoring my mother’s protests.
Tonight is the 50th anniversary of my parents’ marriage. If my father was still alive, there would be a huge family gala to celebrate the milestone, much to my parents’ chagrin. They never made a big deal out of their anniversary. The last celebration I remember, my grandmother and great-aunts held a gathering of the great clan in 1980 for their 25th, ignoring my mother’s protests.
Their marriage would never have been portrayed in a Hallmark movie, although pieces of it could certainly be featured on Dr. Phil as examples of what not to do. Pressed with money concerns, and both a bit hotheaded (she more than he), they argued a lot and in front of us, and never presented a united front.
Over the years, we kids heard repeatedly the same shots and arrows of resentments they carried around, only to bring them out and hurl them at each other, unrelated to the original disagreement. Eventually, we rolled our eyes and shook our heads every time my mother slammed him for something that happened 20 years before, and my father would counter with something equally old.
Perhaps I grew up with a warped sense of security, but I was relieved there was never anything so secret that we couldn’t know; had they argued in private, which I never recall them doing, it would be really bad. Though they raised their voices, they never resorted to name calling, and they never laid a hand on each other or threw things. There were occasional demonstrations of affection that would make us giggle: a brief soft kiss, a long, tight embrace, some laughter.
When they weren’t arguing or debating about politics, we heard family stories. On why they married each other, my mother said “he was a great dancer.” My father said “because she had great legs and wrote good letters” to him while he was in Korea. These answers were disappointingly superficial. We swore we would never have a marriage like theirs. We resolved to be respectful, speak quietly and be attracted to more substantive qualities.
As our own families grew, we saw them together as grandparents. My father was like most of the men in our family, physically present but emotionally distant when we were growing up, but putty in the hands of their grandchildren. My mother was as amused as we were agog at the transformation.
They were funny, these two. When my children were toddlers, my father would drop in and, after playing with the kids, complain about how he “gave her too much freedom.” I laughed one time, and asked him “you mean you’ve been married to her for 38 years and you still think you’re in charge?” Another time, he sagely told me, “Your children grow up in spite of you, not because of you.” When I recounted this to my mother, she harrumphed in retort, “He could say that since he never did anything.”
After my dad’s cancer returned and spread quickly, he took to his bed shortly after their 42nd anniversary. My mother took time off from work so she could tend to him and he could die at home. She fed him ice chips of frozen Gatorade or his favorite, root beer. She frequently rubbed his elbows and knees, heels and hips with lotion to prevent bed sores. I saw her one time gently brush his teeth, holding his face in her hands and saw them look at each other with tenderness and something else I had seldom seen between them before – forgiveness.
They were of a time when folks didn’t read books or go to counselors to learn how to communicate. But to them, vows were vows; in sickness and in health, for better, for worse. Though at times they may have wanted to, they never parted simply because they believed they weren’t supposed to.
After years of not wanting to have a marriage like theirs, we now cherish their model of tenacity. They were, we now agree, excellent examples of how to love a family you’ve built. Whatever else had not been done or said or felt between them before, they made up for in what they did for each other, he by showing her how to die with dignity, she by making it possible for him to do it.
In my father’s last weeks, at the end of their long partnership, they finally had the deep intimacy they’d longed for, showing us that marriage provides opportunities for conversion and redemption right up to the end.
