He Circled Yes
At 3:06 a.m. today I posted the above photo (of a photo) on my Instagram feed with this caption: You know you've officially grown old together when even your photos are middle-aged. Happy anniversary, boo. #circa1981 #vpi [as Virginia Tech was better known back then].
Didn't see it? That may be because at 3:18 a.m. I took it down. In those 12 minutes listening to someone's deep snores, I considered who might see the post, including friends who've failed at marriage a time or two.
I then spent the remainder of those dark hours trying to recall the details of this day 37 years ago. I remember feeling queasy -- in part because I'd spent an entire night unable to find a sister who'd gone AWOL and then shifted to worry what too much liquor at our afterparty might bode. I also was pregnant, but didn't know it.
Since then, I've wondered why we've succeeded where so many other relationships have not. Some of our friends had no choice; their spouses checked out or blindsided them with unsuspecting debts, secret lovers, hidden addictions, or unwavering loyalty to work -- and work only. Then there were those who found the will to walk away from domestic violence or serious emotional abuse.
For others, it wasn't their partner that ruined things, but their dysfunctional family members. No one who lives long enough is immune from the corrosive forces fueled by loved ones with untreated mental illnesses or chronic alcoholism or narcissism or dementia or corrupt ambitions or religious zealotry or political extremism. It's how we respond to the crises they wrought that determines our trajectory. Even an aging parent's care, which should be anticipated, can turn minor frissures into irreparable cracks if a plan isn't made, adapted as needed, and upheld by all.
My husband and I know of these issues because in our forty-plus years together we've experienced many of them. Our parents have all passed away; our siblings still struggle. Friends who made too many bad choices are gone too. And instead of celebrating our wedding anniversary with, say, a trip to Italy or even a fancy dinner in La Jolla, we are doing morning backpack inspections and evening toothbrush checks for a disabled teen we must now raise.
We're heading to a strip mall diner for a celebratory lunch, not our once-customary dinner at George's at the Cove. The Jelly Belly box he gave me as a gift may seem like a letdown after years of earrings and necklaces, but I'm trying to greatly reduce my sugar intake, so those candies are a luxury. It also shows he still gets me.
In turn, I remind him of what a fantastic husband he turned out to be, and even better father and grandfather. And, just to make sure we're both still looking forward to the many years ahead as one, I left him a note. It's similar in spirit to when I dispatched my best friend to slyly confirm our first date in 1979 went well for him too.
Dear Gilbert,
Will you go with me? (Circle one)
Yes
No
Love, Your Wife
