Other People's Love Stories

Mom and Dad June 1956

Tonight as I sit reading, Pachelbel's Cannon has begun playing. It's the song that the quartet played as my father walked me down the aisle to Jim. I give into the tears that insist on being freed. The other day, I was a bit panicked as I forgot what Jim's pet name for me was. How could I? But then it came back in his voice "Love".

Dad and me July 2005

The thing is, I don't really understand other people's love stories anymore. I thought I did when my love was alive and even before that when I was in prior relationships. I remember saying to my mom when Jim and I had been married a bit "Mom, why didn't you tell me marriage could be like this?" And she just smiled at me in the way knowing mothers do.

The four of us at Jim and my wedding July 2005

But then Jim died and folks began telling me that I didn't know how lucky I had been to have the type of love we had had. Those words didn't really help. It was as if I should be punished for having been loved and to have loved. It rubbed in deeper the pain, the enormity of my loss, my broken heart. Conversely others said to me "Oh no worries, you'll find another husband, my friend so and so did" which left me equally heartbroken and confused with the deeper implication that Jim was easily replaced not the amazing man he truly was.

Jim two weeks before he died (thank you Ray) July 2020.

Then for quite awhile and perhaps even still, I have a difficult time seeing other older couples. I'm filled with the thought "Why us?, What great sins did we commit to deserve to be parted so soon?'. I also dislike husband mimes and inferences. You know the ones about leaving socks or dirty dishes around or their forgetfulness or how they are big babies when they are sick or a host of other husband putdowns in the name of humor. Then my thoughts are two-fold "Why are you still together?" and more darkly "Just wait until he dies." The flip side is, I have a hard time with folks who imply that everyone could have their wonderful married lives if people only did XYZ like they do.

These are the rants common to most widows I know unless of course they really did have a bad marriage. With the younger widows in their 20s, 30s and 40s, more and more you see their husbands have died of drug overdoses or suicide, accidents, murders, or cancer. Widows in my midlife age 50s and 60s seem to predominately lose their husbands to cancer, Covid, accidents, strokes, or heart attacks. The elder widows in their 70s, 80s, and beyond, their husbands have a wider range of causes for death to include chronic diseases and dementia. Many widows have been their husband's caretakers. In general women tend to outlive men by 4-10 years so it seems that more women are widowed than men. But there are enough widowers too. Cancer and chromic diseases predominate for this group. You could say that I've gotten to know marriage from the "death do us part" angle.

However that leaves me with the part that truly has me perplexed. I'm more observant because my attention is no longer focused on an "us" and the minefield of my heart is so ravaged. I'm observing that there are so many different reasons people are in couples and there are so many shades of marriage. Marriages of tolerance, for the children, emotional stability, passion, ladder climbing, co-dependence, economic rank, good times gone bad, etc. etc.. Of course, all of these are over simplifications, like I said, I really don't understand other people's love stories anymore. It's only now that I understand my own so thoroughly. If you are lucky, you fall even deeper in love when you have to sort through your husband's life, keepsakes, emails, possessions, legal affairs... There are some widows who find things that were better left unknown.

What I'll always remember, admire, and feel a deep loss of is my parents and their marriage. They had their wonderful times, their heartbreaking times, their side by side times, times we wondered if they would stay together, their times they danced together in the kitchen. Whatever the path they took and its challenges, in the end their deep respect and deeper love was clearly witnessed by all who came to know them. It shone brightly from my Mom's eyes upon my Dad and Dad's thorough care of my Mom. I remember clearly taking them to their primary care appointment and all of the nurses and staff saying how they wished for marriages like my parents built. I agreed and felt at the time that Jim and I would. On one of those visits the doctor had told me that Mom was only alive because Dad kept such good care of her. He was more right than he ever knew. Mom and Dad died within six weeks of each other. In my mind, I believe my Mom let go of life knowing it was time for Dad and that he would follow her forever.  

Jim and I danced on the mountains and we danced in the kitchen until he could no longer dance. I miss dancing. I miss believing in love that carries one to eternity.

Dad and Mom in assisted living 2012