I always seem to struggle through the month of February. In
my mind it’s a small month that is packed with stuff – National Freedom Day, Groundhog
Day, Rosa Parks Day, National Wear Red Day, Lincoln’s Birthday, Susan B Anthony
Birthday, President’s Day, and let’s add Arkansas’ Daisy Gatson Bates Day. In
spite of all the listed holidays, February is still known to be the month of
love. Valentine’s Day seems to over-shadow all the others.
My struggle with this month of love is that I am a romantic disguised
as a cynic. I make jokes about the best thing about Valentine’s Day is the day
after when the candy can be bought at 75% off. I send funny cards and reserve
all my goosheyness for my great-grandbabies who loved getting my little gifts
declaring my love for them. If you pull back the mask and look underneath you
will find that I’m not just a romantic, I am utterly and completely hopeless. I
am also a realist. I suppose that means I’m a realistic hopeless romantic.
I was watching a television program about a wedding. It was
beautiful. The gown was incredible with bits of shiny beads, pearls and lace.
It fit her like a glove and her beautiful figure was easily recognized. Flowers
were everywhere and all the guests were both smiling and crying. It would
surely be a day the couple would remember for the rest of their lives.
As I watched and listened I noticed that somewhere inside me
I experienced a bit of stinging when the vows were said and done and the
minister pronounced them “husband and wife.” It was like the words were said in
slow motion – h u s b a n d and
w i f e. That part is always saved to the end of the ceremony, like
they don’t tell you the punch line of the joke until the end. Husband and Wife.
As if their names were no longer John and Mary, but rather “husband and wife.”
I turned off the television and decided to put it out of my mind by baking some
bread. I like to bake as a distraction from things that are disturbing.
The baking didn’t help because I kept thinking that I didn’t
really know what all that meant – or maybe I did know what it meant and was
uncomfortable with it. I’m sure it’s the later of the two. I am a wife and I
have a husband. It’s a path I chose many years ago – more than 40 in fact. It
was decision made with open eyes. As is the case with most newlyweds, I was
young and inexperienced. When I think about it now I don’t understand how young
couples can be expected to make such life-altering decisions at such a
delicate, tender, age. It’s like saying at age 15, I’m gonna love roses my
entire life and then realizing when you’re 40, that you like hydrangeas better.
I suppose that’s why divorce was invented.
Strangely, I've never been a wife to a man that I felt I
could have spent my entire life with. I've been married to an abuser (Peter) and to a
drunk (Riley). If I have to measure, I have far more affection for Riley than I
ever had for Peter which is understandable with all things considered. I am now,
and have been almost forever, Riley’s wife. That means I do wifely things. I
cook, clean, organize, manage, and take care of him because he cannot do these
things for himself. Sometimes I do a better job than others, but I always do
something for him on a daily basis. He is my husband and that means he is my
responsibility.
I could have chosen to get a divorce when I realized that
taking the vows meant I would be forever tied to this other person. But, I didn't.
I’m a hopeless romantic. No matter how bad things got, I stayed the hopeless
romantic. I believed he would leave his mistress, Ms Vodie Aristocrat, and return
to me with a renewed vigor towards saving our marriage. That did not happen.
When the mistress left him behind, she left a broken man who was not
recognizable as the man with whom I took my vows.
People ask me how we have been able to stay together so
long. They say we must have a secret to making our marriage work. I want to
scream out that the only person the marriage works for is Riley. The secret for
couples to have a long marriage is to marry someone who will feel a sense of responsibility
and will not leave when things are unbearable. And if you split up, make sure
you maintain some semblance of a bond, so the healthy one will come to the aid
of the unhealthy one during bad times. My advice is to forget love and marry
for loyalty. Did I mention that I’m a cynic?
I have a love-hate relationship with Valentine’s Day. I’m
jealous of the people who I believe have found that true and everlasting love
that will sustain them for their entire life, yet I'm happy for them. I long to have had that with the
man that I believed would be a true and loving husband. I realize that will
never happen. I fantasize that there is still hope for me. I believe that I
have little time or energy left to really search for him. I refute the idea
that a Prince Charming will ride up and save me from the beast. I would
probably tell me to ride on and go save his own self anyway. I know that I want true love.
I doubt that it will come to me in this lifetime.
Maybe there should be two types of marriages. First there
should be the young love marriage that allows for the procreation of our
species. If it lasts forever, that’s great. The second type of marriage is one
based on practicalities like common interests, friendships, sexual
compatibility and has nothing to do with producing offspring. This second type
of marriage would happen at a later age when each individual has already been
through the first type of marriage. Each individual would know themselves as
their own person and would be better able to communicate wants, needs, desires,
dreams, etc. In fact, the second type of marriage doesn't even have to be a
licensed marriage. It could be just two people who join together with a common
goal.
In my opinion, the chances of have a “first type” marriage
that lasts till death do part is rare. No one is the same at age 60 as they are
at age 20. If what you’re looking for is a “death do part” marriage, don’t get
married until you’re already in your 50’s. It’s easier to keep the romance
alive over a period of 20 or 30 years than it is 50 or 60 years.
This year on Valentine’s Day I did my usual cynical stuff. I
laughed and carried on. Inside I was conflicted. Maybe just staying in bed
under the covers for the entire month would have been a better way to handle
things. Oh no… wait… I just realized that June will be upon is in no time. June is the wedding month… here I go
again.