Enduring Love

60: (February 2021)

Just a year ago, my uncle died on Valentine’s Day. Fitting day to pass for a man who spent his life giving love to so many people, including his wife of over 60 years. Two weeks later, she, too, took her last breath. My aunt had suffered from dementia for many years, but I believe she somehow knew that her beloved husband had left his earthly body. While she may not have recognized him in a long time, I think my aunt understood that my uncle was gone, and she decided to follow suit.

Their deaths occurred just before our country locked down because of COVID-19. Little did we know how fortunate we were to be able to celebrate their two lives in the traditional Catholic manner. They each had a wake, funeral mass, and burial—followed by a luncheon where the family could give testimony to their lives. Members of the extended family flew or drove in from different parts of the country to join my aunt and uncle’s five children and six grandchildren for the services. We were so fortunate to be able to give my aunt and uncle proper sendoffs and to gather together, unlike so many people who lost loved ones in the weeks and months that followed.

I remember a conversation I had with my uncle and a college friend who was about to join the priesthood when we were just out of college. The three of us spoke about religion and living the faith, as my friend was about to give his life to working with the poor. My uncle said he didn’t really need a “front row seat” in heaven—he just wanted to get there. That summed up my uncle in a lot of ways; he was unassuming, seemingly modest in his goals. Yet through his steadfast kindness and enduring love, he was able to leave this earth having achieved a feat of momentous magnitude: a loving marriage that lasted more than six decades and a large family wherein he had earned the respect and love of every family member. The same went for my aunt.

I’m sure they’re sitting next to each other holding hands now—and in front row seats after all.

40: (February 2001)

My husband’s aunt and uncle will soon celebrate their 60^th wedding anniversary. I asked his aunt what their secret was. How did they manage to make it to 60 years of togetherness when so many marriages break apart?

His aunt pondered the question for a few moments and then gave me a one-word answer: “Commitment.” Then she paused thoughtfully. “It takes commitment. Oh, there are some people you really can’t live with, but on the whole, marriage depends on commitment.”

Sixty years is a long time. There were undoubtedly times of difficulty and ease, challenges and illnesses, children to raise and jobs to keep, just the same as everyone, everywhere. But they stuck with it. Does our society value that anymore? Do we see the benefits of such a commitment? Or when marriage gets difficult—when someone feels unfulfilled, bored, depressed—is the decision made to split the partnership? Is greater happiness found then, in the long run?

There will certainly be times during a marriage when a partner can say, “This is too difficult. I want out.” I do not know a single person who has had or is having a completely smooth life. In every life, in every marriage, there simply are or will be challenges. Without commitment, divorce is just a matter of time. It takes humility to work on problems. It takes determination and an attitude of thankfulness for the life before you and the people in it.

I applaud my husband’s aunt and uncle on completing their 60^th year together. It takes courage for two people to drop anchor and cling to each other throughout life, no matter how the seas and winds may blow. From such courage come the possibilities of respect and understanding, forgiveness and compassion. From such commitment emerges a lifetime of shared moments: a history. I admire that. I know there are reasons why it makes sense for some marriages to split up. But I’m guessing that there are many others that might reap surprising rewards by taking the long view.

It is easy enough to say, “I do.” It is something else to live it over a lifetime.

60-40:

Little did I imagine 20 years ago that my own marriage would not last a lifetime. That it ended in divorce was the most humbling experience of my life. To be perfectly honest, I used to judge people who were divorced before my own marriage fell apart. It’s painful to admit that. I thought people weren’t trying hard enough. I’ve learned a lot since then—lessons that are brought home any time I am tempted to judge another person for any reason.

But I still deeply admire people who make their marriages work, re-committing to the process day after day, year after year. I also admire people who consistently choose to love and be kind to each other, married or not. That’s a challenge before each of us, every day, in all our interactions. It’s a commitment to be our best selves; it’s the journey of a lifetime.