I Do

I had to go to a wedding the other day.

I reluctantly squeezed into a hippie-type pastel paisley dress which fit my personality. Or at least fit the personality I wanted to have. Grace Slick, 1969. Would the 20somethings at the wedding recognize the look I was going for? No. But their Grandmas might.

More importantly, the dress complemented my “figure” by hanging loose in the tummy area. Twenty-five years after having my first child, I still looked a little pregnant.

Once the dress and the SPANX® were in place, I plomped myself down on the bed—and cried. I thought, I just can’t go. Given the current circumstances. I just can’t.

After hours of consideration, making myself late for the wedding—I went. I figured if I couldn’t bring myself to attend the ceremony, at least I would have made the attempt to drag myself there. If need be, I could just go inside the reception venue door, put the card in the appropriate box, and get back on the road for the two-hour drive back home.

By the time I arrived at the ceremony site, I was determined to get out of the car. Mostly because I’d already had to wear the dress for two hours. I don’t wear dresses. Ever. I had already suffered enough from just wearing the dress—psychologically, as well as physically.

But the dress was the least of my concerns at the time, really. How was I going to get through this wedding without losing my shit? Subtly clutching a huge ball of Kleenex® in my fist, I awkwardly stumbled to my seat, in unfamiliar heels.

In order to be mentally and emotionally prepared, as I sat in the pew, I reminded myself of the platitudes and ceremony that I should expect.

I was encouraged that the couple was in their early 30s and had been together more than ten years. They had not rushed into this massive commitment. Studies show that couples stay together the first three years largely based on infatuation, then settle in as companions. (Forgive the absence of citations in this blog post. If this was published in the New Yorker, I would have to cite that reference. But this is also an anecdotal observation.)

After sitting down for a while, I started feeling a bit uneasy. In order to detach myself from the situation at hand, and not embarrass my friends with any hysterics, I decided to concentrate on taking photos. I became so intent upon this endeavor that I likely did embarrass my friends by nearly bowling over the professional photographer several times in my quest to get the best shot. We were in the same place so often, that I ended up having to apologize to her several times. That doesn’t mean I moved to accommodate her. It just meant, Hey, I got here first, better move faster, b—-. (No worries, I provided the family my photographs at no cost.)

My friend, the groom’s mother, offered a beautiful reading. Which, unfortunately for me, was not the traditional Corinthians 13, which I was indeed emotionally prepared for. Corinthians 13 had been read at my civic wedding.

Corinthians 13, as I recall from my own wedding in 1995: “Love is kind, love is something else…time for the party. I love this person. Don’t you? We are going to have kids and have a great life together. DUH! We are head over heels in love. Of course, that will last forever!”

So what does “marriage” mean, anyway? I contemplated the vows.

“For richer or for poorer…” I’d certainly always understood that part. Throughout our marriage, my husband and I had financially struggled. That said, one of the best times of my life was when we were first married, before kids. We had a hard time paying the bills—but who cared? We had each other. We’d both grown up fairly poor, so money didn’t matter to either of us. We got by. Marriage was more about love than money. That’s what I thought, anyway. There were legal obligations, but they didn’t even enter my mind.

“In sickness and in health…” When I got married, I was 27, and my husband was considerably older. In fact, when we first moved in together, I used to check during the night to see if he was still breathing. (At 55 years old, looking back, I find that quite hilarious.)

“For better or for worse…” Hmm. This one’s a doozy. Had I really understood the “for better or for worse” part? Should I have stuck it out when it got worse? I’ll never know. But I am sorry for it. I gave up when it got worse. Does that mean I am a bad person? Intolerant? Picky? Unappreciative? Impatient? Probably most or all of the above.

Anyway…that is likely why I had been touched by the reading at this particular wedding. I had never heard it before. Almost thirty years since my own wedding day, I found that the reading was much more meaningful to me—a 55-year-old woman with a heck of a lot of perspective.

The following is what my friend read to her son and his wife. It is what I wish for, for all couples, married or not—and certainly for our sons:

May your marriage bring you all the exquisite excitements a marriage should bring, and may life grant you also patience, tolerance, and understanding.

May you always need one another—not so much to fill your emptiness as to help you to know your fullness.

The valley does not make the mountain less, but more;

So let it be with you, and you.

And the valley is more a valley because it has a mountain towering over it.

A mountain needs a valley to be complete;

May you need one another, but not out of weakness.

May you want one another, but not out of lack.

May you entice one another, but not compel one another.

May you embrace one another, but not out encircle one another.

May you succeed in all important ways with one another, and not fail in the little graces.

May you look for things to praise, often say, “I love you!” and take no notice of small faults.

If you have quarrels that push you apart, may both of you hope to have good sense enough to take the first step back.

May you enter into the mystery, which is the awareness of one another’s presence—no more physical than spiritual, warm and near when you are side by side, and warm and near when you are in separate rooms or even distant cities.

May you have happiness, and may you find it making one another happy.

(James Dillett Freeman)

***

Note: this was certainly a significant day of reflection, as it was then that I fully realized that I was bad at marriage…and also bad at wearing a dress. Yes, the focus of the wedding was the bride, but generally every chick gets a “You look great!” out of courtesy, even if they look like crap. No one at the wedding said my dress was cute. Either because I was so old that no dress would be cute on me (likely); and/or the dress wasn’t flattering (also likely); and/or no matter what the dress, I was clearly so uncomfortable I looked like the Hunchback of Notre Dame (perhaps most likely)—so I’m never wearing it again. Many of you on Facebook are asking for pictures of me in the dress. No, because 55-1/2.