lasting marriage

 

 

Was her hat coming off in this picture?  Is that why they were laughing? 

My mom is making a scrapbook for her mother’s 80th birthday.  She went through some old black-and-white photos of her parents when they were newlyweds.  The above three are all pictures of my maternal grandparents, my “Mom-Mom” and “Pop-Pop.”  Look at this era of fashion–I mean, who wouldn’t want a bathing suit that covers up so many flaws?  (Did Mom-Mom have flaws to cover?  I’m sure she thought she did.  But she was probably envied by her friends for having a petite, thin frame.) 

What saddens me about these pictures, though, is knowing the ending to the story: They got divorced.  They had four children together, then got divorced when my mom was 7.  What happened to the love evident between them in these pictures?  How do you explain the death of a relationship?

When Mom-Mom sat her kids down to tell them about the divorce, she began by saying, “I’d rather cut off my right arm than have to tell you this.”

My other grandparents, my dad’s parents, were married for 51 years.  Did either of them cheat during that half a century?  Were they always faithful?  Were they ever tempted?  How did they know they were right for each other?  When did they “just know” that they were “the one” for each other?  (I hear those phrases a lot from married couples.  Is that the language they used back then, too?)  What was the hardest thing their marriage went through?  Did Grandmom ever miscarry?  If they were still alive, I’d ask those questions.

Mom-Mom is still alive (obviously, since we’re going to celebrate her 80th birthday), but I don’t think I can ask why her marriage broke up.  Perhaps the primary reason was infidelity…but was that the only reason?

I visited a nursing home a few weeks ago as part of a Christian outreach with my college friends.  We took carnations to the residents and struck up conversations with them.  Then we had an old-fashioned hymn sing.  I played the piano.  I met one couple whose last name was, interestingly, Bachelor.  According to the husband, they’d been married 64 years.  (According to the wife, it was 32 years, but her mind seemed to be slipping.)
“Sixty-four years?!” I asked.  “How do you make a marriage last that long?”
“Oh, it’s easy,” said Mr. Bachelor.  “You just have to find the right gal.”

I needed more than that simple answer.  I needed advice, I needed magic, I needed reassurance that I, too, could have a marriage that lasts 64 years.  How do they do it?  How does it work?  Later in the conversation I learned that the Bachelors used to have three children, but they lost one of their daughters.  How could they stay married even after the death of a child?  How could he say it was “easy”?

On my way out of the nursing home, I teased Mr. Bachelor again about his description of marriage as “easy.”  He chuckled and said, “There’s nothin’ to it.”

These pictures make it seem like he could be right.  But again, I know the story’s ending.  How do I reconcile the two?